(Amateur) Home Mechanics

When it comes to spending money on servicing these days, I’m tighter than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm. Sure, I understand that bikes require maintenance and new parts now and again but I’m trying hard in these economically difficult times to save a bit of cash in the DKNWHY household and figure, “How hard can bike mechanics be?”

With a chain hanging limper than that bracelet on your Grandma’s wrist and a cassette where the teeth are as worn as the ones in her mouth, I needed to set to work.

Obviously, my first port of call was the internet. I typed in the word, “amateur, handy work, bike and video” into the search engine and well, what I got back would not have helped me in the slightest. You people out there in internet world are truly sick.
Anyway, I added Kleenex to my shopping list……

As the internet was no help, I ordered a copy of Zinn and the Art of Road Bike Maintenance instead along with a new cassette and chain.

When these arrived (after several days), I realised I needed some extra tools and so put in another order with Wiggle.

A few days later, I’ve got all the bits I need but I’ve put on some extra weight through not training and eating free sweets from Wiggle. It’s a shame that they don’t sell knuckle skin too as I lost a fair bit of this in removing the cassette.

I feel at this point I should also point out that this kind of work does involve a fair bit of dirt and grease so the best place to do it is in a garage or workshop and not in your living room or you could end up with grease on the carpet like I may have…..

So, after spending an hour cleaning grease off the carpet with the only thing I had to hand (Kleenex and Swarfega – which is slightly abrasive and not as lubricating as you’d expect), I set to work fitting my new chain and cassette. I then set to work taking the chain off again and shortening it to the correct length.

I was then in the position where I had something that resembled a bike and my next point of action was to test ride the little beauty. It rode like a bag of nails so I went to a local bike shop and was told that I needed a new front chain ring. So I bought one and took it home to fit myself as I’m becoming an expert at these things.

New chain ring fitted I went out for another test ride only for the left shifter to give up on me.

I went back to the bike shop where they kindly (for the bike) took the bike away from me and fitted a new one under warranty. I like to think of them as the bicycle equivalent of social services. They could see that the bike was mistreated and took it into care.

I’ve now got custody again and am a happy little soldier. I guess the moral of the story is that if you’re like me and contemplating home mechanics, do the right think and don’t bother. Your local bike shop is there for a reason. Deliver the bike to them and spend your time more wisely, like surfing the internet for videos……

Music to watch snow by……

Yes, it’s snowing people. Get over it.

If my fitness wasn’t bad enough at the moment, the weather gods have conspired against me to make the misery of riding outdoors in winter even worse.

“Get out on your mountain bike you wimp!”

I tried this last year and ended up with a massive slide on some black ice, resulting in a bruised ego and broken pump. It would seem that the only time ice agrees with me is when it’s in the bottom of a glass, smothered in alcohol.

So, what’s a man (or woman – I don’t want to be sexist here) to do? In a situation like this, I like to bring the bike indoors and set it up so that I can experience a painful, slow demise on a turbo trainer.

The Sufferfest brings about it’s own satisfaction to training indoors but sometimes it’s good just to put on some especially noisy tunes and mash those pedals like a full on retard.

What do I like to listen to when I’m getting my thing on? No, not that thing – I don’t think Barry White would inspire anyone to crank up the training a notch. He couldn’t even inspire himself to exercise so how’s he going to help me?
This week, I’ve gone a bit dirty, grimy and downright obscene with some dubstep. It seems to be getting me very dirty and aggravated.

Here’s a track list for you, courtesy of You Tube. Be sure to let me know what you’re into.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CR5AR6VksC4 – Under the sheets feat Ellie Goulding – Jackwob remix.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8TbZvy2msQ - Ain’t nobody

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af55mbl1cH4 Shut the lights off - Redman

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nymjfq2kXnI Silence – Delirium

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ND6WWlwBdcA I remember – Deadmau5

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEy3jk_KhKk Gorillaz – Feel Good Inc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkMJZKhVFFY In for the kill – let’s get ravey remix

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IC5Zl_TqvW0 Blinded by the lights - Nero Remix

Anti-Chaingang Training Report

The session started with a 5.30pm depart from work and a medium paced walk to the train station. I’d opted for a Ministry of Sound chillout session for the train journey which helped to lower my adrenaline levels. I was first to arrive at the pub so opted for a cider and settled into an easy chair to catch up on the life story of Mr Wiggins. So far, all I’ve learnt from the book is that he hates his father.
A friend arrived so I immediately finished my drink, notched up a gear and drafted him to the bar, coming around at the last minute to win the sprint and get another pint in. More friends arrived and we each took turns on the front at the bar until we all had a warm glow where the decision was made to get into a 5 man break and head to a local Caribbean restaurant for some sustenance to fend off the dreaded bonk. Ordinarily on an evening involving energy beers I’d welcome the bonk but I don’t think my other half would be too happy.
I’d opted for the curried goat which I was pleased to find came on a plate rather than loose in a musette bag. It was good and offered the fuelling I needed to get me through the night.
The break sat up and started to look at eachother when the final sprint for the bill arrived, hesitation everywhere. 2 of the guys produced an EPO bill doping card which got us 50% off the food bill and secured us the combined team win.
This training lark isn’t so bad after all. I’ll be puffing up the hills in no time.

A weekend away.....

Last week, I had the pleasure of going to a friend's wedding. Unfortunately, the hotel wasn't that great.
I wasn't going to complain but the hotel sent me a feedback form, so I decided to have some fun and completed it:

When I was a 7 year old boy, I went to the local funfair on a trip to Skegness with my family. It wasn’t often that I got to do this kind of thing as a kid and so as you’d imagine, I was rather excited about the whole thing.

We had a brilliant time, picking up plastic ducks with fishing canes, throwing balls at the coconut shy, even daring a go on the merry-go-round. Little did I know that my fun outing and the fond memories I should have enjoyed as an adult would be replaced by something much more sinister – The Waltzer.

Maybe I was naïve, maybe my mum shouldn’t have let me go on. What started as a fun ride soon turned to terror as the young gypsy span the cart faster and faster, despite my pleas for him to stop. That incident scarred me for life and so as one would assume, I have a general disliking for travellers as a whole.

You’re probably wondering where this little tale of woe is heading and are reaching for the “delete” button as you read but I felt it was important to provide you with some background information so that you can truly understand the nature of my anguish.

Like that 7 year old boy being treated to a trip to the funfair, my partner and I don’t often get the chance to ditch the kids and have a weekend away together. Don’t get me wrong, for £43 a night I wasn’t expecting the Ritz but all expectations went out of the window when we were greeted with the following statement from your reception:

“You may want to park your car down the road tonight as we’ve got a party in…..”

Brilliant we thought, we’re off to a wedding but maybe we could join in for a bit of a dance on our return.

“a party of travellers.”

Now, as welcome messages go, that had the diplomacy of the bomb on Hiroshima. Were we not due to be arriving at the wedding reception immediately, I would have thrown my luggage and, for their own safety, your staff, into the boot of the car for a quick getaway but alas, time was not on my side and so I had no option but to take my bag (minus any valuables) to my room.

On return to the hotel/site, just after midnight, I carefully managed to thread my car between the Transit vans and 4x4s that occupied your car park and took a deep breath before pushing my way through the throngs of white suits, plastic shoes and jauntily tilted headwear. Strict orders were given out to the rest of my party to, “avoid eye contact and don’t speak.”

Fortunately, the travellers were all too busy trying to out drink each other to care about us and the women of our group passed without suffering the indignity of any lewd comments, although that probably owes itself to the fact that they bare no relation to any of the travellers and so weren’t fair game.

I think your reception and bar staff had given up as the lobby was a ghost town. I imagine that they probably resigned to seek employment elsewhere in a less stressful environment such as a bomb disposal team. With the desk empty, we were left to help ourselves to our room keys before dodging the shirtless children and making our way to the relative safety of our rooms.

To be fair, the rooms were all clean and tidy, which I’m glad of as I refrained from getting dirty hands as I pushed the desk across the closed door behind us, barricading us from the marauding hordes. As you’d imagine, I got little sleep, no thanks to the constant noise in the corridors and loud party.

I was grateful in the morning that my car still owned a set of wheels so that we could make a swift exit as soon as possible.

Thank you for sending me your feedback form, I wasn’t going to bother notifying you of my woeful experience as I wasn’t planning on spending any time in one of your establishments again. I can’t believe your staff would be so ignorant as to allow a party of that size onto your premises at the detriment to other guests but then again I used to believe that Milli Vanilli sang their own records and we all know how that turned out.

The art of fighting without fighting......

