Some form.

27^oC is what the Credit Mutuel flashing sign told me the temperature was this morning as I sped past. The sun was just burning off the mid-morning haze and although there was a little wind it was a good day for riding. I couldn’t keep my heart rate down for thinking about the weekend just gone and one coming up, that’s right, things are on the up. As the weather got better, me and Tom decided it was time to get out of the apartment for a bit and do some recon on the local cafes. We found that a very dodgy looking one 300 metres from our apartment was actually quite pleasant on the inside, albeit a tad expensive. The décor was clean and smooth with a very flash pool table and electronic darts board. Now pool is one of those games that 95% of the population think they are good at but in fact are pretty mediocre at best, I am one of these people. Tom on the other hand, is not, he had told me that he was good at the billiards based games and I was sceptical at best having heard the talk several times before. But once we started playing it was obvious the only way I was ever going to win a game was with a lot of luck, but at 2€ a game, luck could wait. The other highlight of the week was receiving a completely flat, but no less tasty loaf of soreen (malt loaf) from Tom’s mum. They don’t sell this finest of commodities in France for some reason, so it was swiftly devoured after our ride that day, with some butter of course.

My training went nicely during the week; I felt good spinning the legs and worked hard in my longer rides to keep the speed up and good weather makes this a lot easier. The legs felt good and I was looking forward to the weekend, it would comprise of a 1, 2 and 3 category race of 115 kilometres on what we would find to be a rolling to hilly course with 2 x 1km climbs, each with GPM points at the top. As well as these were a couple of other tough ascents that weren’t deemed hard enough to warrant a sprint at the top. To give myself more of a chance I finally got round to fitting the carbon bottle cages I had brought over from England. I would have done it sooner but for some reason the multi-tool I brought over didn’t have the right size Allen key, I digress. I also decided it was time for a new sock combination; I have always worn two pairs of socks due to my feet being long and thin and not filling out a shoe properly. So when I think I need an extra boost, I change my race sock combination. This time I went for an old, slightly murky, pair of assos socks that had served me well in the past underneath and some new white ones that I bought from Decathlon at 5€ for 3 pairs to go on top. Everything was set, my bike must have been at least 10% lighter with the carbon bottle cages and I had a new race sock combination, nothing could stop me.

We got to the race quite early, so for the first time this season we drove round a lap beforehand. The hills looked pretty daunting and numerous from the car, but then again they always do, generally though I think the drive round helped. After signing on, getting the good old paper number, pinning it on and warming up, I got to the start at the front. The hilly nature of the course and varying degree of ability in the 90 strong peloton meant it was quite obvious that the first serious move that got away, would stay away. As soon as we were waved away we turned right into the first none classified hill which was just as long, if not longer, than the other climbs. The attacks came soon enough first from our team, then others. I followed the people I considered dangerous and the race soon got tough as we hit the first and then second climbs. I stayed in the mix as much as possible and followed some of the hardest moves, the legs were good. Despite the attacks the bunch was still largely together as we finished the first lap and hit the ascents again. Coming into the first of the two GPM hills I put myself at the front ready to go with any serious attacks, this proved to be a good decision. Gwenael Rouzet, the obvious race favourite, made his move attacking for the GPM sprint. I followed 5^th in line behind making one of those efforts that could possibly shorten your life span, but you know that somewhere someone will have left a gap. Someone had and ten of us were away, 3 from my team including me, 3 from the other big team, CC Etupes and 4 others including Rouzet of course.

The next 10km were pretty painful, I had to skip a few turns but I was in the break. I hadn’t been too far back, I did have the legs, the race winning move had been made and I was in it...yes. After the necessary burn to get away from the frantic peloton we settled down to a very steady pace, almost too steady. In fact I was amazed at how average the pace was, my legs were itching to go faster as I was worried we’d be caught going so slow. It turned out not to be the case and that the steady pace was the same as or more than the pelotons constant accelerations and easing off. After a lap in the break my legs felt great, I started to think I could win it and began to convince myself. After another two laps though I felt slightly differently, the constant climbing and descending had taken its toll on my legs. Coming into the last lap an attack was made from the break on the opening hill; I was quite near the back and reacted a moment too late. The gap had been made and I couldn’t bring it back, the same could be said for three others one of which blew completely never to be seen again. With about 16km to go the three of us worked, desperate not for our efforts to be wasted and be caught by the peloton. Luckily with 1km to go we knew we were safe and so began the cat and mouse for 7^th place. I have an average sprint, which means that when I’m up to speed not many people come round me but I struggle to get round the really fast guys. I enjoyed the cat and mouse knowing whatever happened I would finish in the top 10. I was 2^nd wheel following the jump from one of the guys and thought I was starting to come round him as we came into the finish. But my legs were in a bit of a state after a hot day and cramp wanted to take hold, I blocked it out for 200 metres but once the rider in 3^rd shot past with 50 metres to go I knew I was finished. I finished 9^th out of the break of 10, a little disappointing, but before you can sprint you must first be able to run and before you can run you must first be able to walk. I think I’ve just broken into a sprightly jog (all thanks to those carbon bottle cages and new race sock combination).

Our team finished 3^rd, 6th and 9^th in the end and were disappointed to miss out on the win (Rouzet). I was quite happy with my performance, but I’m a realist, I did relatively well in a relatively short race with a relatively small field. But now I know the legs are there and confidence is as good as any drug on the market....well maybe not but you know what I mean.

Until next time,

Slán

PS. More photos to come.

