Are you sure its not cake o’clock?
Sunday saw a return of the “team Sunday cycle”, agreed on Friday evening at the Race Night to be 8.30 starting from Big J’s place. In the end only three of us could make it, so John, Sammy and myself decided on a ‘to Largs and then see how we’re feeling’ outing. The weather was looking promising, and saw 2/3 riders in shorts from the outset. We set off at a steady pace, slipping easily along the roads in our trio-train, with only a small detour due to a closed road near Bishopton altering our route from the norm.
Largs main street. And yes, it was warm, sunny and that is a blue sky.
The first incline of the day the up-and-over to Kilmacolm I stuck to John’s wheel, to see if the last few months of training had paid off, and I could now keep up with the “Monsters”. It seems I’ve been doing something right, as we hit the top with me still close on his tail, but Sammy seemed to have dropped back. I took the opportunity to shed my leggings as the sun was making itself felt, while we waited the few moments for Sammy to reach us with a “I’m pacing myself” (this was to be a sign of his experience over mine as you’ll soon see). We forged on down into the village, then out onto the country roads to the next climb into Greenock, with a brief stop to sort a rattling bottle cage on Sammy’s bike. The three of us topped the hill together, then hit the drops for the fast run down into Greenock itself. I hit my personal best top speed on this section, 41.4 mph, so the day was looking good. The road out of Greenock climbs up the Old Largs Road, and soon has a very steep section which used to fill me with dread and required use of the Sharpova technique. But not today, I took it again closely on John’s heels, wise Sammy again taking it at his own pace. A brief halt at the top to chow down a banana, we regrouped and started on the rolling roads before the descent proper, with an increase in the normally traffic-free route due to the main road being closed nearby. This caused us a few minor slow-downs as we pulled in to passing places to allow cars to get by.
cake? whaddayaneedacakebreakfor?
We soon made Largs, for a toilet break and a few quick photos. My appeals for a cake stop denied (! don’t these guys understand the Majorca way of cycle training? they’d be telling me next no lunch stop for a beer n cakes…), we made our way to the next big hill of the morning, the Hairy Brae. We headed up in group, me taking a few snaps at the hairpin (Majorca one-handed ascent & camera handling techniques applied) and the climb was soon over. We passed a fellow cyclist near the top, the same chap we’d seen and left behind on the Old Largs Road, his confusion as to how he’d overtook us explained by a ‘toilet stop in Largs’ as I puffed by.
Big J on a big hill, and I’m keeping up. Shame it didn’t last all day.
Everyone was feeling fit, so the “normal” Largs loop back home direct to Lochwinnoch was to be extended – extra mileage taking the form of a loop to Dalry then Stewarton, Dunlop and Lugton. At this point, my Garmin started to misbehave as we swept downhill to Dalry, reading 5mph as we belted downhill. I pulled over to restart it in the hope this fixed things, with Sammy suggesting I kill off the cadence/speed sensor which could be askew from the various bumps and potholes of the day. A second stop after a restart and this advice was followed, so there may be some oddities in my Garmin output for the day. This was the least of my worries, as around the 50 mile mark I was starting to suffer from my ambitious climbs earlier in the day. With no cake stop to off-set my energy sapping exertions, I was beginning to struggle to keep up with Sammy and John. I began to eat everything in my pockets and feed bag, sloshing down snack bars with my lucozade, but was still having a tough time keeping the pace on the inclines. I dropped back as we approached Auchentiber, one short climb resulting in me losing touch with the others. A mile or two on they waited for me. “Its definately cake o’clock now!” I cried, but to no avail, an energy gel my only solace as we moved on towards Stewarton. I was familiar with parts of this route, having done a 45 mile loop this way a few weeks ago. As we approached Lugton, my spirits were lifted – “there’s a place that does a mean roll and sausage near here!” but sadly we turned away from the chance of some greasy sustenance on the Neilston road, instead heading the other direction, on toward Beith.
I had no choice but to soldier on, Lochwinnoch and the hill up to Carruthmuir I was back to solo-ing, the others able to sustain the pace of the day, while my lack of cake was taking its toll. I was forced to eat the last of my “goodies”, a less than appealing pineapple and toe-clippings flavour Torq bar that I’d been avoiding for weeks, in the hope its meagre calories would boost me for the last dozen miles home. S&J awaited me at the turn-off to Bridge of Weir, no cake-stop to be had, but a promise of ‘cake when we are done’. We set off together on the mostly flat, remaining section of the ride. The Houston Road of last weekend, a tail-wind paradise was this week a slog, clinging to the back of the group after my turn at the front had me crying ‘no more!’, the others graciously letting me draft them the remaining miles home. Losing touch for the last half mile, I rounded the final corner a few minutes shy of the others, but good on his word, John produced a few cakes which were quickly dispatched. Not quite the day I’d envisaged, but still a good 92 miles (86 or so for the others missing out on my cycle from Glasgow to Renfrew) on a fine sunny and dry day.
