#without a gilet in sight

[too-antigonish]

It's Saturday and the weather is beautiful.

Let's go punting...

The water is beautiful, is it not?

[photos: endeavourneverland 2017]

[jam3sacaster]

I don’t believe in God, but I believe that you’re my saviour PT. 2

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Unbeknownst to Rupert, you are in serious trouble…

Title derived from Sailor Song by Gigi Perez.

18+ FANFIC / Protective, soft Rupert, all the good stuff. Reader character aged at 21. Injury mentions. Featuring Bas! Read Part 1 here. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

Streams of canary yellow begonias & flamingo pink carnations lined the fading oak stables, the rising sun washing a peaceful glow over Penscombe Court. With knee-high leather riding boots protecting your feet, you pulled open the stable door and almost jumped out of your skin at the sight of an olive-skinned, dapper man, tinted shades hiding his eyes and wrapped tightly in a khaki gilet. “Good morning, babe. Didn’t frighten you, did I? Awfully sorry. Rupert said I could keep Bessie here.” Basil Baddingham beamed, blessing you with a glimpse of his dazzling pearly whites. Bessie was an Arabian horse — regal & imposing, with a striking chestnut colour and an ink black mane. “She’s so gorgeous.” You purr, running your hand over the top of Bessie’s head. “You can ride her if you want.” Bas winked towards you, surveying the apprehensive expression washed across your face. There was something so awfully compelling about Basil that meant you struggled to oppose him.

Less than twenty minutes later, you were bounding across the extensive fields of Penscombe Court, chilled wind rippling through your golden hair — exhilarated and elated. Bas rode alongside you, the smaller horse he was riding struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of Bessie. “Oh come on, Bas! Scared to race me?” You roared as you careered down the bank. Basil chuckled to himself as he patted his horse, urging it to catch up. Before it had chance, Bessie neighed thunderously, subsequently followed by a blood-curdling scream. “Hurry, boy, go!” Basil howled, patting his horse and steadying himself as they bolted down the embankment, and he jumped from the horse’s back before it had time to cease its speed. The scene that greeted him was one of inconceivable horror that he would never forget. You were sprawled across the ground, nose bloodied, arm bent in an anomalous manner & breathing shallow. “Dear God, Rupert is going to fucking kill me.” He groaned under his breath, darting over to you and kneeling at your side.

“God, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.” Basil panted, reaching out to stroke your muddied face but hesitatingly pulling away. Basil was right, Rupert was going to go ballistic, to say the least, but he had to be told. Pulling his bulky telephone from his gilet pocket, he prodded in Rupert’s number with trembling digits. It was ringing for a painstaking length of time, before Rupert answered, half-way through a chuckle. “Hello? Bas, what’s wrong?” Rupert answered, trying to make coherence from Basil’s distressed ramblings.

-

Dressed only in an unbuttoned, unironed white shirt, beige trousers and black wellington’s, Rupert hurtled from the majestic doors of Penscombe Court, thick mud flying from beneath his feet. He had never sprinted so fast in his life. Sprinting down the bank, he gasped — dumbfounded and horrified at your utterly mangled state. “Angel!” He almost whimpered, sinking into the mud beside you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I-“ Basil began, stood yards away with his hand clamped over his open mouth. The look in Rupert’s eyes was one of unbridled rage. Throwing himself to his feet, he stormed over to Basil, lifting him from the ground with fistfuls of his shirt. “What the fuck were you doing?” He spat, but Basil could only splutter and gasp in a stupor. “Taking her out riding, without asking me, when you knew I wanted to? And, worse so, not fucking looking after her!” Rupert continued to roar, fury bubbling through his veins like a steaming kettle reaching boiling point. Basil’s head was hung lowly in shame, unable to provide reasonable explanation. “I’m SORRY, Rupert. I didn’t know!” Was all he could muster. Before long, Rupert was unreservedly apoplectic, howling obstreperously to his Robin, his helicopter pilot — he needed him there immediately.

Comprehending the desperate urgency in Rupert’s voice, Robin complied — the silk black helicopter whirring above, wind projecting from the blades strongly enough to almost knock Basil onto his back.