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

Bretagne

I’ve finally got round to writing this after a week’s break due to racing so now I have plenty to write about. My first adventure occurred with a trip to the hairdresser, I know I’ve mentioned these before but this was my first time actually in there using one (a French one that is not my first time in one at all, although you probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference)...it was exciting. Or at least it was until she started cutting my hair, then it became more a sense of dread about what she was doing. By the end I didn’t have the guts or the vocabulary to ask her if she was blind, so I paid my money and left. It was without a doubt the worst haircut I’ve ever had, she gave me some sort of 1980’s David Bowie with shorter back and sides and an unshaped mop on top. I recently resorted to cutting it myself with some nail scissors and now I’m much happier, next time I think I’ll just let it grow.

On May Day, or Muguet as it’s known in France, we had a 130km race in the mountainous region of Alsace. It was 5 laps of a circuit with hills as big as they’re going to get for a race of laps. I went into it not feeling so great and was told to be active at the start. This isn’t a particularly good mix so when, in the words of David Duffield, the proverbial hit the fan on the first time up the main climb I struggled but held in there. I struggled up it every time but after the front 2 groups had ridden away I got in a small group and we rode round for 3 laps, each time the group got smaller and on the last lap I departed out the back and rode to the finish. At this point the race was in tiny pieces and what was left of the peloton caught me and then rode straight past, I didn’t mind, my legs were in serious pain. I finished 44^th out of 120 starters, a guy from our team put in a great gritty ride to finish 2^nd but was disappointed to miss out on the win.

I spent the next two days desperately trying to recover for my first stage race of the season, the Essor Breton. But I still felt a little bit tired going into Sunday’s prologue having raced on the Thursday but nothing horribly fatiguing. This is how it went for me:

Stage 1: Prologue (4.7km) Le Pertre – Le Pertre

Like any good Brit I was aiming to do Ok in this and after riding the course a few times before hand I was looking forward to nailing it round in a respectable time. I was off pretty early on at 9^th and warmed up and ready to go full beans for about 6 minutes. I started pretty fast as it was downhill with a few little kick-ups which I powered up sapping the legs. I soon got the speed up again though as turned left on a nasty gravelly corner onto another quick downhill section. This rose a little once more and then it was left onto the long, straight up hill to the finish. By now my legs and lungs were protesting profusely and I was rapidly slowing. I kept getting out of the saddle to try and get my speed up again but the lactic acid coursing through my veins had other ideas. I crossed the line in a lot of pain in a time of 6.25, I was soon to learn that this was rubbish. I went back and told the rest of the team that all the time was lost in the last kilometre as I would imagine did the rest of the first starters from each of the 15 teams. They duly took my advice and all set quicker times, the quickest being 7^th overall. The winning time was 5.51 by Pierre Luc Pierichon of the French national track squad. I was 56^th...at least I beat Slippens and Stam.

Stage 2: Saint Méen Le Grand – Inzinzac Lochrist (150km (well 148.8 actually but I’m rounding up))

It was raining in the morning and wasn’t looking good, but by race time it had dried up and I was ready to go. The pace was immediately high but I was in and around the front looking to get away early or at least not get dropped in the first 50km. Neither of things happened but we were still going fast through the first feed, so fast in fact I missed a bottle and at this point the weather was hot and I was thirsty. The race was lined out for a good 10 minutes in the gutter and the legs had to take a serious beating to stay on, fortunately, I did. After that a break went and it calmed down to the finishing circuit where things started to hot up again. I took a bottle on the first lap and immediately drank all of it and took another the next lap. Tom got away with 3 laps to go and it looked like he would make it until with about ¾ of a lap to go he was reeled in by the fast moving peloton. I decided to try and make the sprint at the last minute and made a monumental effort to finish 26^th.

Stage 3: Gavres – Brandérion (140km)

The sun was really shining at the start of this race and once again it started fast. I eventually found myself at the front helping to cover moves as I didn’t feel so bad, but nothing I got in wanted to stay away, maybe they saw me as a threat? (or maybe not) Eventually one did go with Tom in and this stayed away for a while. In the mean time, I was happily milling about in the peloton, helping to infiltrate the moves trying to bridge to the leaders. Then we turned left and out of nowhere, bam! It was a damn steep hill that had everyone quickly changing into the little ring and sprinting to hold contact. Unfortunately this wasn’t the end of it, it stayed steep for about 1.5km before levelling off slightly where the hammer went down again as those in front tried to stay away and those behind fought to stay on, I was somewhere in between. But it wasn’t finished, oh no, there was a severe sting in the tail as it climbed up once again to its steepest point that must have been at least 20% for about 200 metres to the top. The peloton split with me in the second half but I was cool and calm and helped bring it back. The hill had all but destroyed the break and we went into the finishing circuit as one big group. Here I suffered severely every time up the finishing straight hill to the line and took a bottle at about 30mph once, until the last time with 750m to go someone gave up just in front about half a second before I was about to do the same thing. I lost 20 seconds on the bunch but didn’t mind, the heat had been incredible and I had nearly burned, anyone that has seen my skin will know that this is some feat as I tan in wintery showers and rarely burn.