"Don't do it Alberto, don't do it......."
The words have left my mouth before I can even stop them. I'm so engrossed in the moment that I can't control myself.
I'm on Alpe d'huez, i've just put in a massive effort to stay with the leading group and now that cocky little shit is going to ruin it just like Andy Schleck tried in Liege 20 minutes ago.
Ok, back to reality now. I'm in the living room, on the turbo, in front of the TV with a massive fan struggling to keep me cool as I give it my all to "Beat my ass today so I can kick theirs tomorrow." Welcome to the Sufferfest........
I used to struggle to motivate myself to train. I'd get on the turbo and don't really know what i'm doing so just whir my legs for 30 minutes and then get off. I might as well go running for the good an effort like that would do for my cycling.
What's the answer? That's the question I continually used to ask myself until I stumbled across an advert on a website offering me pain, misery and suffering in the name of sporting success. I wanted it. I wanted it bad.
It was the first step to a faster stronger ride. A simple click and a Paypal payment later, I was downloading Downward Spiral - the first in the line up of 4 releases from the Sufferfest.
That was almost 12 months ago now and here I am trying Angels, the latest offering from the suffer god.
So, what's it like? Brutal, painful and a little bit sadistic. Exactly what you need from a training video. I'm not pretending that training videos are as great as riding or racing on the road because nothing beats the adrenaline of a race but they do offer the next best thing when the weather or time are against you. These videos are only as good as the effort you put in though so be warned. If you want to mince about and not give it your best shot, you will get nowhere and won't benefit from the routine.
I like to give it my all until my nose runs, my thighs pack their bags to leave me and my lungs wish that I smoked so that I could submit them to less suffering. It's brilliant. I get lost in the moment and for an hour I believe that I am everything that is great in racing. When something hurts this much, it must be doing some good.
The efforts are well structured and do a great job of offering just the right amount of effort, making it hard but not impossible. A thumping soundtrack mixed with the recovery and exertion efforts really bring the whole experience to life.
I can't wait for the next installment from The Sufferfest. I'm hoping it's some sort of constant time trial effort with a thumping dub step soundtrack. That'll be nice. Sparticus could do with being brought down a peg or two and as for Wiggins, he should be quaking in his Bonts....

The Commute

I don’t have the luxury of cycling to work as it’s only a 7 minute walk (used to be less but my fitness has dropped remember). I have to find different ways to amuse myself on my journey into the office. One such way that doesn’t risk arrest is to make up names for the same people that I see daily.
I guess it’s a similar situation for everyone who starts work at the same time everyday, you get to share pavement with the same old folk day in, day out.
Everyone has certain character traits or oddities, most of the people I pass tend to look pretty normal with a few exceptions:

Lady Bookworm – This woman should be locked up for her risk to public health. She is always walking along holding a book up in front of her face. How good must a book be to risk safety and stepping in dog poo for? Just once I want to see her walk into a lamppost. Why can’t you just buy an Ipod like everyone else?

Mr Mincer – The lanky gay who can walk perfectly normal most of the time but loves to put on a prance and a pout as soon as a man walks by. Get it into your head, we don’t care which way you swing, you just look like a twat.

The Train Rusher – Nothing is gonna stop this guy getting the train. His body style is arched perfectly so that outstretched arm holding his briefcase acts as a wing. I think the side to side wiggle is a waste of vital milliseconds but it does make you walk like Will from The Inbetweeners. Bravo.

Smokey Joe – I see smoke signals before I see you and to be honest every day I see you is a surprise considering you suck on that cigarette like your life depends on it. I’m just glad to step around your volley of spit as you cough up your lungs.

The Hot Chick – She most definitely is not. Surely there should be a weight to skirt length ratio? Mini-skirts are great, just not when they’re barely covering two doner kebabs.

School Chum – We both know that we went to primary school together but that was when we both liked He-Man and you wet your pants. I’ll happily avoid eye contact with you for the rest of my life. Thankfully, you feel the same……

Lost

This is a plea for help. I’m wondering if anyone out there has seen my fitness because it appears to have gone missing.
We weren’t together for that long but I had become very fond of it. Our relationship was pretty slow to get going but then we had some great times together and in the end grew to love eachother. Was it something I said? Is it my fault that it left?
I keep punishing myself because I guess there’s nobody else I can blame. I had the sweetest thing going and I blew it because I went back to my old lazy ways.
Well, times are changing and I’m not gonna let it go without a fight……

5.30am this morning I was up again and on that turbo, pedalling as fast and as far as I could, in search of the missing…..

How many is too many?

During my yearly service on my mountain bike, which involves me putting it in the stand and staring at it before removing it again, I noticed a crack in the chain stay section of the frame. I went through the normal stages:

Smugness – I must really have ridden hard to crack that frame.
Joy – Wait until I tell the guys how hard I rode to crack this frame.
Love – We’ve had some good times together. I’ll miss you.
Lust – Oh, gonna get me some shiny new metal.
Reality – I hope this is covered under the warranty, the boss indoors will never agree to another bike related purchase.
Relaxation – Call to the local bike shop. Should be ok for a warranty claim. Frame covered for 5 years. Bike is 3 years old.
Opportunity – Should I get it put back to standard or have a part rebuild/singlespeed conversion?
More reality – Custom rebuilds cost money. Standard it is.

My situation got me thinking though. Is there really a bike that can do it all?

I love the speed of road bikes, it’s my favourite thing but I find myself in the situation where it’s an occasion to go out on it that involves cleated shoes and lycra and then I worry if I leave it chained up somewhere. It’s too complex too with it’s multiple gears and STI levers.

I’ve got the mountain bike (well sort of at the moment) which could be more suitable for nipping down to the shops on but it’s a bit slow and is always covered in mud and a bit heavy.

I’d like a tourer with a rack and everything so I can ride long distances and live the dream.

A practical everyday bike would suit me, a cheap singlespeed hybrid with V or cantilever brakes and one sided SPD/flat pedals, with a rack on the back. I could ride to the shops, dump it in the high street and not look back, abuse it all winter and the lack of maintenance wouldn’t matter.

But then, don’t I need a singlespeed drop bar road bike too so I can boost my fitness through winter and keep my pride and joy clean?

I’m a bike manufacturer’s wet dream.

It's July. Woo!

I have to admit, I absolutely love watching the Tour de France. It has pretty much taken over our household at the moment.
Every evening is arranged to fit perfectly around the Tour highlights.
I manage to fit in a quick blast on the bike after work, shower and then sit down in front of the telly with dinner for 7pm to watch the ITV4 highlights show. Even the kid’s bedtime has been put back slightly so that nothing is missed.
ITV’s coverage this year is pretty special. Disappointed with the lack of Ned Boulting but really enjoying watching Chris Boardman wobble slowly up the finishing straight on the sprint stages pointing out the exact spot where Mark Cavendish is likely to next cause a massive pile up.
Now, Chris is a legend in his own right but I am a little bit disappointed with his liberal choosing of which stage to feature. Why does he always favour the sprint and why don’t we see him riding up to the summit finishes to show us where Alberto Contador is going to attack from? Laziness……

So, after yesterday’s stage it’s all poised for a Contador/Schleck showdown. Shame about Cadel losing time but he’s an absolute hero for a gutsy performance with a fractured elbow. The suffering is always the most endearing part of the Tour. Cyclists give their all and perform whilst injured at a level that footballers can only dream of.

I do think that race organisers should try to shake things up a bit more next year by replacing the yellow jersey with a yellow cardigan. Primark have got them dead cheap and riders are likely to prolong the wearing of it until closer to Paris……

stolen time

The breeze feels cool on my skin as I stand with my eyes closed breathing in the air around me.
I'm standing over my bike waiting for my Garmin to acquire satellite. It's eerily quiet, something i'm not used to living in this part of London.
At last, I am found and I can set off about my business.
It's 6am on a Saturday morning, I couldn't sleep. The heat of the last few days has been unbearable. I lay in bed unable to find comfort and in the end decide that a few cool miles before the sun does it's thing is what I need.
I don't have to be out at this time, but I want to be. I'm almost excited as I set off onto the quiet roads.
I stop at a red light and look around, nobody, nothing, just me. The ordinarily busy flyover is today devoid of life. I ride in the centre of the 2 lanes as i build up some speed and take my hands of the bars, arms outstretched, eyes closed as I feel the warm sun on my face and the air on my chest. This is what flying must feel like.
The High Street is dispatched with speed as I take a left hand bend and swoop past the ponds. This feels great.
I reach the first real hill of the day and i'm transported back in time to teenage years when I last cycled up this hill. My best friend and I used to cycle this route to visit some girls we knew. Feels like a lifetime ago.
The world's starting to wake up now and a few cars are beginning to awake from their slumber.
I pass a girl running in the opposite direction. I nod and she smiles. It's as if we're both in on the secret.
My pace increases as I push harder towards home, there's a slight descent on the road and as I curl into a tuck and push down hard on the pedals I imagine myself racing, not for the win but to launch the man who's going to win the sprint. My imagination works into overdrive as my legs become a blur. I give it my all and as my legs give out their last I see him power away into the distance as I sit up and watch him cross the line, arms in the air.
I roll back into my road and give the bike a backwards glance as I tuck it away in the garage. Perfect, absolutely perfect........