-

Opening your eyes was difficult, lids heavy with sleep and your head spinning drowsily. After a few moments and through narrowed vision, you took a moment to survey the surrounding scene. Tucked firmly into bed, your typically flawless golden hair was tied behind you, matted and coated in dried blood. “Good morning, angel.” Rupert whispered, leaning over from his wooden seat at your bedside and kissed your lips gently. “Hello, my love.” You groaned groggily, eyes opening wider. Your hands had numerous cannulas and monitors plunged into them, but the room was secluded and clad in orange velvet. “Where on Earth am I?” You questioned, confused panic rising through your voice.

“You’re in the best place for you. Cost a pretty penny, but I can’t deny that you’re worth it.” Rupert joked, smiling in a gentle, solemn way that you had never seen before. “But why?” You interrogated again, winching sharply as you sat up. “Fucking Bas took you riding. Bessie must��ve got frightened, and bucked you off. Pretty nasty, utterly terrifying to watch. You handled it very elegantly though, I hear.” He informed you, reaching beside him and brandishing quite possibly the most adorable teddy bear you had ever seen, and an enormous box of chocolates. “Oh, I love him!” You beamed, your usual sunshine tone filtering back into your voice.

“Now don’t scare me like that again. We have many more years to drink and fuck away together, I can’t have you falling off horses constantly.” Rupert joked riskily, but was wholeheartedly relieved when you grinned back. “Oh, stop it, Rupert. I love you.” You mumbled, eyes closing and drifting softly back to sleep. “I love you too, angel.” He replied, gently kissing your soft forehead again.

[haequarius]

ribbon

pairing: Yuta x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 1k

warnings: dom!yuta, bondage, choking, praising, slight degradation, blowjob, slight mention of blood 

summary: yuta getting off work pretty upset

-

The doorbell rings and you go straight to the door, like a puppy who’s happy when its owner comes back home. When you open the door you don’t even look at him, throwing your arms at Yuta to hug him with a happy smile on your face.

“Welcome back! How was your day?”

You don’t expect to see Yuta’s expression like that. His eyes are darker than you remember; his gaze so cold and distant like he’s gonna kill someone or something. You step back and let your arms fall down away from his chest. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset, I-“ you don’t get to finish. 

Yuta steps forward towering you, he closes the door without looking behind him. He walks slowly, looking down at you like an animal watches its prey. You back off completely scared and turned on at the same time. You didn’t pay attention to Yuta’s outfit before; he’s wearing leather black pants and a thin black gilet which exposes his veiny arms. As you look down on him you gasp at the sight of Yuta’s crotch, hard in his tight pants. 

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?” he grins. 

You fall down on the couch behind you, eyes wide open and hands almost trembling. You know what Yuta’s gaze means. You’re fucked. Well, you’re gonna be soon. Harder than ever.

“N-nothing”

He leans forward grabbing the leather of the couch with his hand, so tight you gulp hearing the sound of the leather suffocated by his hand. 

“I don’t think so, darling. I had a long day, you know, a tiring long day. Practice sucked today. You don’t wanna upset me more, right?”

He’s so close you can smell his breath, you shiver under his dark gaze. You nod. 

“Speak” he says roughly. His voice is so deep you gulp again. 

“I don’t”

“Then why were you looking at my cock?” he whispers.

You tighten your thighs looking down at your hands resting on your lap. 

“I want to suck it” your voice so soft you can’t even hear yourself.

“Louder” he barks.

“I want to suck it” You want to please him so bad, you’re going to obey at anything Yuta tells you to do. 

He smirks. “Alright babe, stand up”

Yuta steps behind and lets you stand. Then he falls heavily on the couch spreading his legs. He looks at you grinning. “Fall on your knees for me”. 

You do. You literally fall on your knees for the man you love, the man you’d do anything for. 

“Good. Now untie the ribbon around my neck” 

You crawl on your knees until you’re right between Yuta’s legs. With trembling hands you untie the black ribbon from the boy’s neck, you don’t dare to look up. You already know how dark his eyes are, how sharp his jaw is when he grins, how bright his black hair is under the light of the moon. 