Stage 4: Hennebont – Plougasnou (166km (plus 7km neutralised))

I decided to choose the longest hardest stage to feel my worst as I thought it would be appropriate. The race went backwards through the Plouay circuit used for the worlds some years back and now every year for the GP Ouest France which has a great weekend of events every year including a sportive. I’d recommend it having done it once, anyway, the first climb was at 16km and I blew a gasket going over it, just about managing to stay on. While I was crying in pain, the peloton had split forcing the Dutch track squad (four of whom are definitely going to the Olympics) to pull it back for 15 minutes. This caused more suffering and we hadn’t even covered 50km but finally it was brought back together and immediately a break went up the road. This break quickly gained two minutes and was represented by 10 teams and all the main ones... except us. This meant we had to pull it back so we slowly formed at the front to start the work. For me getting the front was a big effort in itself and once I got there I wasn’t in much of a state to work, but I did. I managed to go through and do my turns for about 10 minutes until we hit a very small climb where I blew to bits. The effort had destroyed me. The peloton streamed past, still at speed as the rest of the team was working but I managed to just about hang on. I took on some bottles and tried my best to conserve anything I had left to try and get over the last GPM of the day. Unfortunately this was in vain, it was a wall of a climb and I had nothing left to stay on, with 50km to go 6 of us had slipped off the back. We rode to the finish happy to get the longest stage over and done with; I had drunk 6 and a half bottles and eaten a veritable picnic along the way.

Stage 5: Plougasnou – Landivisiau (143km)

Finally the last day and I was ready to get it over with. The weather had finally given in and we started in the rain, gileted up with wrecked oversocks to keep the dirt off. I started determined to try and get in some sort of break or at least make sure the team had someone there to do it. This meant being up front and following the constant countering of the guys who all knew they didn’t have a great chance of getting a result in the finale. Nothing was going, but I felt pretty good for the first hour, then we started to go uphill and my efforts had taken their toll. I hung in, around and off the back most of the time, constantly crawling my way back on to the tail end of the bunch. At one point every car had come past and I thought it was game over, but me and another guy ploughed on to regain contact after a 15km chase. While this was happening two of our guys had got away in a five man move and managed to take every one of the GPM maximum points. It was a classy break that sealed the Meilleur Grimpeur prize and I got to hear all about over the earpiece. I grovelled my way to the finishing circuit which had a nasty 500m steep hill to the finish (every finishing circuit had a damn hill in it). The first time up it I was left in a group that had done their job and now just wanted to finish. I’m not sure if I had done my job, but I just wanted to finish as well. We rode round and finished a few minutes down on the peloton, I smiled when I crossed the line, finishing 50^th overall. But as soon as I had finished I got some bad news; one of our guys had crashed with only 8km to go breaking his collar bone. He hadn’t finished outside the top 10 once in any stage and was sitting in 4^th place overall, but that’s bike racing, merde happens.

A few more pictures can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=97782&l=d9713&id=624435000

It was a tough five days for me but I was happy I finished, even if it wasn’t in a blaze of glory. Hopefully now I can build on it and get some recognisable form. The weather has got increasingly better and today, before writing this, I did a 4 hour recovery ride (32kmph average) in the 25 degrees sun with one of my French team mates. I’m starting to enjoy this life.

Until next time,

Shalom

The Capital.

Well, I just realised I’ve started the last 4 blogs with the word ‘well’ and now is no time to stop. The last week saw quite a turnaround in conditions, up until now it’s been a little bleak riding down roads with bare trees and dark skies to accompany you. But in just seven days everything has changed, the trees suddenly grew leaves, the sun came out and best of all, the temperature went up. It was because of this riding got a little nicer and you actually wanted to spend the day on the bike rather than doing the bare minimum. We got in a very nice long ride in on the Wednesday going up the two local cols, the Col du Pigeonnier and the Col du Pfaffenschlick. One can only imagine the hilarity that ensued when we first found these, and then the pain felt climbing up them after. We skirted Wissembourg (without managing to actually make it into Germany) and headed south back to Haguenau. It’s only when the weathers good that you realise how good cycling terrain can get and Alsace is turning out to be quite nice.

On the learning French front, it’s still pretty tough for me as some days I really feel like I’m making progress and others I don’t think I’m getting anywhere. But on the Friday while I was cleaning my bike outside alone, one of the older residents who possibly lives in the same apartment building came along. He said ‘Bonjour’ from a distance, like they do, I replied and thought that was the end of it. But no, he took an interest in my bike and started to walk over. ‘Oh no! What do I do? I don’t speak French, what if he starts talking to me? What do I say?’ But I remained calm and collected for the flurry of words that would signal the start and end of the conversation... But no, he spoke and I recognised a few of the words but wasn’t thinking to put them together. So I looked at him with a questioning face and asked “Pardon?” and he repeated what he had said. This time I was more attentive and worked out he was asking if I had a race at the weekend. “Oui, á dimanche, c’est pres de Paris.” To be honest I was pretty disappointed he knew I was English as I was pretty sure I had the accent down to a tee. He went on to ask a few other questions, most of which I was surprised to find I could answer, nothing complicated though and I still can’t actually ask the questions very well. This gave me a little confidence in my ability, which was soon lost once the next jumble of words was shot in my direction, none of which I knew, by another less understanding Frenchman.

