Back in Blighty

I’m writing this to you from the sunny West Midlands back in Blighty. After four and a half months of living and racing in France I’ve returned for a break... well I say break, I’ve come back to race the National Road Race Championships which is 204km with a field of many pro’s. To me, 204km seems a little excessive for a field made up of many Espoirs; 160km would suffice even for the seniors. I’m trying to imagine getting to 100 miles and, depending on how fast I’m going, still have at least another hour to go. Oh well, at least there’s a race to do. Back in France leading up to coming back me and Tom were trying to ration the food so that we ate just enough to leave as little as possible before we came over. It involved much planning on the meal front especially meats which could go mouldy and potentially have fatal results. Luckily, using our combined wits (mostly mine) we were able to pull it off, be it with rather a small breakfast on the day of leaving.

Even though we were planning to leave, we still had a race to do on the Saturday. It was a semi-local crit and we were finally sending a strong squad to a smaller race for the first time in a while. There were six of us from the team and we were by far and away the strongest outfit there so I was looking forward to ruling the race. The course was a little under a kilometre and we were going to be doing an hour and fourty five minutes worth of racing with 10 laps after that, a bit of a merry-go-round only with panting lycra clad men rather than lavishly painted plastic horses. The start was fast and I was at the back as my own team put in the effort to initiate the initial moves. After a few laps I managed to move up though and start to think about getting involved. At about this point a spoke popped in my front wheel and I was at the start getting a roué avant. The laps were so short I had to take two laps out, well I think I had to, if I didn’t then I took two anyway. Anyway I got back into the race without much fuss and moved my way back up to the front. By this time we had a guy up the road on his own and the rest of us were sitting on any attacks that went. We did this for many a lap until the time eventually started to come down, at this point we got the word we were to attack to try and get across. After a particularly hard few laps followed by a prime lap I put in an effort and quickly got a gap which I held for a few laps off the front. Unfortunately the circuit was particularly bumpy and I struggled to get any kind of rhythm going and so after my few laps of freedom I was reeled in. The team put some counter attacks in and eventually there were six away with three of us, domination...or it should have been. Being back in the bunch the three of us shut down the race jumping anything that moved and eventually just about everyone gave up and we came into the bunch sprint finishing in about 8^th position and about 14^th overall. I rolled round on my recovery lap and got to the finish to see the DS having a go at one of the riders, it wasn’t good news. Apparently the break had split in two with only one of our guys up front, the resident none sprinter Mathieu. He had duly finished 2^nd in a race that we should have owned easily, but sometimes that’s how it goes, it was a frosty drive back anyway.

The next day we weren’t expecting to race but at 8.30 we got the call that we had a race to do. There were a few problems with this, firstly the race the day before had been a nocturne which had finished at 10 in the evening and we eventually got back at 1 in the morning, also it was the day before we were leaving to go back and certain things needed packing, also due to our rationing of food we didn’t have much food for breakfast and getting ready. So, after a short discussion, we decided it wouldn’t be practical to race. At this point in the week the weather had reached its highest temperature so far, with Strasbourg getting to 34 degrees. Consequently we didn’t wear much during the day and I took three showers in the space of twelve hours. With the excitement of going home, and early start and the excessive heat we both struggled to get to sleep that night. I just lay on my bed sweating, occasionally getting up to watch the lightening from the passing storm. With about 20 minutes worth of dozing we got up at 3.30 to begin our journey home. The drive and flight went swimmingly except for the plane being hijacked by terrorists and taking a detour to Moscow. Once we got back to England I said goodbye to Tom who I would be seeing in a week’s time and began my train journey home. This involved 2 changes and with a big bike box and large suitcase, I was lucky it wasn’t busy; also I had a painful arm by the end of it. But after a few hundred miles and a large bout of tiredness I returned home to be greeted by a large meal made by my gran, yummy.

Next weekend the Champs, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, for now I’ll just enjoy being able to completely understand the conversation and the tele.

Until the next time,

Laters.