You slip away the ribbon making it scrape against Yuta’s skin, and the second you lift your gaze he grabs your chin crashing your lips together. Yuta kisses you devouring your lips. You let his tongue explore your mouth for the millionth time, moaning when he bites your lower lip. When he leans his back again on the couch he giggles, wiping off a trace of blood from your lower lip.  

“You like it rough baby, like I do. That’s why I like you” he grabs your neck with a tight grip. You let your head fall down, grasping for air. You’re wet at the only thought of being suffocated by Yuta’s hand. 

“Touch me and grab my cock” 

He softens his grip while you touch him through the leather pants. You know what he likes, how to tease his spots. You know how he likes to be clenched around your hand. 

“Yes, tighter” 

You have to hold back your moans seeing him gulping and grasping for air. “You’re so hard” you murmur. 

He smiles in satisfaction. “Wrap the ribbon around my head and cover my eyes. I wanna see how good you can make me feel without even looking”

You lift up to do as you were told but he blocks you. He grabs your neck and squishes so tight you can’t breathe. “Y-Yuta”

“Did I told you to stop touching me? I don’t think so” 

You grab again his cock through his pants, rubbing it with your thumb. 

He nods. “Just like this”

When he leaves your neck you grasp for air. You make a knot with one hand and your teeth to keep your right hand on Yuta’s crotch. He watches you and giggles; he has fire in his eyes. 

You lean on to put the ribbon around Yuta’s head, making sure to cover his eyes. “Good girl. Now grab my cock and suck it until your eyes are tearing. It’s you who wanted this, right?”

You breathe heavily dying to touch yourself and to suck Yuta’s dick off. “Yes”, you free Yuta’s hard cock and start to suck it off. 

Yuta growls pressing your head on his cock, trying not to fuck your mouth. You look up at him already tearing up. He tilts his head back on the couch with his mouth open and the dark thick ribbon covering his eyes. He licks his mouth praising you while moaning. “You’re such a good little slut, making me feel so good” you moan around him making his cock twitch.  

“Oh yes” he grabs your neck lightly, making circles on your skin with his thumb. 

You lick the head of his cock as he’s almost done. When you grab the base rubbing it while sucking on the top, he comes in your mouth, liquid spilling from your lips.  

“Drink it all, babe. Clean everything, and when you’re done” he leans forward, his covered eyes a few centimeters from your tearing ones. He touches your core making you moan. “I’ll make cum this wet pussy”. 

[newsnigeria]

Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/behind-hong-kongs-black-terror/

Behind Hong Kong’s black terror

By Pepe Escobar – Hong Kong : Posted with permission

“If we burn, you burn with us.” “Self-destruct together.” (Lam chao.)

The new slogans of Hong Kong’s black bloc – a mob on a rampage connected to the black shirt protestors – made their first appearance on a rainy Sunday afternoon, scrawled on walls in Kowloon.

Decoding the slogans is essential to understand the mindless street violence that was unleashed even before the anti-mask law passed by the government of the Special Administrative Region (SAR) went into effect at midnight on Friday, October 4.

By the way, the anti-mask law is the sort of measure that was authorized by the 1922 British colonial Emergency Regulations Ordnance, which granted the city government the authority to “make any regulations whatsoever which he [or she] may consider desirable in the public interest” in case of “emergency or public danger”.

Perhaps the Honorable Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the US House of Representatives, was unaware of this fine lineage when she commented that the law “only intensifies concern over freedom of expression.” And it is probably safe to assume that neither she nor other virulent opponents of the law know that a very similar anti-mask law was enacted in Canada on June 19, 2013.

More likely to be informed is Hong Kong garment and media tycoon Jimmy Lai, billionaire publisher of the pro-democracy Apple Daily, the city’s Chinese Communist Party critic-in-chief and highly visible interlocutor of official Washington, DC, notables such as US Vice President Mike Pence, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, and ex-National Security Council head John Bolton.

On September 6, before the onset of the deranged vandalism and violence that have defined Hong Kong “pro-democracy protests” over the past several weeks, Lai spoke with Bloomberg TV’s Stephen Engle from his Kowloon home.