By the Saturday we were ready to roll and started our five hour drive from Alsace to the other side of Paris for our UCI 1.2 race Paris-Mantes, what fun. I can’t really remember how we passed the time, sitting mostly and breathing occasionally I think. We stopped for a nice meal just outside Reims which provided a little respite but the journey still took it’s time. When we arrived we went straight out for a ride around the surrounding area, it was at least 20 degrees and I was wearing shorts and a jersey...great! My legs felt well rested and ready to go for the following day’s race but I still wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. My mental state before races has turned into is a strange mix of apprehension and willingness to finally do well, it’s more of a twilight feeling than anything, somewhere between motivation and not caring. It’s because of this I get delusions of grandeur occasionally and then the other side of me thinks “HA! You must be joking mate.” After our ride we ate in the hotel’s restaurant with the other teams who were stopping close by, these included the Lorraine regional team, VC la Pomme and the Groupe Gobert Belgian pro team. We then had our briefing for the next day’s race where we were told, amongst other things, that if there was a break at least one of us was to be in it every time, hurray.

The next morning we were up ridiculously early as the race started at 8am due to it being situated close to Paris. We rode the 16km to the start with VC la Pomme, en route we came across what looked like a very fresh and what seemed like fatal car crash. Not the kind of thing you want to see ever, never mind when you are trying to psyche yourself up for a big race. When we arrived we went straight to sign on and then went to find the team car, which hadn’t arrived. It didn’t arrive until 15 minutes before the start and there was a mad rush to get leg warmers off, food in pockets, jackets in car etc. We just about made the start in time after a hasty warm up and we were waved away. Now imagine the best start you can have in a road race, not much scope is there? You could get in the break but you’ve still got 100 miles to go, you could save yourself but there are 100 other people doing the same. Now imagine the worst start to a road race you can have, now there is plenty of scope there. I didn’t have the worst start imaginable but it was pretty bad, after 5km sitting nicely near the front of the peloton there was a large bang followed by the obligatory looks of “well it’s not me”, but unfortunately for me, this time it was. My hand was in the air for quite a while as the whole bunch came passed and the team car came up to me, the change wasn’t particularly fluid but I was moving just as the last few cars of the convoy came through. The team car paced me for a little while, but the moto commissare came back and told him to stop, we hadn’t even done 10km and they wouldn’t let me get back on. Fortunately the Aix en Provence team car was willing to help me and they gave me a little respite before moving on with a quick wave of thanks. The chase then brought me into a small village with windy roads and I was closing in, then once again, disaster struck. It was downhill into the village and I was going a full pelt when out of nowhere came a speed bump. The jolt knocked both my bottles out of the cages and several swear words followed in both English and French (the only type of French I’m fluent in). Because we hadn’t passed 50km yet I couldn’t go back to the team car for more so I carried on my chase finally making contact.

Thankfully, Tom gave me a bottle on the premise that when I did go back, I’d fetch him another, unfortunately he’d be even more unlucky than me. I spent a little time recuperating in the middle of the bunch and then moved to the front to watch the skirmishes before we came to the first climb. This wasn’t so bad go up and over the top and I thought that despite my bad luck, I may finally have a good day, I was wrong. There was a long descent into the second GPM and on it Tom punctured, this was at an even worse time than I did. Because of the immediate climb after and the high pace, Tom could never regain contact. The forth climb of the day came at about 100km and I wasn’t well positioned, the reason for this I’m not sure of, but it was the case. I saw the words “GPM 1.4km” painted on the road and thought it was a bad sign, I was suffering. I gave it everything to stay on but towards the top there were splits that couldn’t be brought back and I ended up in a small group off the back. At this point I could make up a load of bull about being tired from my chase earlier, but I wasn’t, I had recovered fine and this was just a bad case of pain. This group (including 5/7ths of the VC Rouen 76 1^st cat team, the team I was going to join) quickly lost time and after a while a small bunch of us formed ahead of the rest that at least wanted to make a good training ride out of it. Not the worst way to get a tan I thought. At times we weren’t exactly sure which way to go and had to shout at people at the side of the road but after a while a moto came back to us to guide us round the rest of the course and home. This group rode for a long time following this moto and it finally started to look like we were getting to the finish. At this point 3 of us decided to press on and left the rest behind and then something strange came into view, the back of the convoy. Could we have possibly caught them? Hell no, I realised this quickly enough and started to try and work out why we weren’t so far behind. We came through the finish only 3 minutes down after rapidly riding the last 5km together, considering we had ridden at least 60 kilometres off the back something was up.

After having a nice shower and getting changed I realised we were missing a rider, he appeared just as we were leaving the changing rooms. I was pretty sure he was still in there when I went out the back so why had he returned after me? Well the answer to this question is who knows? My group obviously skipped out some of the course but where and how much I have no idea and I’m not about to tell the finishing judges in a hurry, they placed in me a hollow but finishing position nonetheless of 75^th. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry... I ended up laughing (and then crying).

After the long drive home we found that after going out the back, the rider who finished late had stopped to steal one of the signs that pointed the way of the race. Why he did this and where he kept it while he was riding I have no idea (he’s slightly crazy). But it could quite possibly have been that this sign was the one that could have pointed us in the right direction and not made us cut off some of the course.

After feeling cramped on my bike, this week I’m going to play around with my position a little and see if I can get a little more comfy. Since starting riding I have only really just stopped growing and never had my position properly set up and measured, I’ve just winged it. I need something to make me feel different anyway as on Thursday we have a 1^st cat race that we have to win. We should do really, the team easily has the strength but it’s a very hilly one so it’ll be interesting to see how it plays out.

