2014 - Disappearing Quickly!

Random Challenges

The problem of having no goals for 2014 has resulted in my being quite a capable cyclist with no reason to ride other than for leisure. Motivationally this is a very difficult situation. Last year the Pyrenees occupied my thoughts and preparation. I came away from that experience a much better rider and came through the winter in good seaonal form. Bar my 4 week lay-off due to a chest infection in March and a recurring knee injury, which my physio seems to have fixed incidentally, I continue to display a progression in terms of speed and endurance -despite the poor weather we experienced earlier in the year (and continue to experience).

I had wanted to start racing, but a chest infection and knee injury put paid to pre-season training and preparation. Subsequently my motivation waned and I wasn't dynamic enough to change tack. I'm now riding better than ever but with no real purpose. As a result, I've thrown myself at a random assortment of challenges. First of which was to do the Wiggle new forest spring sportive. Now, I may not have mentioned this before, but British sportives have irritated me for a long while. Whilst they serve as reasonable motivation to get in shape to post a good time, the mass participation element and in particular the lack of group riding ability by some (who should know better) just gets on my wick. I came to the conclusion that I can live without UK sportives in my life unless a) They are closed road or b) It supports a local cycle club (baring the poorly run Hell of Ashdown). Despite this grumpy attitude, I agreed to do the Wiggle new forest sportive with a friend of mine who needed the experience of the distance (100Km) without the hills and to do it in a reasonably quick time - 3hrs 30mins target.

The queue of traffic to reach the car park told me everything I need to know about sportive cycling in this renaisance era. I had protested earlier in the week at the show of nimbyism from the local new forest residents about yet another sportive in their area. By 10.00am I was almost willing to campaign on their behalf. There are simply too many sportives in the new forest and there are too many ill disciplined riders on these events, not least of which are the many pinerello dogma novice(s) -you know who you are but sadly you won't be reading this.

I like riding in the new forest but will not be partaking in another sportive in the area and with the advent of Strava, I deem them uneccesary. without any frilly expletives about the scenery (described here before) or the beauty of cycling, I posted a time of 3hr.29mins. my knee was killing me and prompted the visit to the physio. My friend and I drove home, had a burger (protein) and a beer(?)and concluded that we'd had a good day out but won't be doing it again.

Random Challenge Number 2

One thing I did have on my to do list for 2014 was to cycle around the Assynt; an area of outstanding natural beauty in the far North-West of Scotland. After eyeing the roads on a visit to Sutherland last march (2013)I've been itching to get out and put wheel to (single track) tarmac for a long while. The terrain is hilly, very hilly. I climbed about 1800M over 100Km distance and whilst this could be considered normal in the Haute Savoie or the Pyrenees, bare in mind that I climbed no higher than 250M above see level at any point in the ride. The hills are short, steep (10-25% gradient) and frequent. 100Km felt like a 4Hr interval session. For somewhere so far away from anything however; a 2.5 Hrs drive North from Inverness, the single track roads were busy enough but had enough passing places to cause little frustation to either driver or rider. Ironically the main roads were quieter and provided a better cycling experience. No less scenic than the lanes around the back of Stack Pollaidh, Canisp and Suilven, past the ever so white sandy beaches near drumbeg or the road passing between the iconic mountains of Glas Bhein and Conival I must have only been passed by about 3 cars in 2hrs and maybe a few German motorcyclists but I wasn't troubled by them, despite the noise and their speed. I stopped for coffee in the delightful Kylesku, some 90Km and after the last epic up and down on the A835. It was somehow the hardest ride i've done this year and that with 3 centuries (imperial) in the bag.

The route can be found here. http://connect.garmin.com/course/5691162

Mega Meon Sportive - Going The Distance

There are two things that anyone thinking about riding 100 miles should know before setting off. Firstly and this hopefully will be no surprise to any aspiring ersatz racer and that is: 100 miles is a very long way. The second thing that you need to know is that you do experience a degree of discomfort hitherto unnoticed during say a 100km ride. I discovered my discomfort threshold at the 76 mile point, after which I just focused on finishing whilst attempting to distract myself from a) the pain in my legs, shoulders and other parts, and b) the distance left to go until the finish. The latter part of this internal self agreed deal was more difficult to uphold than the former. I caved in with 20 miles to go and became manically obsessed with the decreasing figure; I was overjoyed to see the number fall to below 10 and in no small way was this related to the knowledge that the discomfort would soon end. At 62 miles, I felt great. I had enjoyed consuming a fig roll in a way that a gastronome would feast upon the finest champagne and oysters. At 76 miles, standing up on the pedals became necessary every 10 minutes in order to maintain sanity and a degree of comfort. At 90 miles, I felt like I had travelled through the obelisk (2001 space odyssey) and was a bit beaten about. My shoulder was aching like never before.

