False hope

Another week down, another race done and here I am to tell you all (I hope the plural is necessary) about it. After the heat of the Essor Breton the weather continued to be superb with glorious sunshine for pretty much the whole week. This had me training in shorts and jersey to make sure I kept, topped to the max, the ultimate fashion accessory, that’s right, tan lines. A must for any serious or aspiring cyclist and artificial ones definitely do not count, in fact, if discovered (usually easily as their face is white and their legs are a strange orange) they take away from any credit you have gained as a cyclist. I’ve seen cyclists put on the cream that actually makes it easier to burn in 30 degree heat, just so they can get a good tan line, now that’s dedication (but definitely not recommended for all types of reasons). Luckily for me, I tan like a chicken in a pre-heated oven so my lines are usually tip top. For a few days I rode round in the sun on my own as Tom had stayed in Brittany to reacquaint himself with the locals.... if you know what I mean.

The week saw us looking forward to our next race, another Elite National, The Boucles de la Marne. This was run as a challenge promotionale de clubs of which there is a qualifying round each for the east, west and south with a final somewhere in the middle. The race was restricted to DN2 and DN Espoir teams which meant the serious big boys wouldn’t be there, but there would still be some stiff competition. “Great!” I thought “maybe I can finish in something nearing on credible for the first time this season.” If only it were that simple. Going into the race I had a pretty blocked nose which had kept me awake for a couple of nights, but apart from that, felt alright and was looking forward to it. At 158km it wasn’t short but looking at the profile that was given on the website it looked quite flat so I thought it might be a fast course....here’s a tip (I keep giving them)... never trust a profile of a race, they lie.

The drive there was a short two and a half hour hop that seemed like nothing compared to our seven hour haul last week. The sun was shining, the numbers were nice to pin on, and everything was good. My stem was decorated in several numbers , some of riders I thought might be worth watching for, but most were the times when we’d reach certain points in the race, one of those points being Kilometre 51, where there was €510 prime and no, before you question my typing skills, the numbers aren’t the wrong way round. That’s about £375 just for a prime, I’ve seen riders risk death for £5 primes back in England, and I can’t begin to imagine their frothing mouths over this serious amount of money. I decided to bare it in mind and assess the situation once I got there.

The race got under way nice and smoothly and was apparently very fast at the start but I didn’t really notice as I was sitting in. I decided to try this rather than going for the break although I did follow a few moves, never making one of my own. Everything was rolling along nicely, I was well placed for the first 40km and coming to the hill I was actually excited by the prospect of the race splitting up. Then, disaster struck. On what seemed like a gentle rise I was in my big ring changing up the gears to make it a little easier. Then suddenly the chain slipped off onto the little ring and I was spinning away to keep the speed up. No big deal I thought, so I tried changing back into the big ring. Again it slipped off, so I gave it up as a bad job, changed down onto the little ring and flicked down the gears to a smaller sprocket. As I did this, the chain jumped off altogether and so began the comical act of furiously spinning the legs to try and get the chain back on. In a sporting bunch someone might push you so you don’t stop altogether while doing this.... I wasn’t in a sporting bunch. Being right at the front, 100 riders came passed with nothing more than an “Oh la la”, I had stopped before the tail end of the bunch had even reached me. I quickly jumped off and yanked the chain out from where it was stuck, pulled the derailleur forward and wrapped it round the big ring. Just as I was getting back on, the team car got up to me and succeeded in doing very little but I was away again. So began the chase, not helped by the cars in the convoy that left ridiculous gaps and drove at random speeds, sometimes helping then just accelerating away. Most of the time it was just me versus the peloton (that weren’t taking it easy might I add) and it was a hard grind, but after about 7km I made contact.

I wasn’t in much of a state to do anything once I got back on, but I had two choices; use anything I had left to move up for the first scheduled climb, or stay at the back and recover. I chose the latter option as the climb was in just 2km. We got onto it and it was a long steady drag and nothing really broke up, everyone was panting though and it was just a test for what was to come. Remember that profile I was telling you about well after the long steady climb there was a tiny descent and climb again up to the first GPM point. I thought this was a little suspicious when I saw it and was proved right. After a manic descent where it already started to break up, there was a sudden right into an 18% beast. This caught everyone (me anyway) by surprise and suddenly there were riders zigzagging all over the road in an attempt to lower the gradient slightly. I struggled up somewhere near the back all the while thinking about the riders ahead riding away from me. The race structure was decided on this climb and I was disappointed but I soldiered on.

It started to rain a little and our group worked well in an attempt to catch up hitting the second climb not far behind. Here I saw Tom at the side of the road holding his chain and half his rear derailleur. He had been in the front group and was going well, but that piece of bad luck would signal the end to his race. Nearly as good as my excuse. After the rain eased off a little, we went downhill and kept riding at a good pace. Then it started raining again and then it became a joke, seemingly all the water that had evaporated around the world during the past week fell on us in a period of about 40 minutes. There were flashes of light in the sky and scary rumbles of thunder over head, water poured off the neighbouring fields, flooding sections of the road. We all started to look at each other and wonder whether it was worth it, after some serious thought some of us, including me, decided it was. After an hour of lashing rain and steep hills we rode into blue skies and flat roads. We rode the last 50km at a very good speed and were constantly catching riders who had been dropped by the group up front. I felt better and better as we went on and as we got to the finishing circuit I wondered how many people had dropped out ahead and behind.

After our little group played out the end of race cat and mouse for the very minor placings, I sprinted in for 53^rd. While I was doing this Aurelian Duval was busy winning the race, sprints classification, mountains classification, young rider classification, team classification and the substantial prime I was talking about (His number was on my stem). Superb, are my thoughts, another nowhere placing and possibly all because of a slipped chain after 43km. At least I got to ride the race which is more than can be said for Tom who only got to do 75km before fate took its course. Maybe next week I can do something, but who knows? I really have no idea what I’m capable of after taking beatings most weeks. The one thing I could take away was that I had finished, which was more than could be said for most of the field, I was happy with that.

The moral needs a boost before the form can come and maybe...hopefully... it can have one this weekend. Tu sais jamais.

Until next time

Hwyl fawr