Until next time,

mabuti

Deutschland ϋber alles

Well each week it seems like I’m telling you about how bad the weather has been, so this week I’ve decided not to. Instead I’ll tell you about a few of the things that I’ve noticed about France. First off, the make up of their regular villages, which I suppose isn’t that much different to England but there are more of them and they all must have certain things. For example, any village in France must have one place of habitation and to accompany this it must have an exceedingly large church along with Mairie (village hall). If it’s lucky it may have a boulangerie but all villages must have at least four pharmacies, each of which must have a large Green flashing cross, the flashier, the better. Of course I jest, but in England we only really have one pharmacy, Boots and that’s usually located in the nearest town centre. The French love them more than (or at least as much as) their wine, which is saying something. Another thing that the French have an abundance of is hairdressers, although you wouldn’t know it from some of the hairstyles going round (unfortunately I’m not really one to comment on this front as my hair has never been good, from the day I was born till now I have never had “cool”, “stylish” or even “smart” hair. I think it’s because it grows out of my scalp at strange angles and then continues to change direction seemingly each day.). Where was I? Oh yes, the weather, well on our long ride on the Wednesday we were ok for the first 3 hours but then I decided it would be a good idea to head to and under the nearest black cloud. This, apparently, was a bad idea and so we spent a good hour getting thoroughly drenched while going through the two stages of emotion felt in such weather conditions. These being annoyance and then humour and then back to annoyance and so on...

I’ve kept a pretty stable weight throughout the week, so this has led me to believe that maybe I am at a suitable weight and I was born to be a fatty with wrists smaller than a seven year-olds. In other news, after several washes all our white clothing and towels are now either red or a light pink. This is due to our kit being a deep red and shedding any colour given the opportunity. I’ve also been working on blowing out candles with the resulting air disturbance of one of my “one inch punches”, I don’t think I quite have the necessary fast-twitch muscles fibres (or any muscle fibres for that matter) in my arms to pull it off, but I shall keep trying. The week was spent looking forward to two 80km criteriums in Germany, criteriums aren’t usually the type of races I enjoy, mainly due to a couple of bad experiences and the fact that my frame is too large to have the centre of gravity necessary to go round corners at any speed. So I was cautious but also had an open mind, the kind of crits I was used to were all out from the gun and by the second lap you were either coughing up blood or you had pulled out. Maybe an 80km crit will be run off differently? The time soon came for me to find out.

The first race was just an hour and a half’s drive south and then a short hop over the border into Germany. Here we drove around for about 20 minutes wondering where the hell this race could be, in the end we resorted to asking some German folk about our whereabouts. The thing I found strange was the fact that neither nationality spoke any of the others language, I find it strange because of how close these two places are and there is absolutely no crossover. Germans speak German, French speak French. It’s like every English person knows 3 words of French and 1 word of German, but the French know 1 word of German and 3 words of English. Luckily after some school German lessons had paid off, we managed to find the place and it was no surprise we couldn’t see it. The circuit was round a large industrial estate car park outside the specified town, the loop taking in all the nice scenes, the trucks, the lifting gear, the factory buildings, lovely stuff. Due to our searching we were already late and this wasn’t helped when we came to sign on. In a show of typical German efficiency, they were taking the details of each licence and putting them into a computer while writing your number on a small sticker and putting it on the licence before placing it in a box, taking your 8 Euro transaction having to give 90% of people change and then, finally, giving you your number. With a queue of about 20 riders ahead of us this took it’s time and by the time we came to warm up, we managed 3 laps before getting ready at the start.

For crits I have learned a sly trick for starting at the very front, rather than getting to the start early to guarantee your position, keep warming up. But once the whole front line is taken and a mass of people is starting to appear behind them, don’t carry on round to finish your lap and come in behind them, no, turn around and reverse your ass into any space at all in the front row. Obviously no one will like you for it but they won’t like you when you beat them all either. It didn’t matter that I was on the front row because once we were waved away; I missed my pedal trying to clip in and instantly lost 40 places coming into the first corner. That was where I pretty much stayed for the rest of the race, 40-60 places from the front. I tried moving up several times but the circuit seemed to be designed to stop you (me anyway) doing so, I’d sprint down the side on the straights then get to a corner where I had to slow down, lose motivation, cry for a bit and then try again. Apart from the break I watched ride away it was a pretty uneventful race, for me anyway. It split up a little early on but luckily I was in the group at the time and didn’t realise. Sprinting out of every corner has to be good training though and because the course wound back on itself a couple of times you could see who was attacking and knew when it was going to get a little harder. The finishing straight came after the last fast corner and every lap was a mass sprint to get the speed back up again, in fact, the only time I didn’t sprint up it was when I actually finished. This was due to our group coming in for something like 20^th place meaning that anyone who wanted to finish in anything like a respectable position had to come in the top 10 of the peloton. Considering the peloton was still 60 strong, this was not going to happen for everyone. This meant most of us just rolled across the line contented that we had passed.

The next day the race was later in the afternoon so in the morning I went out for an hour’s tootle because the weather was fine and dry. There were fewer of us doing it this day and none of us were responsible enough to actually find out where the race was. After a few panicked phone calls and some more German asking (possibly a new sport), by a minor miracle, we found the place. This time the race had more soul to it as it was run in a town centre, be it a small town. The circuit was almost a square with not quite straight lines; one side climbed up through the finish, then flat, then a fast meandering descent and then flat again. It was soon race time and with one slow lap of reconnaissance and a hasty warm up, we were just about ready. This time I leant against some railings to make sure I didn’t have to miss my pedal when attempting to clip in and we were away. After a few laps of settling in they started to ring a bell and occasionally say something. At first I thought it may be primes as the pace picked up after they had rang them, but they rang it seemingly every lap so I thought there may just be some bell happy German at the side of the road by the finish. Because of this (and also because it hurt) I stayed in the bunch moving up when it was easiest. I was most pleased that when it got really hard and the bunch began to split, the four of us were always in the front group, either already there and coming across. In the final few laps I decided to have a go at the sprint and moved myself up into a not good but not bad position. Rounding the final corner I started my all out effort for the finish, but people were sitting up, why? Usually if any rider can finish in the top 20 they’ll risk death or at least injury to get there and I was coming in for what must have been about 15^th. Even as I crossed the line people where freewheeling, so I thought something fishy might be going on, I was in Germany after all.