http://www.bikeroutetoaster.com/Course.aspx?course=581092

Pacing is very important in such a long event. In one of my weekly training rides I have tried to maintain a 65-75% of max heart rate (Zone 2) in order to build endurance. I knew that to survive a 100 mile ride and ensure a strong finish, I would need to operate mainly in zone 2 and 3. This proved to be very difficult. I got on to the wheel of a very strong rider straight off the bat and noticed that I was at 86% Max HR to stay on his wheel and whilst this wouldn’t be a problem over a shorter distance, although you may be a bit knackered at the end, all manner of problems could become manifest in the latter throws in such a distance event. In plain, if slightly americanised English: you will run out of gas.

Looking at my Strava profile, I didn’t break any personal bests, but rather a long procession of 2nd fastest times over a lot of the sections, an indication perhaps of the consistency of effort. There was headwind on the route down towards Portsmouth that had me struggling to find speed. This section was mentally tough but after hooking onto a group of riders, the time passed quickly and in no time at all I had gone from the 80 mile marker in pain to 95 miles with relief. The route was excellent I have to say and Wiggle does a very good job in organising the event. The Hampshire countryside looked glorious and with so little traffic was/is/ will be again a joy to ride.

Why is there always a hill at the end of every sportive? At least you know it’s the end I suppose and can theoretically throw everything you have at it. This hill, Southwick Hill, leading up to Portsdown Hill which itself looks over onto the island city of Portsmouth was 2Km long with an average gradient of 4.2%. Nothing horrific, but after 160Km it felt like a wall. At this point the route met up with the shorter courses and inevitably there was a long string of riders of all abilities along the road. I passed the now regular site of a larger gentleman in a Mark Cavendish world champion’s jersey. On this occasion there were two kings of the mountains. I passed by them too. Finally on to Portsdown Road and a swoosh into Waterlooville college grounds. I had completed my first 100mile ride and in a gold standard time. It didn’t feel fast but I was consistent. 6hrs of riding without a break. Surely I was now ready for the Pyrenees?

The Pyrenees

Daunting Prospect

My 2001 Lonely planet guide to cycling in France has been a constant thing of wonder to me since it came in to my life some 11 years ago. In those 11 years I have, mainly, cycled the routes described in the earlier sections of the book; those being circuits of Normandy and Brittany. On those dark winter days I occasionally look to the back of the book and examine the gradient profiles of the seemingly un-rideable alpine and Pyrenean Mountain routes and wonder about the kind of effort required to ascend such heights. Normally I replace the book on the shelf, pour another whiskey and think no more of it. Since first declaring interest in the club-organised trip to the Pyrenees I have repetitively headed straight for the back pages of the book to remind myself of what the trip would entail. The answer to that question is: a monumental physical and mental effort. Such a trip should not be undertaken without thinking otherwise, at least not if this is to be your first ride up the iconic mountains of southern France and therefore the preparation is key to not only surviving the week long effort but in going beyond survival and having a good time of it too; after all the other group members would be experienced and expecting me to be sufficiently good enough to keep up with them.

After a fairly horrid British winter that left me (at least physically) almost back at where I started in January 2012, it became evident that there was a lot of work to be done to get in shape and not just with the following August in mind. I bought a turbo trainer to counteract the inability to get out during the week and built up some endurance and strength that way. As boring as turbo training seemed at the time, the benefits were apparent. Training started in earnest in April however and I had a schedule of 1 club ride and 1 mid week ride to start with, leading up to doing a Saturday and a Sunday club ride for most weekends in July in combination with a smorgasbord of midweek rides. The latter consisting of a 50Km with hills and an easy ride on Monday night to ease out the legs and build endurance. As the months rolled on I found myself going from about 600-700Km a month to almost a 1000 -1200km a month

Hitting the Hills

But distance was not the only concern I had and so during the late spring I headed for Britain’s best hill climbs, some of which can be found in Cumbria and North Yorkshire. What they lack in length and overall height, they make up in steepness and in-consistent gradient. Tan Hill is a favourite of mine, largely because I held it in awe for so long. Climb by bike, a useful hill climber’s guide, states that the average grade over 6Km is 3.2% with sections of 25%. Big by British standards, but perhaps, not big or long enough. It felt tough at the time though.

