Sometimes DFL doesn’t hurt

Last night was rather cold, but there was still a huge turn out to night racing. Unfortunately during the previous week those little imps the loggers had been at work installing massive fences and cutting down trees and there were changes afoot to the course. These changes were not suited to those of us rocking one gear as there was a lot more flat 4wd track in the second lap. In fact the second lap was predominantly 4wd track and it wasn’t really much fun. The course was also longer so it’s difficult to compare times.

Despite this I really enjoyed the race, my legs feel good and I had fun on the slippy wet singletrack. My strategy from last week let me down somewhat with the addition of more flat 4wd track and I wasn’t able to catch up with people in the last lap at all. However I did have company throughout these boring flat sections and it was most welcome. Firstly, because riding with someone else made me push harder, and secondly, because my companion was most amusing. Being a gentleman I insisted he finish before me as I was mentally prepared for the DFL (Dead Freakin Last) I received.
I was quite happy with it for a number of reasons.

Why last doesn’t hurt
Reason 1.
It is expected. Last night was the coldest night we’ve had so far and often the colder nights are the ones that whittle out the slower riders. There were about 20 less people there last night and some of those would be from my end of the field. Also with the change to the course I knew I would be fighting a loosing battle. Much like during the Hammerhead race, having a realistic expectation of getting last serves to blunten the trauma that may otherwise be felt.

Reason 2.
The race was successful in other ways. Last night I felt really strong throughout the race, and even better, I was able to push harder for longer when riding with my companion. I conquered nasty pinch climbs stronger, ran up Tip Hill faster, helped someone whose lights had failed and felt like I had definitely improved over the week. I finished the race exhausted and muddy and grinning.

Reason 3.
Fear of getting last can keep you off your bike. Last year, when I was fitter, I was terrified of getting last. It seemed like the worse thing in the world. This year I know I’m slower and that there’s a risk I’ll get last. If I let getting last be something I must avoid at all costs I’ll have to stop racing. I don’t want to stop racing. I find it one of the most enjoyable, satisfying, motivational and challenging things I do. Someone has to get last at every race and if that person is me occasionally I don’t mind.

Reason 4.
You stay warmer. On cold nights being the last one in means you don’t have to wait around for the prize giving. It’s sometimes underway when you get there. You stay warm from your efforts and then its time to go home with your bacon sandwich and dry change of clothes.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I’ll always be satisfied with last. In a couple of month’s time I hope to be getting back towards being fit again and then I’ll be expecting to avoid getting last like you avoid ebola (I was going to say swine flu, but apparently some people don’t want to avoid that). For now though I can read the situation well. On warmer nights when there are more people racing I don’t expect to get last, when there’s more singletrack and less 4wd track I don’t expect to get last and when there’s a new course I don’t expect to get last (I’m gifted with track brain). Next week I’ll see what the race gods throw before me and adjust my expectations accordingly and then I’ll ride my bike as hard as I can and be happy to be out doing something I love with a huge group crazies who like racing around in the dark.

Am I Bendy?

No, not really. Cycling tends to bring about a certain level of inflexibility in the pelvis regions. This being the case I was keen to sign up when my work introduced a yoga class one lunchtime a week. Fortuitously, this class falls on the Thursday so I get to do it when I’m nicely zombied out from racing the previous night. I was quite apprehensive about this for the first class, as I shuffled in bleary eyed and aching from the exertions of the night before. The class quickly filled up and I soon discovered that being tired was the least of the things I had to worry about. Doing yoga with your colleagues can be a slightly uncomfortable experience initially. For me there are 3 primary sources of discomfort.

What to wear
Obviously my business suits and high heels aren’t the best for yoga so some form of gym attire is more suited. However I generally like to wear quite baggy tops to the gym. Our yoga class spends quite a bit of time in that ever-favourite pose Downward Dog:
As you can see from the picture an overly loose t-shirt worn by an unwary student could easily result in all sorts of hilarious garment slipping action. Really loose clothes, nope, not for this one!