It turned out that the whole damn race had been a big point’s race and every time they rang the bell we were supposed to sprint, position on the last lap had nothing to do with it. Also there were a damn lot of primes that if I had of known about, I would have at least had a go at trying to win a few. Luckily two of the guys won a prime each so we got a bottle of German Rosé out of it and went to MacDonald’s afterwards (although the prime wasn’t enough to pay for all of us...or even one of us). What was crazy was that the guy who had won got 27 points, 2^nd had 19 and 3^rd had 13 and after that everyone had 5 points. One of our guys unknowingly finished 6^th after winning a sprint and getting 5 points.

Oh well, good training and the weather was superb for the weekend, although as I write this there are heavy overcast skies. Next week I have another UCI race, Paris-Mantes, I’m looking forward to it and I’m hoping to keep the finishing streak going.

Join me in my next adventure next week, but until that time,

안녕

That familiar sinking feeling..or is it?

Well, another week of abysmal weather conditions for the most part, up until the weekend at least. It rained pretty much none stop from Wednesday evening till Friday night which was pleasant. This meant a lot of sitting around promising to make up for the lack of training when the weather was good, so far we’ve got a backlog of about 30 hours. This meant that once again it would be a pretty easy week, but this I didn’t mind as I knew we had another double race weekend ahead. To pass the time I mostly sat at my computer scowering the internet for anything of any interest, unfortunately, despite its size, the internet can only be so interesting...even if 95% of it is porn. So to pass some more time I played on the Xbox, but this got boring, so I decided to have some food. Once I had done this I went and looked at the internet some more (I found a site which hosts some of the Futurama episodes this time). It was because of this doing nothing that I began to question my weight, I’d always been about 72kg but now I am nearer 76. Now whether I’ve grown at all or I’ve just put on some muscle I don’t know, but 4 kg is quite a lot when you think about it. I’m sure I’ve grown an extra roll on my stomach (the extra one being the first). So now, in my quest for Bruce Lee-dom my new task is to find a good race weight and stay at it. I reckon it’s probably around 74kg, but I intend to not over eat and to keep the training up and hopefully it will drop before levelling off nicely.

After the previous Saturday’s reasonable performance I was still actually thinking about the Sunday, which was a pretty dismal performance. If they had been the other way round I would have been much happier, but never-the-less I did my best to put it out of mind and concentrate on the positives...at least I had finished. I needed every positive I could think of coming into the weekend as it consisted of two Elite National races, races I hadn’t had a good experience of in the past. Not that I’ve done many of them, but they are pretty daunting if you think about them too much. The first would be the Tour du Charolais, a relative Brit fest, with 8 on the start list. At 154km the race would be pretty hilly, although with no major cols it is either up or down, but usually up. The Sunday would consist of Dijon-Auxonne-Dijon, a completely flat and fast 160km race but this time with only 3 Brits riding. I now know that any race with two place names in with a dash between them is going to be tough, this also applies to races with the words “Tour du/de/des” followed by a town, area or name of a country... generally, the bigger the harder. So the weekend was shaping up to be a toughie.

It came around slowly but surely and it was finally Saturday morning. The first race was a hell of a long way away with a 5 hour drive, if you are from England, imagine driving from Birmingham to Newcastle (if you are from anywhere else just imagine driving 5 hours) to get to your race. After finally arriving we signed on, picked up our numbers and went to warm up, little did I know it would probably be my worst ever day on a bike race wise. For the race I would be using an earpiece, a first for me, although it’s probably best if you understand the language being spoken into it, he might as well have been speaking...well... French, it wouldn’t matter in about an hour anyway. We lined up for the start and I had managed to wriggle my way to the front once more and here I stayed for the first few kilometres which were more of a procession. The action kicked off soon enough and I was quickly having to move up as riders attacked and then slowed. The road began to roll up and down and we were suddenly on the first climb of the day. Cleverly, the organiser had put a rush sprint half way up the climb, 2km before the top. This meant the pace was pretty rapid up the hill, but I still felt it was manageable being not too far down the peloton, but then 1 km after the Rush Sprint, disaster struck. There were a few wobbles just ahead of me to the left and these soon turned into a tsunami of a wave, causing riders to touch wheels and come down in a sort of domino effect across the road. I wasn’t one of them, but I was exactly 0.5 metres away from becoming one of them and because of this came to a dead stop unclipping in the process. What happened in the next kilometre decided what I would be doing for the next couple of hours and it wasn’t my preferred choice.

Basically, I panicked and tried way too hard to get back into the string of riders, this put me into my weird overload mode that I have only ever experienced during this season of racing. It meant riders where coming past me at an alarming rate and although I desperately tried to get on before the top of the hill, it was only a matter of time before the string of riders ended and the cars began. When this did happen I was sort of able to go again, but the peloton where motoring and I was struggling to hold them. The DS told me over the radio to wait for a small group behind and try to get back on with them but this turned out to be the final nail in the coffin. Only 30km gone and my race was over. I spent the next 70km thinking how rubbish I was and wondering if I’d ever finish one of these damn races. Once I got to the finishing circuit I pulled out and spent the next 30 minutes looking for the team van, before waiting for the rest of the riders to arrive. I was pretty non-plussed to say the least.