http://www.climbbybike.com/climb.asp?Col=Tan-Hill&qryMountainID=7439

To get an appreciation of bigger climbs which require a consistent effort over an hour or so I signed up for the Club’s trip to Lucca – you can read about it on the VCGH website and it was there, In Lucca, where I found a confidence on long climbs whilst gaining experience of consecutive and multiple day riding expeditions. It’s a very different experience to riding the short sharp hills of Britain, requiring different technique or so I found. The Pizzorne is a climb of almost 870m over 13Km and was a real challenge. My time to the top was about 1Hr. I had controlled heart rate well and left something in the tank for the following day. This regime, as it turns out, worked very well for multiple day rides. http://www.climbbybike.com/climb.asp?Col=Altopiano-delle-Pizzorne&qryMountainID=1456. On my return home from Lucca, no climb in Surrey or indeed Britain seemed the same. I had found form and a renewed confidence. Only one last mental barrier to get over and this was the 100mile mark. I completed the Epic Mega Meon sportive on the 28th July 2013 with one month left to the Pyrenean trip.

To The Pyrenees

A gloomy morning in Gatwick airport’s South Terminal did not make for a promising start to such an epic adventure. Less so the prospect of an early morning easy jet flight to Biarritz. But the sky brightened as we left la Manche behind and flew smoothly to the south west corner of France. I hadn’t slept well due to the asthma inducing humidity of West Sussex and so was apprehensive of being dropped by the first corner on what should have been an amble out to the beach and then further on to the first night’s hotel. The milder climate of France however improved my breathing and I had no such problems until strangely returning home a week later.

Do you remember your first Col?

The following days looked long and hard, at least on paper. Pointy masses of ink on the day plan print outs suggested a toil ahead. Day 2 was a 140Km ride with three minor cols totalling about 2000m of climbing. I don’t recall how first Col looked or its name (later discovered to be the trifling St Ignace). Like a pre-programmed automaton and dropping into a steady cadence and pushed about 80% max heart rate - the technique I had first experimented with in Italy – deployed as it would be time and time again on this trip. The second opportunity being the less trifling Col de Pinodieta. Bigger, much, much bigger climbs were to come however, but surviving Day 1 proper was a relief. Now I could enjoy the rest.

Tourmalet et al.

I loved the routine of getting up out of bed early, dressing for a bicycle ride, dropping off the bag you packed the evening before at the van, eating sufficiently and then making my way to the start line. Watching everyone lovingly ensure that their tyres were at the right pressure, their chains lubricated and that all minor adjustments to saddles and bars had been made prior to the off added to the ambience. The buzz and excitement of the (lucky) 13 riders prior to something like a climb up the Tourmalet was extraordinary; absolutely everyone was looking forward to the 35Km, 1600m climb to the top of what is, one of the most iconic Tour de France mountain passes which has been used since the inception of the race some 100yrs ago. Everyone was smiling. Would it be the same vibe at the top I wondered?

It’s a long way up the Tourmalet for sure. The lower slopes offered an opportunity to make progress relatively quickly but the cold steel grey torrent of a river by our side heralded a warning that the terrain was about change. In June 2013, the road on the western side of the Col had been washed away in several places. The morning’s gloomy flat light and dark heavy skies weren’t promising for cycling; the threat of heavy rain, the washed away buildings and remnants of people’s lives at the newly built roadside added to a dark ambience, like cycling through a war zone. In this guise, the Tourmalet was not how I had imagined. On one particular turn in the road, the local gendarmerie passed by in their downmarket pope-mobile and with the side door open, an officer shouted something which I can only imagine was in admiration of the group’s strong riding ability.

There came a point when the grey steeliness of the inhabited valley road gave way to open fields and mountain views. This is where I had a cycling epiphany, “this is what it’s all about” I thought, the majesty of the monumental climb. It took about two hours to get to the top, neither particularly quick nor particularly shoddy; I did pass people along the way however and in one rather rash moment near the very top, engaged the big ring and stood up on the pedals to pass by some Dutch riders, the excitement of the finish had overtaken me. Then, as I struggled up the last 200 steep metres in an altogether smaller gear, I saw the statue of the man atop his bike, the summit, the cafe! But more importantly the rest of the group where there and sense of achievement follow