Unfinished business.

It’s me again. I know it’s been a while since we last met but I’ve been struggling to get you out of my mind.
When we were first together, I think I underestimated you and didn’t quite live up to your expectations of me. I’m sorry. I wish things had been different and I had been more prepared but I just wasn’t ready.
Since we last met, I’ve thought about you often. I can’t say every day because that would be a lie but images of you have come into my head from time to time. It bothers me that I wasn’t enough for you and that our relationship failed early on.
I needed to see you again, to make things right between us…..
Click. Click. Click. I should really get this bottom bracket fixed but I’m too lazy. The sound helps to reassure me. It’s familiar and familiar’s good.
The route’s familiar too, it should be. I ride it most weeks. Today though, there is something different. The monster is back. Nemesis.

I’ve had such a great year, especially with my cycling but there’s one thing that I’ve failed at and it’s really bothered me. I tried cycling up this hill a few weeks ago and although I pedalled the whole way before, I stopped for breath and that felt like cheating. I needed to come back and clear the demons. Make right my failures.

It’s hot outside and after last night’s beers, this really isn’t the best day to try something like this but I just needed to get out. I wasn’t planning on riding Nemesis but it just sort of happened and sometimes, those days are the best.

I’m taking it easy, too much of my riding of late has been for a purpose or a goal and I’m missing the natural joy that pedalling a bicycle brings. I reach the top of Nemesis and look down at the road that I’ll be crawling up very soon. The butterflies in my stomach are back.

This is pathetic. It’s only a hill, but it isn’t. 1 mile of relentless asphalt with a gradient of 20%. It’s not about the physical anymore, it’s about what this climb represents. Success and failure. The past and the future.

I freewheel down and turn around in the cul-de-sac to the side of the road that marks the beginning of the climb.
I pause and compose myself. This is it.

My revolutions start slow and measured. I took things for granted last time and was too arrogant. I click through the gears as the road lifts towards the sky. I feel comfortable.
I’m in my bottom gear now and I can no longer stay seated. The hairpin’s getting closer, I weave left and right as I crawl up, like an ant on a lion’s back.

I pass the mark where I stopped last time and I can almost see myself there struggling for breath. How weak I looked as my chest heaves in and out. I gave up too early but that was before and this is now.
I still can’t sit down, it’s too much for my legs. I try but manage a couple of revolutions before my thighs start to burn. I want to stop, I really want to stop. This is relentless.

I know I’m getting closer to the end, I’m definitely near the end but it doesn’t take away the pain. I still want to quit but it would be stupid to now. The worst is almost over. And then, I see it. The Give Way sign that tells me I’m 100 yards from the end and this pain is nearly finished.

Breathe. Breathe. Deeper. I’m there. I’ve made it to the end of my misery.

I continue to spin my legs as I move away from the top of the hill. It’s over. I did it. The weight’s been lifted………. Finally, closure.

Thoughts.

I’m sitting on the train back home from London and the realisation of what I’ve achieved finally sinks in. I smile to myself as I glance out of the window at the houses rushing past and then again as I look at my bike resting against the inside of the train.
What an amazing piece of machinery. Not as flash or expensive as other bikes on the trip but special to me in it’s own way. Each mark, scratch, dollop of dried on energy gel it’s own story.
The lady sitting across from me looks at me quizzically, wondering why I’m so smug. I want to tell her, hell, I want to tell everybody sitting on the train about what I’ve done but it’s satisfying to let her wonder and wallow in my own happiness.
Three days previously, I am on the same train, just in the opposite direction. My bike gleaming and a million worries rotating inside my head. Full of self doubt, nervousness, but excitement at the prospect that lay ahead.
I’d arrived at the hostel/prison for young men to meet the others with a feeling not too dissimilar to that of a first date. I had a picture of the people from chatting on the forum, some I’d even met on other rides but it was still a great unknown and I stood quietly for a while as last minute preparations were finished.
I won’t bore you with details of the route, a breakdown of the 302 miles or what I ate on any particular day because I don’t think you need to know and likewise there are some things that happened that I don’t want to share because those memories belong to me and nobody else.
I’m not an arrogant or big headed person so please don’t take this statement as such but I found the ride easier than I thought it would be. I am not saying it was a breeze because three rides of that distance will never be easy but I assume that the training I did made it easier for myself.
When embarking on the trip, I expected pain, suffering, misery and a challenge that I would struggle on. It sounds strange but I feel cheated that it didn’t hurt more. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the trip, quite the opposite in fact but when I arrived at the Eiffel Tower, there was an anticlimax to the whole event, more a release rather than a chequered flag.
I thought I would be emotional. Writing my final blog last week, I felt choked and I assumed that those feelings would stay with me until I reached Paris. I don’t really know what I was expecting but what I felt wasn’t what I thought I would. I suppose the easiest way to express it would be to say that I ticked the box, job done.
I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to go away with. Each individual had their own story and I think I shared some moments that will lodge in everyone’s memory for a lifetime.
I think we all shared a reality check when we visited the War Grave Cemetary at Etaples. Here we are, riding across France when in the not too distant past men of my age were fighting for their country. It was touching to watch as my friends walked around the graves paying respect to those who gave so much for so little.

Apologies, if you’re reading this and thinking that I’m depressed. I’m not, it’s just I’ve had a lot of time to think about things and realise that I am a lot more fortunate than some.
I achieved what I set out to do. Prepare for a trip and follow something through for the first time in my life. The problem is that I am left with more questions than answers and a hunger for bigger, better things. I thought it would close a chapter but it’s opened a door and given me a taste of things that I can do with my life.

The trip brought an abundance of highlights, the long, hair-pinned descent on day two, the steady climb on day three. Cobbles, the Champs Elysees. Riding in the tyre marks of my heroes. Not just the professional ones or the casualties of war but the other 21 who did something amazing in their own way.

Redemption

I feel like a cliff diver standing on the edge looking at the white water below as it crashes against the rocks. I know what it will feel like if I jump, that moment of freefall as my mind goes blank and the air around me goes silent.
The whistle of the wind as my senses overload and my heartbeat quickens. The adrenaline pumps as the fragile body plummets, placing all faith in destiny and the outcome of life and death with chance.
Like a poker player, you plan, plot, scheme and prepare as best you can but in the end it all comes down to fate. As the dealer flips the final cards, will it be a triumphant punch in the air, like the diver returning to the surface or will it be that one gamble too far, the soul destroying sink to the ocean floor?

7 months of training have come to this. Tomorrow, my grand depart on my own Tour de France. I know now that I have done all I can and I feel ready, stronger. I still feel like I’m standing on the edge, on the brink of something special, something defining. A challenge.

To some, a challenge that may not seem that mean a feat. I’ve had it all over the last few months. The supporters, the disbelievers, the questioners, the mocking. 300 miles? That’s easy… oh I did that last year. Not much of a challenge is it?

I am not doing this for anyone else. Not for a charity. Not for a group of people less fortunate than myself. Not for a jolly. Not for a laugh or because it’s there. I’m doing this for me. I find that for some people this is the hardest thing that they fail to understand. The selfishness of it all.

I don’t care about anything else. I need to do this to prove it to myself that I can. That for once, I follow through with something that I set out to do. For once, I don’t take the easy option. For once, I train and I put in the hard work and I deserve every bit of goodness that comes out of that hard work.

For the times when I’ve said no to the alcohol, no to the chocolate bar, for the double training sessions when all I want to do is rest. The early starts, the look on my girlfriend and children’s faces when for the umpteenth weekend in a row I’ve put on my cycling gear and said, “I’ll see you this evening.”

Cold, wet, hot, dry miles. Miles on my own, miles with friends, miles with strangers. Miles when the wind is blowing in my face and the rain is clinging and dripping in equal measures. When it’s so hot that you just can’t take any more and question, “Why did I agree to this?” Days when I’ve felt like I can’t turn the pedal one more time, when my lungs hurt so much on that final climb that they feel like they must be filling with blood. The days when I’m flying, invincible and that hill that I walked up last year felt effortless this year. The days when I could take on the world and days when I want to curl up in a ball and sob so that the world can forget about me.