Luckily our drive was short as we were staying in a hotel for the next race which wasn’t far away, so there wasn’t much chance for question asking from the rest of the team. We had a good meal, got rested up for the next day’s race and joked about how rubbish I had done. We arrived at the race with plenty of time, but this time I decided to warm up on my own for a bit and made myself work hard so my body knew what it was in for. I was coming into the race with about 0% confidence and so decided that I no longer cared how my race went as long as I got past 20km. I felt a little better for my warm up and at the start I once again managed to weasel my way to the front somehow. The race was waved away and the attacks came from the gun, with me in and around the front wanting to avoid being swamped at all costs. The pace was very fast with the roads being flat and the wind not being as ridiculous as it has been in recent weeks, so we soon reached 20km and I had achieved my goal for the day...now what? Well I kept going, and going...and going, hell, I even ventured off the front a couple of times although never gaining much of an advantage. Up until about the 130km mark I had kept a reasonable to good position in the peloton (on a scale of 1 to 10, I’d give it a 7.5), but after this I seemed to lose impetus for some reason and slipped back. I think it had something to do with the fact I’ve never finished a race any longer than 140km and so didn’t really know what to do with myself.

After slipping back the pace began to really pick up occasionally as riders chanced their luck in an attempt to get away in the final kilometres. At about this point I saw a board saying 10km to go and it was then the pace really started to hot up. The peloton lined out in the gutter and it was impossible to move up, people began to pop in front of me as the length and high speed of the race wore them down. But unlike the day before and all the other times before that, I could come round them and close the gap. It was only with 1km that the pace got too much for so many riders in front of me the gap became far too big to close and I rolled across the line a handful of seconds behind the back of the bunch. I had finished my first Elite National, be it 102^nd, but I had finished none-the-less. I was jubilant to say the least. The rest of the team were annoyed that they had missed the small break at the end and messed up the sprint, but I really couldn’t have cared any less... I had finished.

There is something horribly depressing about not finishing a long hard race when those around you have. You miss out on all the stories about how you nearly crashed, how you closed the gap, how you nearly made the break. Whereas there is something incredibly fulfilling about finishing a long hard race, you do get to tell those stories and you feel 1000% better walking to the showers afterwards knowing that you crossed the line with everyone else. It’s something I want to experience more often than not from now on and although it will be hard, I will do my best to finish every race physically possible.

I can’t really say I have some form coming after my poor effort on Saturday, but I definitely felt better. I have now purchased a 20 Euro Heart rate monitor from decathlon to help me train a little more specifically, not quite the fancy all singing all dancing polar I sold before I came over, or the Powertap I left at home, but it works...just about.

Next week two Criteriums in Germany, but not like your wimpy hour Criteriums in Britain, these are full on meaty 90km Criteriums.

But until then,

再见

PS. If you enjoy reading about my exploits here are a few links to other riders who have written similar articles that I know about (be it at a slightly higher level). If you know any more please comment and i'll them here:

Kieran Page:
http://www.kieranpage.com/news.html
Andy Tennant:
http://www.andytennant.co.uk/
The dave rayner fund blog:
http://www.daveraynerfund.blogspot.com/
Braveheart funded rider diaries:
http://www.braveheartcyclingfund.com/Diaries.asp

Finally.

Well after last week’s slight ray of hope, the foul weather had returned to us again. Unfortunately, not quite bad enough for the races to be cancelled but wet enough for your kit to wish that they had been. Luckily my spirits were slightly higher than they had been for the weekend as I knew I was doing two first category races, rather than the seemingly unfinishable elites. After last week’s pretty poor performance I decided an easy week was on the cards. I’d tried training, but that hadn’t worked, so I concluded that my legs maybe weren’t enjoying the constant punishing I was giving them on a day to day basis. I also spent much of the week considering how to save some beer that my parents had brought over. It had come in a large bladder with a tap at the bottom, but after a couple of days it had begun to expand and on the morning of the third day it had sprung a leak. So after working out how to relieve the pressure I set about finding new containment devices so it could be happily consumed at a later date. I found them in the form of used water bottles that you buy from the supermarket, oh joy. Now we just have to drink it all, hurray!

Also during the week, after a quick chat with the buildings proprietor, we unexpectedly received some new mattresses. Although the old ones weren’t too bad, they were a little lumpy and if you found yourself in certain position, the springs made things a little uncomfortable. On taking the old ones out I was happy to found out that mine had obviously been the scene of several bed wetting occurrences (the yellow stains are a total give away). Also, on the Friday, the teams’ new helmets arrived, Casco Ares’. These are pretty nice helmets that I’d never even heard of before and at 150 Euros a pop (RRP), not cheap either. I always thought a team looked a lot smarter when they have the same helmets even if you can’t tell who the hell anyone is. So even if none of us finish the race, at least we’ll look smart when we pack. In other news, touching my toes is now somewhat of a formality, although I’m struggling to pull off Bruce Lee. I don’t think my slim 6’4” figure allows for anything but the bare minimum of upper body muscle.