He pronounced himself convinced that – if protests turned violent China would have no choice but to send People’s Armed Police units from Shenzen into Hong Kong to put down unrest.

“That,” he said on Bloomberg TV, “will be a repeat of the Tiananmen Square massacre and that will bring in the whole world against China….. Hong Kong will be done, and … China will be done, too.”

Still, before the violence broke out, hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong people had gathered in peaceful protests in June, illustrating the depth of feeling that exists in Hong Kong. These are the working-class Hongkongers that Lai supports through the pages of Apple Daily.

But the situation has changed dramatically from the early summer of non-violent demonstrations. The black blocs see such intervention as the only way to accomplish their goal.

For the black blocs, the burning is all about them – not Hong Kong, the city and its hard-working people. Those are all subjected to the will of this fringe minority that, according to the understaffed and overstretched Hong Kong police force, numbers 12,000 people at the most.

Cognitive rigidity is a euphemism when applied to mob rule, which is essentially a religious cult. Even attempting the rudiments of a civilized discussion with these people is hopeless. The supremely incompetent, paralyzed Hong Kong government at least managed to define them precisely as “rioters” who have plunged one of the wealthiest and so far safest cities on the planet “into fear and chaos” and committed “atrocities” that are “far beyond the bottom line of any civilized society.”

“Revolution in Hong Kong”, the previous preferred slogan, at face value a utopian millennial cause, has been in effect drowned by the heroic vandalizing of metro stations, i.e., the public commons; throwing petrol bombs at police officers; and beating up citizens who don’t follow the script. To follow these gangs running amok, live, in Central and Kowloon, and also on RTHK, which broadcasts the rampage in real-time, is a mind-numbing experience.

I’ve sketched before the basic profile of thousands of young protestors in the streets fully supported by a silent mass of teachers, lawyers, bewigged judges, civil servants and other liberal professionals who gloss over any outrageous act – as long as they are anti-government.

But the key question has to focus on the black blocs, their mob rule on rampage tactics, and who’s financing them. Very few people in Hong Kong are willing to discuss it openly. And as I’ve noted in conversations with informed members of the Hong Kong Football Club, businessmen, art collectors, and social media groups, very few people in Hong Kong – or across Asia for that matter – even know what black blocs are all about.

The black bloc matrix

Black blocs are not exactly a global movement; they are a tactic deployed by a group of protesters – even though intellectuals springing up from different European strands of anarchism mostly in Spain, Italy, France and Germany since the mid-19th century may also raise it from the level of a tactic to a strategy that is part of a larger movement.

The tactic is simple enough. You dress in black, with lots of padding, ski masks or balaclavas, sunglasses, and motorcycle helmets. As much as you protect yourself from police pepper spray and/or tear gas, you conceal your identity and melt into the crowd. You act as a block, usually a few dozen, sometimes a few hundred. You move fast, you search and destroy, then you disperse, regroup and attack again.

From the inception, throughout the 1980s, especially in Germany, this was a sort of anarchist-infused urban guerrilla tactic employed against the excesses of globalization and also against the rise of crypto-fascism.

Yet the global media explosion of black blocs only happened over a decade later, at the notorious Battle of Seattle in 1999, during the WTO ministerial conference, when the city was shut down. The WTO summit collapsed and a  state of emergency was in effect for nearly a week. Crucially, there were no casualties, even as black blocs made themselves known as part of a mass riot organized by radical anarchists.

The difference in Hong Kong is that black blocs have been instrumentalized for a blatantly search-and-destroy agenda. The debate is open on whether black bloc tactics, deployed randomly, only serve to legitimize the police state even more. What’s clear is that smashing a subway station used by average working people is absolutely irreconcilable with advancing a better, more responsible, local government.

My interlocutor shows up impeccably dressed for dim sum on Saturday at a deserted Victoria City outlet in CITIC tower, with a spectacular view of the harbor. He’s Shanghai aristocracy, the family having migrated to Hong Kong in 1949, and he’s a uniquely informed insider on all aspects of the Hong Kong-China-US triangle. Via mutual Chinese diaspora connections that hark back to the handover era, he agreed to talk on background. Let’s call him Mr. E.