These are the days that make me stronger, the days that define a person, the days that I must go through to better myself and become the person I want to be. The days when I can puff out my chest and scream at the top of my voice, “THE REASON I AM HERE TODAY IS BECAUSE OF ME”

Me, 300 miles, 3 days and the start of the rest of my life.

Let’s finish the game.

Fantastic Mr Fash

I was watching the new version of Gladiators the other day and I think that Ian Wright is trying to be the new John Fashanu.

I like Ian Wright, I should really, being an Arsenal fan but I don’t really think he’s good enough to live up to the Fash.

For starters, Fash had the catchphrase. “Awooooga!” * Sure, it was silly and a little out of place and a bit pathetic but the fans lapped it up like a tiny kitten at a saucer of milk.

Fash is the ultimate professional too. He comes across all nice and fun on Gladiators but I’ve seen the darker side to the man when he was manager for the reality TV series Fash’s Football Challenge. He can be one mean, moody guy and never hesitated to put players in their place. He rolled up at training with the big manager’s coat and the attitude of a man who facilitated the Wimbledon glory days, sort of Big Ron meets P.Diddy.

These are qualities that I don’t think Ian Wright will ever aspire to. Wrighty’s too cockney wide boy to rival the Fash.

I wondered what the Fash is up to now (briefly) and so googled him to find out. Wikipedia claim he’s hosting the Nigerian version of Deal or no Deal. I guess the same title could have been given to the contract to appear. Is that a step up or down?
Does he get to wear Noel-esque jumpers?
Is the Nigerian banker the same one that keeps emailing me to cash a banker’s draft for him and take a massive cut?

That would be fantastic for the winner of the show. “Here’s your banker’s draft for a million pounds. You can take the money or you can have this draft for $4,000,000 which we require to be moved outside of the country. Your assistance is required by the Bank of Nigeria and for completing the transfer, you will receive 50% of the funds as commission….”

So Fash, you’re a hero, a gent and a scholar. Keep up the good work and maybe one day you’ll aspire to the genius that is Kris Akabusi MBE. He’s an inspirational corporate speaker now, if you’re wondering and has his own Facebook page “The Kris Akabusi Sex Stories……..”

*There is some contention as to who coined this particular catchphrase as both Fash and Akabusi utilised it throughout appearances on Gladiators.

Pearson 150 Sportive

What’s the best recovery for a 112 mile Friday? A 94 mile sportive on the Sunday.

It was always my plan to have a big weekend of riding to try to mimic some of the distance I would be completing in June.

The Pearson 150 seemed like a good idea and all for a good cause so I signed up.

When Sunday morning actually arrived, I had little wish to do another long ride but gave myself the option of changing to the shorter route if I really felt bad after starting out, although this was never really an option……

After the first few miles, I felt pretty good and joined onto a group of riders from the South West Road Club. They were a bit too leisurely for my liking though so I upped the pace and found a faster group up the road.

The route was really nice and almost identical to the one that the British Heart Foundation use for their annual London to Brighton route. It seemed like no time at all when I arrived at the bottom of Ditchling Beacon.

I’m happy to say that the Beacon wasn’t too much of a challenge and I got up it without too much drama. I spent most of the time laughing at the guy in front of me riding up on a singlespeed….

I would have loved to forget the ride back and stay at the seaside. The weather was really hotting up and it seemed a much better prospect than riding back. I continued on though and reached the feed stop just outside Brighton which was really well stocked.

I think for a ride of this distance, only one stop is necessary as sometimes it’s all too easy to stop when it’s not really needed.

The route back was a mixture of quiet lanes, most of which I’d seen on Friday. This was quite fortunate as the signs were a bit on the small side and not very prominent in places. The blue writing on a white background was not very eye catching!

A final sting in the tale came with the climb up to Headley followed by a descent and a final climb up over Epsom Downs. The little energy I had, quickly evaporated from me.

I think Pearson’s first sportive was a success. Well organised, fast registration. A good HQ with parking and food stands, chip timing and a goody bag with a few food products to go along with the warm glow of some of the money going to charity….

The good (my first century), the bad (solo), the ugly (me for the rest of the evening)

With the Paris trip looming on the horizon it looked like only a weekend filled with misery and suffering would pave the way to a successful journey. I’m not talking about a Desperate Housewives boxed set or an afternoon watching Beaches, I’m talking about manly miles, on the road, in the heat.

One of the nice things about having a forum with the guys from the London to Paris trip is the ability to chat and get to know each other before the big off. One of the not so nice things is seeing all the mileage that others are clocking up and feeling inadequate. Information brings it’s own pressure…

I had decided that I wanted to complete a century ride in the hope that it would take away some of the anxiety I was feeling.
The route I planned was a quiet, country lane route down to Shoreham and then along the coast towards Brighton and back up and past Charlwood onto a reverse of the “club run” route. I figured that seeing familiar roads towards the end of the ride would spur me on.

I loaded up with plenty of snacks and set off at a relaxed, steady pace of around 17mph on the flats and less on the hills. No heroics, no out of the saddle efforts and the granny ring for any climbs to conserve energy.

By the time I got to Shoreham after 50 odd miles, I was feeling pretty fresh. It was pretty warm and I had been looking forward to an ice cream on the seafront for miles but arrived to find the only part of the UK coastline that prides itself on it’s industry. I ended up sat on the floor outside a newsagent eating a mini tub of Pringles.

Pushing disappointment aside, I carried on and started the climb back up onto the South Downs towards Devils Dyke. I then proceeded to take a wrong turning into the A27, down the big hill I’d just climbed and then looped back up, going 3 miles out of my way. Words can’t describe how low I was feeling at this point.

Coming off the Downs was a nice respite and I saw over 45mph on the speedo as I descended. My shorts almost saw similar trajectory speeds as tipped the bike in for the left hander at the bottom of the hill.

Miles ticked on and on as the route looked like it was never going to end. Riding solo is definitely a real challenge. The boredom is something that you just have to get used to. I found myself making a rhythm out of my pedal revolutions as my mind failed to think of things to amuse me.

70 miles was another low point. I guessed that I still had 40 miles to go and by now the heat was a nightmare. If someone pulled up in a car and offered me a lift, I’d have taken it.
The day progressed and as I got closer to home, it became beyond the point of quitting. What’s the point of giving up at 80 or 90 miles?
When I reached Charlwood, the familiar roads did help and I managed to carry on until the end.

I passed the 100 mile mark just after Reigate. I didn’t really know what I was expecting but the odometer clicked past 100 without celebration. What was I expecting? A bottle of Champagne to parachute down from the sky? My phone to ring and a personal “well done” from the Queen? I’d have settled for a little tune from my speedo but Garmin can’t even manage that…..

In total, I rode 112 miles and feel happy that I can now consider myself a proper cyclist….

SWRC May Flyer Review

Last year, I took part in my first sportive – the SWRC May Flyer. It was the first time that I had attempted a 50 mile ride and although I found it difficult and walked up several of the hills, I found it enjoyable.

This year, I was keen to have another go and see how much I had improved.

Grey filled the skies above Cobham as we signed on in the morning. I’d opted again for the shorter route as I was riding with a couple of friends. The registration was well organised and only took a few minutes. I was a little disappointed that there were no free gels like last year.

The route starts nicely and soon we were into a steady rhythm. We were all looking for the photographer on the first climb to style out the shots for the camera but he wasn’t there and caught us by surprise on the first hairpin of the descent.

Potholes were a frequent problem to avoid but that seems to be the norm for most UK roads at the moment. The ride was mainly traffic free and I’m pleased to say that the hills proved little of a challenge this year and were quite enjoyable!

Unfortunately, some of the route markings disappeared around the halfway mark which meant that we lost some time checking the maps and confirming the route at some junctions. The organisers have stated that this was only a problem on the short circuit.

Overall, I found it a pleasant day and one I shall be repeating next year, although I’ll probably go for the longer route. I think the organisation wasn’t as slick as last year and hope that SWRC make more of an effort next year to make things run without a hitch.