Face to butt proximity
This is the big one, so to speak. It turns out there are quite a few budding yogis at my work and the class is very popular. This means the our mats are usually quite close together. This is fine for poses like downward dog and other forward facing poses. You’re too busy concentrating on not collapsing, exploding, falling over and keeping breathing to notice what someone a couple of feet in front of you is doing. However not all of the poses face the front, some of them we face the side, and when we face the side the person in front of you is only a foot away at best. And when you are doing a Wide-legged forward bend this does not seem like enough room:
There’s a helpful animation of this pose if you click the picture. Now imagine you are leaning forward and the person in front of you is doing the same thing, a foot away. You face will not touch their butt, but it will be uncomfortable close. Luckily we haven’t had to do that pose much.

Snoring in class
While unlikely, this is quite possible, given that I’m attending the classes in an already stupefied state. After all the exertion and twisting and bending and breathing and stretching of the class we always finish in Savasana, or Corpse Pose:
It is one of my favourites. The problem is it is very very relaxing, and we “hold” it for what seems like a long time. And the longer we hold it, the greater the danger that I’ll just dose off for a second. I can’t even imagine how horrifically embarrassing it would be if I did drop off and some sort of snoring noise escaped. Actually I can imagine, and I don’t want to have to resign my job so I best not fall asleep and start snoring in class.

So those are the three potential perils of yoga, however the benefits are fantastic. I always feel 100% better after class and even though it hurts my arm it also strengthens and straightens it. Our teacher is a gorgeous tiny creature called Katie who is great and makes the class fun, there’s no problem if you can’t hold a pose or bend just so. I’ve been enjoying her classes so much I’m going to start doing another one and I’ve put a link to her website in my sidebar. So while I may not be very bendy yet, I will be soon.

Singlespeed to the rescue, with a little help from Iggy

This is not a face to inspire cycling:

Unless it’s biking away from it as fast as possible. And these lyrics are perhaps not the most cycling friendly lyrics either:
I am the passenger
And I ride and I ride
I ride through the city’s backside
I see the stars come out of the sky
Yeah, they’re bright in a hollow sky
You know it looks so good tonight
I am the passenger
I stay under glass
I look through my window so bright
I see the stars come out tonight
I see the bright and hollow sky
Over the city’s a rip in the sky
And everything looks good tonight
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la

So when this was the last song I heard before pulling into the car park at Bottlelake I wasn’t feeling very inspired to race. Given that my last 2 races were utter misery and subsequent rides around the sand puddle haven’t been significantly better I wasn’t holding out great hopes for a triumphant comeback this week.
I did have a new plan though. The bouncy bike has been horrible so I brought the SS Betty in the hope that being forced to go a constant speed would be better than the pitiful gear dropping efforts of previous evenings. Betty was ready for action with a lovely new color coordinated, and, more importantly, super cheap chain for her duties in the sand.

After signing up and meeting up with others of a like mind I noticed the TVNZ One news van. Fantastic! I always look my best while cycling and with a ghetto light strapped to my head. Oh well, it was dark and even though I did manage to be in the front row for the race briefing I’m hoping not to appear on the news in any way shape or form, unless it’s a shot of my wheels and ankles “zooming” past.

As usual I stationed myself at the rear of the field for the start, there’s no point in being run over. After blowing up at the start in the previous race I resolved to just go at my own pace from the start and soon I was at the back of the field, but not dropping away from those in front of me. I managed to keep up with these other tail-enders along the 4wd track and catch up through the singletrack, but was slightly thwarted by tip hill where I got halfway up and couldn’t get round them and ended up running up the hill. Urgh, I loathe running, especially with my bike, but it wasn’t for long and soon I was flying down the other side. The sand up the dunes got me again, but as I whizzed along into the headwind on the track I realised that I was actually whizzing along and I didn’t feel like dying. In fact, I felt fantastic! At this point The Passenger by Iggy Pop entered my head as I thought it would. His morose voice became my internal monologue, but fortunately I could only remember a few words, so what was going through my head was:
I am a passenger, and I ride and I ride,
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la

This, it turns out, is a fantastic riding refrain. I kicked the tempo of the tune up to match my spinning legs and it was fantastic. I was flying through the singletrack before I knew it, loving every second. And then something amazing happened. I passed someone! And then another, and then two more! This was fantastic. I reached the cross-over and the cones were still out and I didn’t have to wait. Through the rough track past the logging was awful leg sapping, bumpy yuckiness, but then I was out on the singletrack again and catching and passing another person. Tip hill was never going to happen the second time round, but as I ran up it I noticed that I was going faster than I had riding my geared bike so life was good.

