Taking off again

I’ve been really quite irked recently, seeming to pick up a cold every week for three weeks.  They’ve been snuffles so nothing serious but the last one stuffed my sinuses as well and I’ve felt lethargic ever since.

I was going to head to Kettlewell this morning with Little Dog but turned the alarm off feeling too tired.  We went up on the moors instead but, this afternoon, finally, after what seems like ages, I fancied getting back on my bike.  

I did a really short ride but felt over-the-moon to be out again.  Warmer than I expected too; possibly helped by my new thermal socks and toe covers.

Rich has just texted to say they’ve finished climbing a multi-pitch route on Puig Campana - the mountain behind Benidorm.  They’ve done a route that we did over 20 years ago.  I think they’re quite tired as he reckons we must have been ‘nails’ back then.  

We started out early and I remember the climbing being fantastic (with Rich leading of course).  It wasn’t far off my first multi-pitch route.  However, I remember more of the descent.  For the wrong reasons.  A terrifying traverse (for someone with mild vertigo) that I insisted on being roped on (now cabled apparently).  A scary down climb.  And the most hideous of awkward scree runs.  I ripped a massive hole in the butt of my Ron Hills, unable to stay on my feet, and had an indigo and violet bruise the size of Benidorm.  We made it back to the car just as it had turned pitch black and to the headlights of two friendly climbers that waited to check we got off OK as they had descended much faster.  All on 2 oranges between us.  It was quite an outing but one of the highlights of our holidays together (in a good way!)

I’ve never been nails, am not nails, never will be nails.  But I was pleased with the text!