In the aftermath of dark Friday, Mr. E is still appalled: “Not only you’re harming the people making their living in businesses, companies, shopping malls. You’re destroying subway stations. You’re destroying our streets. You’re destroying our hard-earned reputation as a safe, international business center. You’re destroying our economy.”

He cannot explain why there was not a single police officer in sight, for hours, as the rampage continued.

Cutting to the chase, Mr. E attributes the whole drama to a pathological hatred of China by a “significant majority” of Hong Kong’s population. Significantly, the day after our conversation, a small black bloc contingent circled around the PLA’s Kowloon East Barracks in Kowloon Tong in the early evening. Chinese soldiers in camouflage filmed them from the rooftop.

There’s no way black blocs would take their gas masks, steel rods and petrol bombs to fight the PLA. That’s an entirely new ball game compared with thrashing metro stations. And color-coded “revolution” manuals don’t teach you how to do it.

Mr. E points out there is nothing “leaderless” about the Hong Kong black blocs. Mob rule is strictly regimented. One of the black shirt slogans  – “Occupy, disrupt, disperse, repeat” – has in effect mutated into “Swarm, destroy, disperse, repeat.”

Mr. E asks me about black blocs in France. Western mainstream media, for months, have ignored solid, peaceful protests by the Gilets Jaunes/Yellow Vests across France, against corruption, inequality and the Macron administration’s neoliberal push to turn France into a start-up benefitting the 1%.

Charges that French intel has manipulated black blocs and inserted undercover agents and casseurs (persons vandalizing property, specifically during protests) to discredit and demonize the Yellow Vests are widespread. As I’ve witnessed in Paris first hand, the feared CRS have been absolutely ruthless in their RAND-conceptualized militarized operations in urban terrain – repression tactics – without excluding the odd beating up of elderly citizens.

In contrast, mob rule in Hong Kong is excused as protest against “totalitarian” China.

Most of the conversation with Mr. E centers on possible sources of financing for the initial nonviolent protest and, particularly, for the mob rule that the black blocs have brought in its place.

Motivation and opportunity will get you on the list, which is not terribly long – but is long enough to include names of people and organizations diametrically opposed to one another and thus unlikely to be working together.

Among governments, we can start with the still (if not, probably, for much longer) number one superpower. Trump administration officials, locked in a trade war with Beijing, would have no trouble imagining some advantage coming from a weakening of the People’s Republic’s rule over Hong Kong, and could perhaps see good in positively destabilizing China, starting with fomenting a violent revolution in the former British colony.

The United Kingdom, contemplating a lonely post-Brexit old age, could have pondered how nice it would be to get closer to its favorite former colony, still an island of Britishness in a less and less British world.

Taiwan, of course, would have had interest in provoking a test run of how One Country, Two Systems – the formula that the PRC and the UK used with Hong Kong in 1997 and that Beijing has offered to Taiwan, as well – might work out under stress. And after the stress of peaceful protest had exposed weak underpinnings, the temptation may well have arisen to go farther and make such a hash of Chinese-ruled Hong Kong that no Taiwanese would ever again fall for the merger propaganda.

The People’s Republic seems an unlikely protagonist for the initial, nonviolent phase, but there are plenty of Hong Kongers who believe it is now encouraging provocations that would justify a major crackdown. And we can’t completely rule out the possibility that a mainland CCP faction – opposed to the breach of recent tradition with which Xi Jinping extended his time in the presidency, say – is trying to discredit him.

OK, enough about governments. Now we need some on-the-ground agents, Chinese with plausible deniability who can blend in as they receive and disburse the necessary funding and handle organizational and training matters.

Here the possibilities are far too numerous to list, but one popular name would be Guo Wengui, aka Miles Kwok. The billionaire fell out with the CCP and, in 2014, fled to the United States to pursue a career as a long-distance political operative.

Even more popular would be name of Jimmy Lai, mentioned above. Confirming another of my key meetings, when Mr. E points to the usual funding suspects, the name of Jimmy Lai inevitably comes up. In fact, a US-Taiwan-Jimmy Lai combination may be number one on the hit parade when it comes to the common wisdom.