By now I knew I was heading for a greatly improved time and I pushed a bit harder along the beach and the 4wd track. Through the singletrack again and I passed one more person and then I was out and actually sprinting for the finish. It was good and when I looked at my speedo I realised I’d gone 10 minutes faster than the last race. Fantastic! Obviously I haven’t got 10 minutes faster in the last couple of weeks, although it would be brilliant if I had. Betty is made for this race, even though she’s ghetto and cheap. Being on a hardtail makes keeping the speed up so much easier and having these extra 4 pairs of wings helps too:

Today, I’m destroyed, which is great. I gave it everything last night and for the first time since my break it felt really good. I really felt like I was racing and I will be back for more for the next 4 weeks, even though the horrid course isn’t being changed. I love my singlespeed.
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la

Hi, my name is Oscar and I’ll be your grouch today

It’s 8am on Saturday morning and I’m still asleep. Mmmmmm sleep, how I love you at the moment, I wish I could have more of you all the time. The significance of me being asleep at 8am is the previous night I’d agreed that 9:30am would be a good time to go riding up Rapaki and had asked my lovely hubby to wake me at 8am to ensure I had plenty of time to wake up and get ready. Unfortunately he was unable to keep track of the time once he got up and the next thing I know I’m being abruptly awakened by my phone announcing it has a text for me. Sometimes I truly regret my Invader Zim ringtones.

Through bleary eyes and with fog filled headed I eventually regain control of my limbs enough to press the necessary buttons to read the text and discover, to my disgust, that it’s a beautiful sunny day and 9:30am is the kick off for the ride, as I foolishly proposed the night before. I hate it when I’m the author of my own downfall. I flop out of bed and into the kitchen to remind my lovely husband to wake me at 8am. He is surprised and amused at his oversight, I am not. I am grumpy. Breakfast is quickly eaten and biking clothes are gathered in front of the heater. The many layers are donned and the search for a clean and dry headband commenced, in vain it turns out. No clean headbands, and sun glasses are MIA. I am grumpy.

My lovely husband attaches my bike to my car as penance for not waking me up while I fill my camel back with clean water, gather helmet, gloves, and shoes and then pile into the car. The call of my warm bed is still strong but I start the car and head off. I feel ever so slightly sorry for my riding companions, but it passes quickly because I’m grumpy. The spin round the road from scatter’s house is ok, but I’m feeling a little light-headed and am pining for my sunglasses. Up the seal on Rapaki Rd I manage to go quite woosey (the medical term) and ride into the gutter and almost fall off. Hmmmmm I am grumpy and a muppet. Guess which one!

After some emergency shoe-stuck-in-pedal-repairs for one of our small group at the gate and some bike swapping we’re off. I have no power at all. I will be riding slooooow. The sun is out, but we are completely shaded in the valley, but we’re also sheltered from the wind. Up we go and I go slow. But I go. It’s weird. I get in a zone where my legs just go round and round and while my heart isn’t racing, I can’t really talk, that may have more to done with grumpiness than exertion, and I am determined to just keep pedalling till I get to the top. We pop out of the shade at the track temporarily levels off and BAM! the wind kicks in. Typical.

The grind up the final section is unpleasant with a mixture of gusty cross winds and nasty head winds. I’m slightly less grumpy as the wind gives me something to think about other than how feeble my legs feel. I’m also glad for my heavy bike and frame as I’m not so susceptible to buffeting by the evil wind. At the top the wind is howling and freezing and another layer is quickly added before we set off up the road. The road ride is yucky and by the start of the traverse I’m very grumpy. We go straight into the Traverse and I’m nervous. This is my first ride back here since my break and this is the track I’ve crashed on the most, usually through the rocky section. My nerves block out the grumpiness and I flow along the track and smile. It’s good to be back. I completely stuff up the rocky section and have to walk it, but I don’t care. Along I go and it gets better and better. The surface is dry almost everywhere, and I’m loving it. The second half is even better and I’m grinning through the new bermed corners towards the end and we are at Vic Park.

Dun dun DUN!!!!