Nemesis

An elephant in the corner, a monster in the room - call it what you will but for some time now i've been avoiding the subject. Nemesis.
Since I started out on my bike, i've come to realise that my body and style of riding don't suit hills. Little ones, I can power over. Long gradual ones, I can stick it in the granny ring and gently roll over. Short sharp ones, I curl up in a ball and cry.
Recent months have brought some success on the hills and i've had some good experiences in Wales and other more recent events and rides. There's one hill though that has been talked about for some time amongst my friends and one that I always route to avoid. Nemesis.
Talk this week between us centred around which hills were the worst. It was agreed that some are worse than others for gradient, some for hitting you at the end of a certain route when you're already tired and some because they are just so ferocious they punch you in the groin and then urinate on you as you lie shaking uncontrollably at their feet. Nemesis.
I decided it was time today to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Kraken and dare to ascend it.
I set off this morning, having planned a 15 mile route out to Nemesis, the ascent and then a 12 mile route back. Today wasn't about rushing so I kept the pace sensible, all the while, thinking about what lay in wait for me at the end.
Kevin Spacey's words from The Usual Suspects kept ringing in my head, "How can you shoot the devil in the back? What if you miss?"
I turned off the A25 and arrived at Chalkpit Lane - Nemesis. 453ft of ascending in 0.9 of a mile.
There are steeper, more renowned hills out there - Wynnatt's Pass, Mow Kop but they're not close enough for me to worry about or skirt around routinely. This was my challenge.
The road eased skywards and I set into a rhythm. This wasn't too bad.....
I passed a sign that warned 20% and I approached the hairpin. I was out of the saddle in my lowest gear, turning a pathetic cadence when my legs decided that they'd had enough. I stopped. Pathetic.
I felt like Rocky Balboa when he first ran up the 72 steps outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art, dejected, distraught. I was certain of one thing though - I was not going to walk.
My breath came back, I took a swig of water and climbed back on. I pedalled all the way to the top.
Why the negativity? "Why the shame," you ask? I made it up without walking didn't I? There's an unwritten rule in cycling. If you have to unclip on a climb, you haven't conquered it. I'd gone the distance with Apollo Creed, shown him what I was made of, taken it to the bell but he'd knocked me down in the second round and won on points.
I'm bruised, battered and my pride is dented but I demand a rematch....

The Anti-Vampire

I did something amazing yesterday. I gave blood for the first time.

For years, it's something i've thought about doing but never really gotten around to. Seeing posters around at work finally pushed me into it and the thought that I could do it during work time just helped the idea grow.....

So I registered myself and went along to do the deed. I've had several tattoos over the years so needles don't bother me but i've never had a blood test or anything like that so didn't know how I would react to blood being taken.
It could be just a macho thing but I didn't want to faint as that would definitely ruin my street cred. I've only just managed to supress the posting on Facebook of a certain someone holding a bunny rabbit at Godstone Farm so did not need a fainting incident to occur.

As expected, there was nothing to worry about. My competitive streak did shine through though. I was trying to get the blood to come out quicker so I could fill the bag before the woman next to me. I did a pretty classy job too. I'd like to think that if there was a blood donation race, i'd be scoring points.

I got my free crisps and biscuits and toddled off feeling content with myself that I had done something good for once and possibly saved a life.

Some lucky person out there is going to receive a little bit of my awesomeness....

O! What’s occurring?

Where have I been you ask? Nowhere is the unfortunate reply, just very very busy.

So what’s been happening? How many more questions am I going to direct at myself like this? Shall I risk one more? Is it a risk too far?

I guess most people that read this blog want to know how the cycling is going so I shall start with that…..

After my trip to Wales the other week, I’ve been feeling pretty strong. I’ve managed a few short rides and have tried to stick with the daily training before work. The week immediately following the weekend in Wales, I eased up slightly as my body was feeling a bit tired. I seemed to be riding stronger on the actual rides themselves but then was aching the following day(s) so cut back a little for a few days.
Since then, the mornings have picked back up again. Driven on by the ridiculous amount of mileage other people are doing in preparation for the Paris trip, I decided to plan a long solo ride. I planned an 80 miles route (ok in all honesty I stole it from someone else on mapmyride and reversed it so made it my own) out into Kent Surrey and Sussex.
80 miles is beyond what I’d ever done before so I was mainly concerned about my fuelling. I took 3 flapjacks and a couple of malt loaf slices, 2 bottles of High 5 carb/protein 4:1 mix and some hard cash to buy more drinks en route. Probably overkill but I like food.
The route itself was all new to me as well so I filled my Garmin Edge 305 with waypoints and hoped for the best. I took an OS Landranger map as backup too so that I could find my way back should a horde of badgers mug me (would badgers bother taking the map?) or some other emergency took place.
Carrying the equivalent of a small convenience store about my person (along with my usual phone, keys, Britney Spears CD and kitchen sink) did create it’s own problems.
Usually on the bike, I have a small seatpack that contains the bare essentials such as multitool, spare tube, some self adhesive patches and tyre levers. The only space left in the pack was quickly filled with a retractable wire lock (in case of any pit stops). These locks are best to useless but will add seconds to someone walking off with my bike whilst I’m buying food so I thought it was necessary. This left only my jersey pockets to stuff with everything else and resulted in me looking like the Michelin man with his head back to front. I’ve since solved this issue by purchasing a top tube mounted bag for carrying snacks.

I set off nice and early to make sure I was back for the school run in the afternoon and after dicing through the rush hour traffic, headed into the country. It was a beautiful spring day and the first 40 miles were extremely picturesque. I was feeling good and stopped off for a drink at a little shop in Hartfield. After that, things got particularly tough and the hills seemed relentless. I’m not going to lie about this - the last 40 miles weren’t very nice. The scenery was good but 80 miles is a long ride with your own company. I broke up the monotony with some singing and wise cracking but found my own jokes offensive so decided to stop before a fight broke out.
One of my happier points was when I reached Merstham and I thought, “Great I’m nearly home.” This was still 10 miles away from my house though…….
Anyway, I made it back in one piece and with hindsight, it was an enjoyable day, just very tough to do alone. It has made me more confident about riding to Paris as I figure that 80 miles on my own is the equivalent of 100-120 in a group with the slipstreaming effect.
I plan on following lots of wheels on the trip……..

Friendship

I was in my garage yesterday giving my bike a bit of a clean (TOP TIP: Baby wipes are really good for this),changing a tyre and my brake pads, when it occurred to me just how much time I spend with my bike.

I’ve mentioned on here before that I want to get a dedicated race bike and this is something I will do in due course but I still don’t think it will mean as much to me as my current bike.

To everyone else, it’s an entry level road bike, a £1,000 Specialized Allez Elite. Nothing flash, couple of nice touches here and there but on the whole, as exotic as fish and chips.

Strictly speaking, it isn’t my first road bike. I had a brief romance with an Italian little beauty but didn’t get on with the frame size so had to give her the chop. I’m much happier with my current love. To me, it’s not just a bike, it’s something that has truly changed my life. It’s the catalyst for my weight loss, my change in diet and the stress release that I have from the everyday world.

Snatched time where we’ve enjoyed 30 minute rides, a quick time trial after work. Long weekends riding into the sun and then sipping a few beers, wishing it would understand if I patted it on the saddle and said, “Good lad.”

2,500 fairly fault free miles we’ve shared each other’s company, plenty of hard miles in the beginning and as time has passed, each mile becoming easier. Hills we’ve slogged up, where the top seems to never appear. Rainy days, where I’m cold, wet and miserable and just want to get home. They all seem to be forgotten in time, replaced by the memories of the long summer rides, the freewheeling descents and the fast paced miles, zipping along through the traffic as I laugh at the people sitting in their cars, fuming in the fumes.
Riding with the boys from Team Sky, standing pedal to pedal with Bradley Wiggins as I stared in awe at an inspirational rider.

We’ve come a long way together and with my riding plans in place, I hope that we’ll travel together for a long time yet. This isn’t a goodbye or a farewell message, it’s an appreciation of an amazingly, unremarkable bike…..

Alcohol – making cyclists fat since 1901.

Occasionally, you read the odd article claiming that a beer or a glass of wine a day can actually be beneficial. I’m not a scientist (for those of you that knew me at school this will come as no surprise.)
The only thing we ever did in science was throw jelly on the ceiling and set fire to the Bunsen burner gas taps to create a flame thrower. I think science teachers need to be a little bit crazy to deal with such high jinx. We had one in particular who was convinced that we were smuggling mud into the classroom in our pockets to drop onto the floor. He never realised that we had to walk across the field to get into the classroom.

Anyway, I digress…. I won’t claim that alcohol is good for your health or that it will make you immortal. You may thing you’re immortal after a few shorts but a trip to A&E usually confirms the opposite.
Why am I wittering on you ask?

Well, in my quest to become the best cyclist this country has ever seen (or less fat and able to cycle to Paris in 3 days and not come last in a Cat 4 race – n.b the official British Cycling listings for my race actually say I came 19th out of 22 – I guess 3 people must have quit/broken down), I have almost cut out on the booze, with the exception of special occasions, such as birthdays, weddings and lunch hours.
Since the New Year (British not Chinese), I have only drank alcohol on a handful of occasions and I can honestly say that I’m not missing it.