But when I tried that combination on for size I encountered problems. For one big thing, Jimmy Lai has made no effort to hide his aid to pro-democracy groups but in his public remarks has invariably encouraged nonviolent agendas.

As South China Morning Post columnist Alex Lo wrote not long ago, “What’s wrong with making massive donations to political parties and anti-government groups? Nothing! So I am puzzled by the media brouhaha over Apple Daily boss Jimmy Lai Chee-ying’s alleged donations worth more than HK$40 million to his pals in the pan-democratic camp over a two-year period.”

Let’s not give up so easily, though. I believe that some things are best hidden right out in the open in bright daylight.

Yes, Lai’s public voice happens to be Mark Simon, who worked for four years as a US naval intelligence analyst.

Yes, Lai has been good friends with neo-con guru Paul Wolfowitz since the latter became chairman of the US Taiwan Business Council in 2008, according to a Lai aide.

Wolfowitz served as deputy secretary of defense from 2001 to 2005 under Donald Rumsfeld, sort of by accident: He was supposed to become George W Bush’s head of CIA. But, alas, that didn’t work out because his wife got wind of an affair Paul, a member of the board of the National Endowment for Democracy (NED, had with a staffer, who was married at the time … and so it goes.

And, yes, according to Wikileaks documentation, in 2013 Lai paid US$75,000 to Wolfowitz for an introduction to Myanmar government bigwigs.

A document suggesting a transaction between Lai and Wolfowitz.Photo: Wikileaks via SCMP

But none of that really proves anything, does it now? Innocent until proven guilty. Colluding with arguably the most important US policy and intelligence operative of the past two decades, apparently yes – but can we establish active involvement by either the Pauls or the Jimmys of this world in black bloc provocations to achieve the bloody Chinese intervention that Lai forecast? Innocent until proven guilty.

This is going to take some further work. Back to the old drawing board with Asia Times.

There will be blowback

“We in Hong Kong are few in number. But we know that the world will never know genuine peace until the people of China are free.” – Wall Street Journal op-ed by Jimmy Lai,  Sept 30

As much as there have been frantic efforts by the usual suspects to obliterate them, the images of black bloc mob rule and rampage across Hong Kong are now imprinted all over the Global South, not to mention in the unconscious of hundreds of millions of Chinese netizens.

Even the black blocs’ invisible financial backers may have been stunned by the counter-productive effects of the rampage, to the point of essentially declaring victory and ordering a retreat. In any case, Jimmy Lai continues to blame the Hong Kong police for “excessive and brutal violence” and to demonize the “dictatorial, cold-blooded and violent beast.”

Yet there’s no guarantee the black terror mob will back down – especially with Hong Kong fire officials now alarmed by the proliferation of online instructions for making petrol bombs using lethal white phosphorous. Once again – remember al-Qaeda’s “freedom fighters” – history will teach us: Beware of the Frankenstein terrors you create.

[writinguphill]

TAKING ON TEIDE: Europe’s longest climb

Who’d have thought it? The Brit-abroad beauty Tenerife is home to the longest continuous climb in Europe - and with the reliable Canaries weather and barely a flat road in sight, it’s a bloody lovely place to get some winter training in. I headed out in March 2015 for 4 days of riding, all laddering up to the big fella on my last day. 

Going from sea level to 2200m in 35km, Teide (pronounced tay-ee-dee if you want to sound pro) is a beast. You don’t need to worry about any serious steepness, with gradients maxing out at about 16%, but you really do feel his mighty length.  

From the south of the island there are a number of approaches, all of which lead up to a small town halfway up the volcano called Vilaflor, then from there it’s just one road to the summit - so with a few days riding to do before I went all the way, I decided to test out the options to make sure I picked the best (AKA the easiest) climb.  

Mount Teide (90km, 3100m)

I opted for the TF-51 approach (32km, 2106m, 6% avg) for my full ascent. For me it was the most interesting (easiest), with epic switchbacks and proper little Canarian towns along the way. 

Setting out from Playa de las Americas, you start climbing immediately up the TF-665 at about 6%, then round the silky smooth TF-28. These two main roads out of town are busy, but they have plenty of width at the side for cyclists so it’s all rather pleasant. 