My first visit to the scene of the accident and I feel a bit sick looking at where I crashed. I do not ride Brake Free, but we make our way to the start of Sesame St and as I drop off the cattlestop I ask aloud “What am I doing?” I’m really nervous and completely nana it along the track and through the sweet corners. I stop and admire the wall ride and I long to ride it, but not when I’m this nervous. I get to the bottom full of adrenaline and stoked. Down Dazzas and my bung arm sort of collapses and I almost endo, I am grumpy and berate myself but make it down in one piece and happy. The 4wd track is rutty and wet and the drainage ditches are not fun. We come past Double Drop and I stop and look back at it and cannot believe I ever rode down it. Insane. On down the 4wd track and I get some air over the speed humps and I’m loving it and I know I want to shuttle again. Nothing else makes me feel this good when I’m this grumpy.I’m bloody tired when the ride is over and I’m still grumpy, but overlaid on top of that grumpiness is a thick juicy layer of happy. I love riding my bike, I love pushing my limits, I even like scaring myself trying hard stuff and I love riding with mates. They all seemed to survive relatively unscathed from their encounter with Oscar.

A triumph of sorts

Last night was the first night race back after the terrible DNF. I was determined to get to the end last night no matter what. The course was slightly changed as there’s lots of logging going on at the moment. This meant that the road sprint was on the 4wd track and then the sealed road. This was where I made my third mistake for the night. I was feeling very keen having had quite a few good training rides and feeling strong at the weekend. I was back on the squishy bike because I didn’t think I could handle the singlespeed yet. Off we went and I lost my mind. Instead of racing at my pace and pushing within my limits I let my keen legs get the better of me and tore down the sealed road, completely exploding my fufu valve. Fool. By the time I got to the landfill hill I was still struggling to regain composure and by the top of the hill I was spat out the back of the entire field. Stink.

Ah well, I thought, I’ll just get my heart rate and breathing under control and then push on to the end. This was easier said than done, but luckily the weather was nice and I wasn’t cold. My bouncy bike felt like it was absorbing all my feeble power on the little pinches and I was getting a bit grumpy. At the cross over the marshal kindly suggested I go straight to the finish line, but there was no way I was going to do that. I continued on my second lap, partially driven by anger, but mainly driven by stubbornness. I came across another racer who’d got lost and felt a bit better having someone behind me for a while. I pushed harder and struggled up that horrible hill a second time. At the top of the sand dunes I gave the rider directions to the finish and he slowly pulled away from me.

Feelings were mixed as I crossed the finish line. Yes, I’d finished this time, an improvement, at least on paper, over last time, but I felt I’d ridden worse. I didn’t really enjoy any part of the race this time, and hated the feeling of riding the squishy bike. Next time, I think there will be a next time, I’ll take the singlespeed, I’ll ride within my abilities at the start and I’ll try and enjoy it. The bonus about being last is your number is on top of the pile for spot prizes so the evening was a complete write-off. Bring on next week?

Edit: I've just seen the results and I wasn't last! Yay.

Hmmmm, it’s wet and cold outside, what should I do?

The obvious answer is of course, ride your bike! I managed to do this on both Saturday and Sunday, despite nasty sou-westerly winds whipping off Antarctica, constant drizzle or rain and generally freezing temperatures. You see the thing about riding in winter is that if you let the miserable conditions get the best of you there will be little or no bicycle riding fun. The key to winter riding is preparedness, and I’m not just talking about the correct attire (although this is probably the most important aspect). I’ve already regaled you with my cold weather commuting attire for frosty mornings (thanks Ground Effect). My “disgusting, wet, windy, cold” riding gear isn’t too different. I’ll start from the bottom up and keep it brief, thick knee high merino socks, under leg warms under either lycra shorts with my downhill (water resistant) shorts or my GE baggies. Both these options give you 3 layers of coverage on the thighs which is most welcome in the wet and cold. Bottom half sorted, top half can be a bit trickier depending on the riding you are doing. Saturday we headed to Bottlelake – land of uber puddles, for a high intensity singlespeed blast. I knew I’d be working hard and sheltered by the trees most of the time so I went for a long sleeved merino only under my She Shell with pit zips fully opened (and the water resistant downhill short combo). This worked perfectly.