I think it’s helped with the weight loss but it has also opened my eyes to a few things:

Drunk people irritate me -I’ve had a few conversations with people that are drunk. Mostly, they make no sense and I have to walk away.

The local shop owner can’t afford that new car - I must literally have been bankrolling that place. Will I now feel guilty if they are forced to close? Am I the reason that the local economy is failing?

As a general evening observation – girls in clubs are ugly.

I’m ugly, ok maybe not ugly but I am not Brad Pitt.

I can’t dance. Fact.

Kebabs don’t taste nice.

This is a hard one to believe – I am not always right.

I can now drive to and from a party. Again, this is leading to local economy issues with the local minicab company. I am the cause for the world cashflow crisis.

So, my life without alcohol has actually made me a better person. I’m fitter, faster and wealthier. I’m not saying that I’ll never drink again but I will certainly cut out all the unnecessary day to day drinking.

The future’s bright, the future’s Orange….. juice…..

Classy Classics

I love a grand tour as much as the next guy but to me, cycling is summed up beautifully in the classics season.

These are races where men are separated from the boys (see my recent trip to Wales) and wins are hard fought. Team tactics come into things obviously but in these races, individuals really stand out and the romance of cycling comes to the fore.

This year, two of the monumental classics – the Tour of Flanders and Paris Roubaix were won by Fabian Cancellara. An uphill attack on Tom Boonen in Flanders followed by a turn of pace on the Roubaix cobbles 50km from the finish secured him memorable wins.

I would argue the case that Fabian is probably the best all-round rider of his generation. The man can climb, descend (check youtube for his efforts in the Tour de France last year for a master class on bike handling) and rightfully wears the World Champion jersey for time trialling. Why have very few people outside of cycling heard of him?

I’m gonna take a risk here and say that he’s a hero of mine. Don’t let me down Fabian…..

Wales, home to sheep, Tom Jones and for the past weekend – me.

Things I’ve learnt this weekend:

The annual Tour of Talybont is best completed at the end of a riding season (unless you’ve trained all winter like me and want to watch your friends suffer.)

My roofbox and roof mounted cycle carrier do not fit my new car.

Never, ever, ever get your bike serviced at the same place as Chris. 3 of us enjoyed a hassle free weekend. Chris enjoyed 2 broken spokes, a front mech that wouldn’t shift, a broken shifter and a pinch flat. For the record, Chris was the only person to shell out on servicing before we left. £250 well spent.

Donkeys are very noisy. After setting up the tent, Chris hit us with two sets of news:
The good news – “Guys, if you like donkeys, there are 10 in the next field.”
The bad news – “There are 10 donkeys in that field.”

Jamie is not the person to follow downhill.

Hairpins can result in Jamie doing a forward somersault into a ditch (see above).

When everyone agrees that the next 7 miles back to the site are fair game for a race, what they actually mean is that it’s fair game unless you win.

Pub food and cider is great for recovery.

I am faster up a hill than a group of 10 year olds on mountain bikes. Fact.

Camping in April can be very cold.

102 miles in 2 days with 8,000ft of climbing is fantastic but don’t expect to be over enthused about work on the Monday.

Same time next year lads….. in fact, how does August sound?

First Blood (again, not the film)

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened. I had a gap this weekend and thought i'd go on the club run but then I saw on the British Cycling website that there was a race at Hillingdon.
I stood in front of the mirror looking at myself, fighting to decide what to do. No real preparation, no second bike and no idea how racing works. The choice was obvious.... let's race.
I got up and had my usual porridge for breakfast, the race started at 1.45pm so I thought that I would skip lunch and took a flap jack to eat on my journey to the circuit.
I nervously packed the car, double checking everything that went in. I didn't want to get all the way there to find I'd only had one shoe.
Even though I used to work near Hillingdon, I used the sat nav to get me there which cost me an extra 30 minutes. These things are created to help us and yet it took me up through London on a Saturday. I came back my own route and it was definitely faster, I won't be making that mistake again.
I arrived at the circuit at 1pm which gave me good time to sign on and get ready.
The track is adjacent to a Goals football centre so I parked in their car park, carefully leaving everything out of view as I've heard stories of break-ins.
I had butterflies in my stomach as I gave over my race licence to the lady at the desk and paid my £12 fee.
I'd entered the 4th cat only race which was 30 minutes plus 5 laps, so around 45 minutes for the full race.
I explained that it was my first ever race and the lady explained where the 2 race numbers were to be pinned on my Addiscombe jersey, even offering to do it for me. I was number 22. The race commissaire was there too and I explained that it was my first ever race.
He said that if I went off to get changed and get my bike, the junior race would have finished and i'll be able to do some practice laps.
I got out on the circuit to warm my legs and it became quickly apparent, just how bland a circuit is. It is literally a mile of tarmac in a field. No grandstand, no dancing girls, just a folding table selling teas.
The track looked like it had a hill up to the finish line but riding it felt better as it was only a slight incline. From the start line, the track rolls down and into a left bend, followed by a hairpin and then up a short sharp climb into a sweeping left hander and then down the back straight. Ah, the back straight - my soon to become nemesis. Words can't describe the wind as it hits you on the back straight. My speed dropped by 4mph instantly, it was horrific and you can see why very few lone breaks survive here.
I did another 2-3 laps and was surprised at how smooth the surface was. I guess you can't have potholes here! The corners were a little gravelly and I had to back off slightly for the tight hairpin.
I rolled up to the start line and looked around to see a handful of riders with me. Not much of a turnout I thought and then the back started to fill up.
The butterflies were really floating about now. The commissaire told us a few rules. Basically, don't be stupid and don't cut anyone up. He then asked who was a race virgin. Up went my hand. I didn't see any others go up. Gulp.
Baptism of fire then.
I expected lights, a flag possibly an air horn but all we got was, "right, off you go lads." Wow, the glamour of bike racing.
From the off, nerves got to me and I struggled to clip into my pedals. I looked up and my second row starting position had now changed to back row. I eased into the pace and backed off slightly as we went into the hairpin. I got out of the saddle for the rise and then drifted with the pack down the back straight, sheltering from the wind.
A couple of laps passed and somebody attacked as we went over the rise after the hairpin. My nerves meant that I was at the back of the pack anyway and the sudden rise in pace caught me out. I should have sprinted to stay on but this boat has set sail and as I hit the back straight, the wind hit me. I was 10 metres off the bunch but could do nothing to get back on and slowly watched them drift away.
I was working so hard but knew it was futile. Every lap they seemed further away and my legs were tiring. I wanted to quit but then what would I tell people? My legs hurt and every time I hit the back straight, my thighs started to burn. It was embarrassing going past the people gathered at the finish line on my own. I told myself that they might not notice, I told myself that I was on a lone break in the Tour, anything just to keep me going.
On the rise after the hairpin, there was a young girl taking pictures and she was the thing that kept me going. Every lap, she'd shout encouragement to me. She reminded me of my daughter and so I pushed as hard as I could, still sprinting out of the saddle to get over the rise.
Inevitably, 20 minutes into the race, the pack came back around. I'd done a good 7 laps on my own and I made sure that I wasn't going to do any more.
I jumped back on and the difference was amazing. I'd spent 15-20 minutes time trialling on my own, pedalling the whole circuit and now I was in the middle of the pack being sucked along at 25mph. I've ridden club runs before but riding in a group that big is something i've never experienced, it was effortless and at times I was freewheeling.
I got into the rhythm with the rest of the pack and learnt the routine points where the pace went up. I was flying and cursing myself for not staying on in the first place. This was easier than the last 15 minutes i'd been doing on my own.
There were the odd attacks at the front but the wind was too strong for them to stay away.
The 5 lap board went up and the pace increased. With 3 laps to go, one of the front guys attacked on the finish straight, I saw it go and immediately sprinted as I knew the pace was going to crank up a notch. I passed some riders and worked my way up the pack. I was getting more confident riding in the bunch and my handling skills were good enough to be smooth with my movements. I told myself that I had a right to be wherever I wanted to be in the pack and if people wanted my position, they had to push me out of it.
Things were starting to hot up now and as we came off the back straight, the pack was still together and there was some jostling going on. I looked to my right and saw one rider bumping across the grass as he got edged off the track. His nerves were shot to pieces and he drifted to the back of the pack.
The final bell went and the pace went ballistic, as we hit the back straight, we were strung out and it was a real effort. I eased as we approached the finishing straight as I knew I was a lap down and didn't want to get involved in the finish, the leaders were too fast anyway for that to happen but I didn't want to upset anyone on my first outing.
I finished ahead of a couple of riders but a lap down, meaning I was officially last. If my tactics were better, I'm confident I would have finished in the pack so i'm a little disappointed but still buzzing from being in the race.
It was a fantastic experience and one I will definitely be repeating. For the stat lovers out there, I did 17 miles at an average of 22mph with a top speed of 28mph, burning over 1200 calories.
A year ago, I would have laughed if someone had suggested I would race. A year ago, the furthest i'd ridden was 45 miles and now a year on, i'm riding at a competitive level - of sorts.
Now that's something to be proud of. Lanterne rouge, but with a massive smile on my face.