Race time came round again and I was feeling pretty fresh after my week of relative R’n’R so I thought I would definitely finish, at least...maybe. The first race of the weekend was an hour and a half drive away, a drive which felt pretty quick in comparison to the three and a half to four hour drives we had been putting in the past few weeks. It was raining when we got there and still raining when we arrived at the start line, after soaking ourselves more than anything in the warm up. The field was about 80-90 in size, although I did see the number 107 at one point, but this is a fact I have learnt to put out of my head before a race as I have found that there is no point worrying about how many riders there are. Better to concentrate on how you’re going to make them all suffer. As we were waved away everyone went to clip into their pedals, the unfortunate chap next to me either didn’t find his or found it too fast and slipped onto the tarmac after approximately zero metres. After a quick chuckle to myself, it was soon down to business as I quickly moved up the field to try and cover the early attacks. After a few of these moves, we came to a relatively fast downhill section with a couple of turns, turns that you wouldn’t bat an eyelid to in normal conditions but in the heavy rain one had been turned into an ice rink. A fact quickly learned by the 2 riders who were about 50 metres ahead as we came to the first one. Being about 6^th in the bunch at the time I had a great view of them skidding across the road on their asses into the gutter. Luckily this gave the bunch a much needed prior warning and we duly took the corner at about 2 miles per hour (about 3.2kph) otherwise it might have been 50 riders on the floor rather than 2. For the next four laps at least one person would crash on this corner and on the fourth lap I would nearly be one of them.

A small break started to form ahead of the bunch on the 2^nd lap and coming into the finish for the third time I managed to pull away with about fifteen others just behind the break. We didn’t work particularly well as everyone wanted to save themselves so that when they got close enough they could jump across to the break ahead and leave the rest of the suckers behind. Because of this I waited until the person I thought was possibly the strongest jumped, and when our group started to split on a fast cross-wind (have I not mentioned the wind yet?) section, he did and I followed. He went full gas right in the gutter so no one could get any shelter, a good idea that I thought about way too much at the time. I managed to hold his wheel though and we got across the split, unfortunately everyone else had done the same thing and we were just back together again. At this point we hit one of the two draggy climbs and the rider I had followed realised we were all still reeling from his move and went again. This time he pulled about 8 riders away and unfortunately I wasn’t one of them. This group immediately began to work as they saw they had the gap and my group was again left dallying about, everyone once more waiting to try and jump across at the opportune moment. This moment never came and the next few laps were spent occasionally getting some speed up and then slowing and then attacking and then slowing. On the fourth lap we came to the slippery corner and just before it the rider directly in front of me turned round to see what was going on. In doing so he put pressure on his tyre where there was dangerously little friction, his bike came from underneath him and he was suddenly sliding down the road. “Great!” I thought “there’s no way out of this one” and I almost closed my eyes for the inevitable crash. It’s a good job I didn’t as what happened next is a miracle that can only have been performed by the cycling gods themselves. As he hit the deck his bike went to the right and he slid to the left and amazingly became detached from the pedals, this left me with a 5 centimetre gap which I took in a kind of trance. The rest is not exactly history, but that would be an appropriate thing to say. I decided it was a sign and stayed upright for the rest of the race.

With about 5 laps to go and the front group well up the road I managed to jump away with 5 others who were all had teammates behind and so we forged ahead with no challenge. We worked well and at this point the team car came up behind us. “Finally” I thought, the team car was following me rather than driving past. We came within a minute of a small dropped group ahead but didn’t quite catch them. From the 6 I sprinted in an unfortunate 3^rd, this put me in a respectable but not great 20^th overall. At the end after the weather had dried up, it dried all the mud on me with it so my legs, face, kit and bike were in a particular state.

The next morning I had all my kit washed, cleaned my bike and got some good recovery. The race wasn’t far away so I rode there and by sheer fluke it was raining so after 3 minutes my bike was as dirty as it had been. The race started and I moved myself up as quickly as possible as I had been told the wind would sort it out pretty early on (Wind? Bien sur, toujours). On the second lap I saw one of the favourites make a move, but as I was in no place to reply I shouted to the peloton to get a move on. They responded, the hammer went down and after about a minute and a half there were gaps, the main one being a couple of places in front of me. I found myself on the front like an idiot and so dropped back in the hope I could jump across. This hope was pretty unfounded as when I did jump everyone came with me and I made little impression. All I did was put myself in the red for the hardest bit of the course. It was here that it continued to be hard and I began to go backwards, all the time knowing that the selection was being made and I was nowhere near it. I found myself in a group that was quickly losing ground and the one minute to the head of the race might as well have been an hour, it was about this time that it started hailing. My group continuously attacked each other (it got rather annoying and painful, but mostly painful) until about 4 laps to go when we started to catch a small group ahead. It was then that a strange phenomenon that only happens in small groups in cycling occurred, we slowed down. Why do you slow down when you are about to catch the group in front?!? Thankfully with about 5km to go on the last lap we did catch them and I sprinted in 5^th in our group but I’m not sure where overall. It could have been 30^th at best but 45^th at worst, I’m sure I’ll find out, it was our club that was running it after all.

So there it is, I finally finished a race, two races even! And although they didn’t go quite as spiffingly as they could, I have my first top 20, be it 20^th. I also seem to be learning the hard way that racing over here is about using your efforts wisely and at the right time. In England you can get with it now and again, but here, if you mess up once it’s race over.

Next week 2 more Elite Nationals, so it’ll be interesting to see how each of them goes, hopefully well.

But until then,

vaarwel