It was fairly wet, some showers interspersed with lovely Scottish mist (drizzle for those not of Celtic heritage) and the puddles were wide and in some cases much deeper than expected (crikey, my hubs seem to be under water!). We took off through the trees and headed towards the beach and on the way there I achieved a goal I’d set myself last weekend. I got all the way up the tip hill on my singlespeed. Yes. My first attempt a month ago saw me get a feeble third of the way up and last weekend I struggled three quarters of the way up. I was determined to conquer it on Saturday and managed to with much explosions of lungs and hauling on handle bars. It certainly wasn’t pretty, but I was happy once all the shiny stars went away. The rest of the ride was a hammerfest and by the end we were back in the carpark buggered and wet. My feet and lower legs were soaked most of the ride, but my feet didn’t get cold at all.

This is the point in the ride where the extra preparations are important. Always take dry socks and shoes, or in my case woolly slippers, when you know you’ll be driving home with wet feet. Also a layer of dry wool will be greatly appreciated and your upholstery will thank you for the provision of a towel. I myself carry a very lovely Singapore Airlines purple and blue tartan knee rug which is great for wrapping around cold legs and keeping mud off the seats.
On Saturday I was very happy to discover that once I removed my lovely Loeka shorts (as seen in this fabulous safety announcement) my bike shorts beneath were still dry. Another good idea is to start your car and crank the heater right up as soon as you arrive so that once you’ve loaded your bike, divested yourself of the wet, muddy clothes and applied dry warm clothes you can leap into a toasty vehicle and turn the demister on. Finally I discovered that leaving one’s spouse at home by the fire has the great benefit of being able to walk into a toasty warm house upon you’re arrival. These are the things that make winter riding bearable.

Sunday was a slightly different kettle of fish. I actually wasn’t at all keen for a ride, the weather was worse and I was snuggled up on the couch when I received an “encouraging” text for a ride up Kennedy’s. Brrrrrrr. Oh well, I’ve always been a sucker for a bit of peer pressure. This ride would require more attention to detail for the top half of my body. The usual winter attire for the bottom half would be fine. The Kennedy’s ride would be exposed to the wind, however much of it would be climbing so it is more difficult to work out the optimal layering. I went for sleeveless but hi-necked merino under my GE long sleeved Starfish and topped off by the fantastic She-Shell. I also threw a long sleeved merino in my backpack just in case. The climb up the road was fantastic (who would have thought) and I was the perfect temperature by the time I got to the base of the 4wd track. This would have set me up well for the climb in the wind except I had to wait for the other mad buggers I was riding with and got ever so slightly chilled in the 15 minutes between my arrival and theirs. Up on the hill things got worse for me pretty quickly. The wind was howling into our faces as we climbed the wet paddock and my legs were complaining that I’d already hammered them the day before. Up the 4wd track and the little stream that had babbled to me on Thursday was bigger and more talkative and line selection was the key to keeping traction. We crested the rise and dropped down a bit into the lee of the windbreak and could actually talk. It was nasty, but there were other mad people out on the hill. We continued down and at the bottom met a lake at the stile and the wind returned. I was feeling pretty cold now and my legs were pretty much toast, but pig-headedness drove me on and up the next climb. It was bad. I was right in that black place you go when all you can do is turn your legs and keep your weight in the right place to keep going up. The wind was sucking the energy right out of me and my breath was coming in huge wheezing gasps. Not a pretty sight. Finally we made it to where it levelled off and I knew I was completely toasted. I really couldn’t go up into that wind anymore so I was extremely grateful when scatter gave me a get out of jail free card and I could bail. It felt sucky leaving everyone else on the hill to go up, but they are all significantly fitter than I am and I’d pushed all I could.

It was then I made my big mistake for the day. If I hadn’t been so tired and focussed on getting down the hill I would have taken the time to quickly add my extra layer of wool under my jacket and zip up my pit-zips. But I didn’t and I froze on the descent in the howling wind. Having said that it was still pretty fun sliding down the hill in the mud. I was soon coated from head to foot in mud and at times had some difficulty seeing. I struggled lifting my bike over the fence in the wind and then remembered to zip up those pit zips. That helped a bit and I got a bit of warmth back climbing back up the 4wd, but then down the other side it was exposed and cold and I went down pretty slow as I just couldn’t keep the mud out of my eyes. The fast trip down the road left me struggling to get my legs moving at the bottom, but did clean most of the mud off my face as sheets of water sprayed into my eyes. Yuck. I got home in a bit of a state, but managed to take the time to clean my mud coated bike and apply lashings of lube to my freshly cleaned chain. All the while my lovely husband ran me a bath and then helped me remove my mud crusted layers as my hands and brain weren’t really talking to each other. After a soak I returned to semi-human but was completely wasted energy wise.