Sweet revenge?

My life doesn’t just revolve around cycling you know. I’m also a fan of other sports too, like football.
It’s a bit of a love/hate relationship because being a football fan brings it’s own emotions. I’ve been an Arsenal supporter for as long as I can remember. My uncle has always had a season ticket and he took me to a few games when I was very young, back in the days of George Graham as manager, Tony Adams, David Rocastle and Anders Limpar.
I was hooked from a tender age and even though there have been times when football has taken a back seat to other things, I always like to keep an eye on how the Gunners are doing.
As with all life, football has it’s ups and downs and Arsenal have had a fair few, even though they’ve remained pretty consistent over the years and haven’t just bought their way into the top flight like certain other London teams I can mention.
I seem to go through a cycle, especially in the last few years where we’ve lacked silverware, where I start the season optimistically and then slowly get more and more depressed as the season goes on.
Tonight, Arsenal get the chance to settle old scores with Barcelona so I’m hoping that Cesc Fabregas is fit and we can get a good result to take us into the second leg.
If not, I’ll be all emotional tomorrow and declaring how “football’s too heartbreaking to watch and I’ll be focusing on cycling because Brits aren’t expected to do well on the road and so I’ll have less expectation…..”

Come on you reds!!!

A real man

Last week I watched a programme on the BBC about Mark Beaumont cycling the Americas. Mark has completed a long distance cycle journey previously, where he set the world record for circumnavigating the globe.
In years past, I was a big fan of motorcycling (I’m fickle remember) and used to enjoy watching a lot of documentaries about motorcycles, especially the travel ones as I dream of one day travelling and seeing the rest of the world.
Most people would be familiar with Ewen McGregor and Charlie Boorman and their journeys “Long Way Round” and “Long Way Down.”
I’m a bit of a fan of Ewen and Charlie but one thing used to really infuriate me. The constant whinging. They’re on a journey of a lifetime with a full support crew and all expenses paid and they’re still moaning that it’s so tough. They should just be pleased that they’ve got the luxury to do something like that while the rest of us sit and dream.
I think that’s the thing I like about Mark Beaumont, he just gets on with it. On last week’s episode, he camped rough with the threat of bear attacks (it was alright though as he had a 3 inch lock knife) and was so dehydrated that he was almost delirious. Did he whinge? Nope.
That’s the difference with cycling a trip and going by motorcycle. Self propelling your own way is a bit more fulfilling and you’re just happy when you haven’t got a hill to climb.
I’d be great on a trip like that. I like camping but would need an electric hook up so I could use all the gadgets that I’d want to take with me. I’d need a proper fold out bed too and a big thick sleeping bag. Those camping pillows aren’t that comfy either so I’d want a proper pillow, or perhaps two so that I could prop myself up to read at night. I’ve seen those portable satellite dishes too. I’d definitely need one of those to make sure I can catch Eurosport.
I would want to carry some decent food as well so I don’t get stuck eating noodles. Doing all that cycling might be tiring too, especially carrying all that stuff so I would probably be best to go by motorcycle, although if it rains, I’ll get wet. Car it is then, yeah, that will be nice. A long road trip, although the law says that I can’t drink and drive and we all know alcohol makes any situation happier.
Alaska does seem a nice place so I’ll just camp there for 6 months and drink beer, that way, I won’t need to drive anywhere and risk upsetting the local sheriff. We have beer and campsites in England though so maybe that would be a cheaper option? In fact, I do like my bed so maybe I’ll do a round the world trip indoors.
I could just pretend I’m travelling and sit on the sofa watching Mark Beaumont while I drink beer. Now, that is the trip for me.
I’d be rubbish on an intercontinental trip anyway, I’m not man enough to grow a proper beard……..

Move over Batman....

Before I started cycling, the thought of wearing figure hugging lycra was definitely something I didn’t want to be a part of. I mean, with a figure like mine, it’s like looking at a spandex-clad bag of potatoes.
Now I’ve lost a bit of weight and have spent some time looking like an extra from the World Wrestling Federation, I’m starting to enjoy it.
I can see the positive benefits of it while on the bike. There’s the lack of chafing for starters. In addition to wearing the garments, I also get to smother anti-chafing rub onto my undercarriage. Hmmm… tingly.
I can also pretend that I’m a sponsored pro cyclist to anyone I meet on the street. People generally know that if I’m wearing a football shirt in the pub, I don’t play for Arsenal but a cyclist on a bike with loads of advertising plastered over their body – they must be professional.
Although looking restrictive, lycra is pretty damn comfortable, to the point where it feels nicer than being naked. I get to the point where I’d like to just wear it around the house.
With that thought in mind, I’ve found a solution – compression lycra. I’m not sure whether this stuff actually works or whether it was just dreamt up by someone with a lycra fetish like me.
It actually gives an excuse to wear lycra around the house. I can go out for a 5 hour spandex wearing ride and then come back and slip into a clean pair of compression tights for the rest of the day to aid my recovery. Now that’s progress…….

Southern Softies Ride

Yesterday I went out for a ride with 3 of the guys I’ll be cycling to Paris with. I organised a route that had plenty of hills so that we would see some of the country lanes that Surrey have to offer.
It’s quite strange but I was a little nervous beforehand. I’m use to cycling with people of a similar standard and one of the problems when you get thrown together with a group of people is the different abilities.
I had invited a couple of club mates too as I thought “the more the merrier.”
We all met up and headed out into Surrey. Weather reports had warned of rain but we were lucky and it held off all day with some sunny intervals.
It was a pleasant route, with the exception of a few potholes and a really mean Rottweiler who threw himself into the path of us. To give the dog it’s due, there were a couple of Northerners among us and so you can’t blame it for wanting to attack. We do have a territory to defend…..
I ended up doing 65.5 miles and 5,800ft of climbing. The guys were really friendly and it was good to have a good chat. We’re all of different standards (me being the slowest when it comes to hills!) but there was plenty of time to regroup at the tops of the climbs.
Overall, I think the day was a success and it’s definitely put me at ease about going on a trip with a bunch of strangers, first impressions show indicate that they’re not axe murderers….

Keeping it in the family…..

I have a brother. He doesn’t like cycling. I try to get him into it but he just doesn’t want to know, which is a shame really because he’s got the perfect build to be a truly great climber.
Although we’re both similar in many ways (cracking good looks, charming, funny etc), we’re quite different in others. I have always struggled with my weight – ever since we were kids really. I tend to follow the broad shoulder, stocky side of the family whereas my brother can pretty much eat what he wants and stay slim.
To be honest, I always thought he was the milkman’s because I’m the spitting image of my father and he looks neither like Mum or Dad. This all changed when I saw pictures of my Dad when he was in his early 20’s. They looked identical.

Anyway, I digress. It’s quite odd really because neither one of us wants to follow the route our genetics have planned. I am working really hard to lose weight and get fit, whereas Skeletor is downing protein shakes and going to the gym to bulk up. We’re at the stage now where his “guns” are actually bigger than mine and I don’t like it. We’ve decided to have a party when we both weigh the same. It’ll be fun, you should come – there will be cake and lettuce.

Last Summer, he was staying with me for a few days so I managed to persuade him to come out on the bikes, promising a flat route with one hill as a bit of a challenge. He agreed and even seemed keen to use clipless pedals. It was a beautiful day and the ride started pleasantly enough, we talked as we rode along and he seemed to be getting on ok, managing to unclip at junctions without distress.
We hit the base of the climb and started to progress nicely, with me at the front. Half way up, I could sense he was getting impatient. He pulled alongside and asked if the brow was the top of the hill. I said yes.
In my defence, strictly speaking, it wasn’t the top but it went from a 14% gradient to a 3% gradient so although it eased, it wasn’t precisely “the crest”. I would say the challenging part of the climb ended at that point.

It was too late though and he shot off like a bat out of hell. I thought to myself, “he’s well up for this, get in there son” and upped the pace to hold his wheel.
What I didn’t realise was, that he was deep into the red zone and despite the calm exterior, he was screaming inside.
We reached what he thought was the top and then he jumped off, collapsed on the grass verge and the abuse started. Apparently, a 3% slope is not flat.

