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.