So the lessons I learnt from the ride were:
i Don’t arrive first and have to wait in the cold
ii If you’re body is telling you something, listen to it
iii Always add another layer before descending in the cold

Both were great rides and I’m really glad I got out and did them. Hopefully both will pay dividends on Wednesday for the night race.

The Fabulous Stolen Ride

Note: I know I’ve blogged already today, but the ride I’ve just been on was so good I have to tell its story.

“Ride it like it’s stolen” is a phrase you see in biking magazines and forums every now and then. It refers to the idea that you love a bike so much that you ride it hard, fast and to the limit of your ability. Tonight I discovered it can apply to actual riding as well. Yes, you can steal a ride. A stolen ride is one that you don’t expect to have, one that seems impossible till it happens, one that you really want, but you think isn’t going to come. My plan for this afternoon to this evening was work, osteo, supermarket, dinner, wind trainer, blob on couch. My reality was so much better.

On the way back from osteo, the pain in my glut from some intense electrified acupuncture still fresh, the sun was shining brightly, not a cloud in the sky and hardly a breath of wind. It was just after 4pm and it dawned on me that I could get in a ride if I left as soon as I got home. There’s a few things that can help you steal a ride. An understanding spouse who’s willing to pick up the slack your ride creates is one. Having all your gear ready to go is another. It turns out that dumping helmets, gloves, camelbacks and shoes by the door to trip the unwary is actually a cunning idea to facilitate the quick change necessary for the stolen ride.

Out on the road with lights quickly transferred to my bouncy bike and I was off, heading to Kennedy’s Bush track for a quick ride in the sinking sun. At the base of the hill a quick stop to take my jacket off for the spin up the hill. Riding up the road on the mountain bike is often a painful and depressing experience, but not tonight. Even climbing the road was pure pleasure as I thought of the hour on the trainer I could be doing instead. My breath coming fast as I reached the top I was glad the gate wasn’t locked and I could open the gate to put my bike through. The sun sunk behind the Southern Alps sending rays of blazing orange and vivid pink streaking across the sky. Ominous grey clouds roll in. Up the wet and slippy sheep track, a cold breeze chilling muscles and tearing at lungs, the peace and beauty of the evening scene makes the pain fade away. A brief pause to snap a no mega-pixels shot of the city and sunset and then up the 4wd track. Foggy wisps of breath snatched away on the breeze show the cold. The line to the left is a flowing steam, burbling audibly as I climb. The right is comparatively dry and traction is good and I climb up, enjoying the solitude. As the track flattens out the whole track is a quagmire and mud flicks up onto my legs.

Should I ride the singletrack down? It will be wet, really wet, but it will be fun. I take the plunge and am immediately rewarded with a soaked foot. The track is pretty good and the sheep and cows scatter as I flow past. The final downhill part is super slick and running with water so I fly over the grass and come to a halt in a small lake at the bottom. Continue up or the short climb to head home? Darkness is descending fast and the cold is seeping into my muscles and bones, it’s time to head home. Spinning up the 4wd the mud flicks but I have good traction. My legs are warm and work well and on the crest I stop to put my jacket back on. The view is like a sparkling gem made harsh by the freezing wind. Further up there is snow, but I’m not going there tonight.

Down the hill I fly, gently feathering the brakes, picking lines and careful in the wet. The cold air bites deep into my cheeks and I try not to grin, I don’t want mud in my teeth. Round the corner and down the last stretch of track and the earth opens up before me. The track is rent open and deep ruts on all sides beckon my wheels. It’s the icing on the cake navigating this Worselyesque section of track. And then I blast down the road, freezing as I speed down at full speed. I’m grinning and happy and once on the flat I push my legs hard to warm them and then I’m home, muddy, chilled and huddling over the fire. This ride has been exquisite, an hour stolen unexpectedly, in the midst of a frigid and bleak wintery week.