The ride home was fairly quiet and wasn’t helped by him failing to unclip his shoes when we reached the garage to put the bikes away. I don’t think I’ll ask him to come cycling with me again, especially in front of the kids……..

The weatherman’s revenge…..

I’m just full of excuses at the moment aren’t I? So, Becky Mantin and co wreaked havoc with my plans to ride the club run on Saturday with some heavy rains and we all know that if I ride in the rain I will melt.

I decided to have a bit of family time and a pyjama day. Couldn’t stay off the bike for long though and dragged the exercise bike in front of the telly to ride with the pros doing Milan San Remo. I did 60km and quite enjoyed it, mimicking how they rode. When the pros climbed – I whacked the resistance up and got out of the saddle, when they spun on the flat, I spun on the flat and I definitely contested the bunch sprint and quite possibly came second. Tom Boonen’s not as fast as he used to be.

A disappointing day then was turned around and then that left Sunday for a really nice 35 mile ride around Surrey. I felt really good the whole way round and even the Zig Zag climb at Box Hill posed little threat. One thing’s for certain though, it may be sunny outside but it’s definitely not warm enough for fingerless mitts yet……..

The art of suffering…….

It still amazes me just how little the majority of pro cyclists are paid in relation to other sports. The average, run of the mill pro cyclist earns £30,000 a year and that’s only if they are lucky enough to secure a contract.
When you look at the amount of dedication and training that goes into being a pro cyclist, £30,000 doesn’t seem like just reward when your average Premiership footballer earns £50,000 a week.
You read training schedules for cyclists and they are out in all weathers, practically every day of the year and it’s hard not to agree that it’s the toughest competitive sport.
Part of the attraction for me is the suffering. I’ll be honest, I can suffer, a bit and go back for more but pro cyclists can suffer on a whole different level.
Look at Jens Voigt in the Paris – Nice race last week. Here is a 38 year old man, absolutely punishing his body, pushing himself to keep up with Alberto Contador on a mountain that most of us would struggle to walk up, let alone cycle. Pained desperation on his face to keep the time within contention to retain the yellow jersey and claim the biggest win of his career.
It’s moments like this that keep me hooked on cycling, when you can look into the soul of a human and see exactly what it is that they are made of. See the determination in their eyes as they hit the red zone and then dig even deeper into the depths of despair for the sake of a few seconds or a stage win.
I guess that is the difference between being a professional and an amateur, you have to learn to suffer more and for longer. You have to know when your body has had enough and then use willpower alone to scream at yourself, “I will not be beaten today.”

Suffering is a beauty and art form. For me, last week, Jens was Van Gogh. Chapeau Jens, chapeau……

The sensible choice…….

So, tomorrow’s the 20th March and some of you may remember that I was going to race at Hillingdon. To cut a long story short, I’m not going to now for two reasons.
The first one being, I don’t think I’m ready yet. My fitness is better than what it was but I don’t think I’m quite at race pace yet. I have been doing some good intervals but I don’t think I am at the stage where I can race for 45 minutes to an hour and be competitive.
I don’t want my first race to be a demoralising experience where I’m riding round at the back, chasing everybody. I want to be mixing it up in the pack and dishing out some pain.
The second reason is that I still haven’t sorted out a second bike yet and I don’t want to wreck the one I have and jeopardise all the work and money I’ve put into the Paris trip.
The race bike is coming via the Cycle 2 Work scheme which only runs at certain times of year through my employers so I will have to wait a few months.
I will keep an eye on the racing calendar and target something around July/August time. Like Guns N Roses say, “all we need is just a little patience……..”

Weather permitting, I’ll be dicing with my club mates on the club run instead. It’s been a while since I’ve been out with them so it should be fun….. in a punishing sort of way.

Life Enhancements

Over the last couple of years that I’ve been cycling, I’ve gotten better at certain things. Some things you would expect, like fitness, cycling up hills and lung capacity but I don’t think they’re necessarily things to be proud of.

Some things in life are worth sharing and I love a good boast.

Blowing snot out of my nose
This is an absolute must for any fitness fan. It demonstrates that:
1) I am working hard enough that my body can’t cope with the amount of fluid that I’m creating and so I need to manually clear it myself.
2) If I wanted to, I could be at home in bed because I could pass as having a cold, but I’m tougher than that so need to be on my bike.
Blowing snot isn’t the easiest of things, it takes practice. In the early days, there could have been some times where things went slightly wrong and I could have had “snotcicles” hanging from my nostrils. I am now at the stage where I can project snot sideways for a couple of metres. Now that’s impressive.

Riding no handed
Anyone can ride a BMX or mountain bike no handed but it takes guts to ride a racing bike no handed. I once went 28mph down a hill with my hands off the bars and only last week, I managed to take a flapjack out of my pocket, unwrap it and eat it whilst in the no handed position.
My friend has the best claim though – he can change the lenses in his glasses. Show off.

Descending Hills
I don’t actually think I’ve got better at descending hills, just more reckless. I get down hills a lot quicker now. Lycra does not offer adequate crash protection so it’s best not to think about it and just let go of the brakes.

Fixing punctures
As a kid, my BMX would go whole summers languishing in a heap with a flat tyre until my Dad had time to change it. These days, I fix my own punctures and I’ve got it down to around 15 minutes, although at that time, one puncture could still cost me the yellow jersey in the Tour de France.

Eating
I thought I could eat loads before I started cycling but now, I can eat even more and have a series of excuses to back up my greediness.

Reading
WHSmith love me. I am the reason that they’re still in business. If I can’t cycle, I want to read about cycling and that means I read a lot of magazines. Maybe if I spent less time reading about cycling, I’d be better at the actual sport.

Spending
You’d think that a man riding a bike would be pretty cheap but I am on a mission to make it as expensive as possible. I buy into every gimmick and advertising ploy and love a good unnecessary purchase. Carbon fibre pedals, got them. Carbon fibre mini pump, check. 8,000,000 spare inner tubes, you bet.

Internet surfing
See “Reading” and “Spending”.

Hiding
See “Spending”. Sometimes a carefully hidden purchase prevents fallout at home. Anne Frank has a lot to learn from me.

Languages
On some rare occasions, Eurosport aren’t showing live racing and I need to know how that Belgian classic race is going. Online video sharing is a necessity for any cycling fan to get a fix. Sometimes, the commentary isn’t in English. I now understand some Flemish. Melaaiken doeiker (you sneaky bastard).

I can’t wait to see what else cycling brings me……..

Hero Worship

Cycling has always been regarded by some as being a dirty sport, where competitive human nature, the winning mentality and money collide into an ugly world of deceit, corruption and drugs.
I’m glad that as a relatively new cycling fan, I have engaged in a sport where a new dawn is beginning and the peloton, with it’s code of silence of yesterday has climbed the final col of deceit and is now on the descent to salvation.
Riders no longer feel afraid to speak out against doping in the sport and against those who will cross any line to pursue fame and glory. Even now, in this age of clean sport, there are those that still choose the dark side, such as Ricardo Ricco, a man who shows no remorse for what he did and how he once again brought shame on the sport.
For some, naïve fans like me, watching Ricco’s mountain finishes in the 2008 tour brought a shiver to my spine. The demonstration of explosive power to negate a field of athletes like that is something that few can achieve and aspire to. For other, more cynical fans, it was a moment not too dissimilar to that in football, where Diego Maradona ran directly to the TV cameras after scoring against Greece in the 1994 World Cup with a crazed look on his face, a man on the edge of drug abuse and sanity.

I don’t believe that cycling has any more drug takers then any other sport, it has just been tainted with this belief over the years, following high profile positive drug tests. If any sport’s organisation were to take doping as seriously as cycling, then the sporting world would be rife with sensationalist stories.
Football, rugby, swimming, athletics, practically any professional sport where an athlete is required to hold an aerobic capacity or muscular strength is capable of tempting athletes into taking performance enhancing drugs. Why do we not see more tests in these sports? Athletics and Olympic sports have a structured drugs programme that seems to expose the cheats from time to time. Why do we not hear of more professional footballers being drug tested? Is it because it is not in the interest of the sport or the organisations that control the game?

In my youth, football was my number one sport. At no time did I doubt the morality of the players on the pitch – is that because of careful marketing or control? In cycling I’m still too afraid to have aspirations and dreams. I watch Alberto Contador dance on his pedals up the slopes and rather than applaud his display of finesse, I find myself holding back and questioning the fact as to whether this is a true display of athletic prowess or the results of a systematic doping programme. I’m not speculating that Alberto takes drugs, you could replace that name with anyone from the pro cycling world and my statement would mean the same thing. How is it that we’ve got to the stage where in this era, I’m still afraid to have a hero and believe?