The TF-28 weaves and winds around the base of the volcano, with stunning views of the coast to your right. Then it’s a left turn at La Camella onto the TF-51, who is to be your only companion for the next hour or so. 

At about 10km, you arrive in Arona and swing a left onto a fairly testing long, straight 10% section. For some reason I found this the toughest part of the entire climb - perhaps a perfect storm of seeing what lay ahead and the realisation of just how long this fucker actually was. 

This was very much my vibe at the time, sure. But suck it up, because before you know it the sexy switchbacking begins, and any thoughts of sacking it all off for ice-cold Doradas by the pool quickly evaporate (/ever so slightly subside/don’t really ever go away). From here to La Escalona, the roads are lovely and it’s just generally a great time to be alive. 

After Escalona, the surface deteriorates for a ball-fizzing 8km up to the climb’s go-to coffee stop, Vilaflor, where you can fill up the bidons and enjoy a well-earned café con leche. And make sure you do, because from here to the top it’s just you, the gradient, and blissful peace of the TF-21. 

The road from Vilaflor to the summit is by far the best part of the climb. The smooth road winds up through trees and eventually cloud - and aside from the odd coach and descending cyclist, I didn’t see a soul. 

Even though the legs and lungs start to feel it at this point, I don’t recall any overly tough moments. Admittedly, I was going about 12km/h, but this wasn’t about speed for me - it was about getting to the top without passing out / shitting myself.

There are a number of incredible look-out points to stop and take in the views - but wanting to get to the top, I saved these for the way down. 

When you see this summit sign (apologies for the utterly shite photo) it’s a truly epic feeling - and at this point you have two options…

NOT RECOMMENDED: Continue down into the crater and up to the infamous Parador Hotel. I took this option, and regretted it. The road surfaces are rank, the wind and dust storms are grim, and other than volcanic landscape, there’s not a lot to see. You could say it’s all a bit Teideous. 

RECOMMENDED: Stop, take photos, and celebrate the fact that you’ve just completed Europe’s longest climb. 

The warm-up rides

Essentially if you’re staying on the south of the island, Vilaflor is where you want to aim for, and there are a number of different climbs to get to it. These were great rides for building up to the big one:

TF-21 (96km, 2875m) 

You’ll need a car or a lift for this route as it starts halfway up the island in Guimar - weaving and undulating its way back down to Granadilla de Abona, then up the stunning 12km TF-21 climb to Vilaflor, and back down to the beach via the mad-fast TF-563.

TF-563 and TF-21 (80km, 2584m)

After descending the 563 on day 1, I knew it’d be a tough climb - and it was. Still a great route to do, up to Vilaflor then back down the smooth, winding TF-28 to Granadilla. Then retrace your steps back to base. And beer. 

TF-51 and TF-565 (65km, 2080m)

I’ve spoken about the TF-51 above as it was my chosen road for full Tiede. Contrastingly, the TF-565 is the least interesting of the 4 climbs. All I remember is having to get out the saddle a lot to spare the bits from the rough roads. Still, worth doing to complete the set. 

Recommendations:

Tour + Bike hire

I booked the lot through Mollydoo. It was my first solo bike trip abroad, and they were incredibly helpful in building the perfect tour - sorting out accommodation, flights, transfers, bike hire and a day tour with Bike Point. If you don’t hire a car, this is worth doing to ride a different part of the island. 

Accommodation

Although the name makes it sound it should be staffed by Cbeebies presenters, the Paradise Park Fun Lifestyle Hotel is actually a top spot to stay. With a rooftop pool, plenty of beetroot on the buffet and amazing sports massages, it’s got everything you need for a great week of riding. 

Kit

Warm clothing for the top and descents. It’s chuffin’ cold on the way down and the roads are a bit bumpy, so I’d recommend full finger gloves if you can fit them in your jersey. I donned arm warmers, gilet and wind jacket for the Tiede descent, it was that cold. 

[fanficrocks]

can’t reblog this enough…

It's Saturday and the weather is beautiful.

Let's go punting...

The water is beautiful, is it not?

[photos: endeavourneverland 2017]