After this proper (if a bit late) cake stop, I declined Sammy’s offer of a lift home, the 6.5 miles would see me close to the 100. I set off at an easy pace, hitting home without incident, but still 1.5 miles short of the hundred. A quick loop of the Green and the Garmin pinged out the 100 mile ‘lap’, and so ended my second century cycle. A decent average too, assuming the oddities of the Garmin after Largs didn’t mess up things – 16.9mph average. No injuries, no mechanical breakdowns, just need to work out how to carry and eat cake on the move…
DIFD Race Night
just a quick post to express our thanks to everyone who helped to plan, organise & run the Race Night last night, donated & collected prizes, sold races, made sandwiches, cakes and all the other loverly grub, the volunteers and helpers at St. Brides who made us so welcome, and of course all the folk who came along and were so generous with their donations to our charities. Together we raised over £3,000 on the night (we’re still counting the last few pounds coming in!), which with the donations we’ve seen already, puts us well over the half way mark of our target £10k by the end of the LEJOG. I hope everyone had a good time!
This night was such a boost, helping us towards our goal of helping those with epilepsy and brain tumours in memory of Dee. It will spur us all on in our training.
Dee would be so embarrassed at all this “fuss”, but quietly proud of what we’ve achieved so far. Thank you all so much.
Ian
Dumfries and cake
Long weekend, so what better to do than a few miles on the bike?
Friday. I’d checked the weather, and unusually there was to be a NE wind on the Friday, so a trip to Castle Douglas on the bike would see me getting the wind on my back most of the way, a nice 88 mile ‘warm-up’ for the Drumlanrig Challenge (62 miler) the following day and a chance to spend a few days at my Mum’s. I set out around 10.30, as little weight in my rucksack as I could get away with, and with an easy pace in mind. First target, Eaglesham, and the moor road – a bit of a hill, but it looked to be nice tarmac and low on traffic on Google streetview, so a fair compromise. And of course, the pay off from going up hill, is the descent. When I actually arrived in Eaglesham, which was uphill all the way, found that the initial ascent to the moor road was a bit nastier than I expected, but dug in, stood up and got up without any problem, except for a bloke in a camper van messing around slowing/ speeding up then trying to park right in front of me. The road passes a nice wind farm and has a few boy racers, but the single track road has a cycle lane most of the way, so there was plenty of room for me. The descent soon began, and hitting 30+mph was easy, slightly regretting still having my winter Gatorskin tyres on, their higher resistance slowing me a bit. The B-road ended at the A77, now quiet due to the nearby M77, and downhill most of the section I was taking, allowing me to easily maintain 20+ speeds.
quick trip to Russia, minus your passport
I turned off towards Waterside and Moscow (yup, there’s a Moscow in Ayrshire) then on to Galston, where my el cheapo B-twin bottle holder rattled loose, the metal prongs working free of their plastic mounts – no chance of a fix, so I tossed it and put the water bottle in my ruckack. Not ideal.
I coninued along the 716 until it reached the A76 and my big mistake. I’d not checked this part of the route out, and it turned out to be a very busy road, with a disproportionate amount of bad drivers towing caravans intent on wiping me out. The closest near-miss I was virtually brushing up against the guys caravan! Still, the fear of being splattered kept my average up. Just beyond Cumnock I escaped the 76 onto more bike friendly B-road, low on traffic, but big on hills.
some tarmac in Ayrshire – potholes optional
Throw in a bit of ‘road closed’ fun (duly ignored by pedalling me, gate across the road easily climbed and bike dragged over) and poor tarmac on some of the descents (bone shaking) and I was soon at Dalmellington and decided to take a short break for some eats.
Dalmellington – on the shortlist for my holidays next year…
The local shop didn’t have much choice, so a chicken wrap it had to be, a Twix for a bit of a calorie boost, washed down with the juice from my bottle and then I was on my way again. The climb out of this small town lead on to the A713, a road I’ve driven in the car a few times without realising how much of it was uphill nor how bad some of the surface is for cycling. Still, there was a welcome distraction from these issues from a load of Dutch rally drivers – all in Minis, some classic, some the modern version, all zipping by me, many appearing to be lost or taking circular routes and passing by me several times. It wasn’t long before I’d passed Carsphairn and the end of any significant uphill sections, but still 20 miles or so to go. The wind wasn’t being as helpful as I hoped, not that strong, but at least it wasn’t in my face for any significant time.
the A713, a fine piece of cycling tarmac
I could see Loch Ken ahead, so knew I hadn’t far to go, but took a quick break to refuel and stretch my back – carrying a rucksack messes with your stance on the bike a bit, so I was getting some stiffness which I kneaded out with my knuckles. Refreshed, I carried on, noticing my average was still over 16mph, so determined to keep it there and to get to Mum’s for 5pm, dug in for the last few miles. I was soon on the familiar roads of Castle Douglas, then on to the back roads to Gelston, the end in sight and pulled up bang on 5pm. 88 miles in the bag, not feeling too worn out and looking forward to the Drumlanrig the next day.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/174649327
Saturday. I’d knocked the idea of cycling to Drumlanrig on the head – 34 extra miles each way was going to push things a bit far, particularly if the sportive was going to be ‘speedy’, and I didn’t really fancy a 5am start. So, I borrowd me Ma’s car and drove it. Just as I was approaching the Castle turn off, my phone buzzed away in my pocket – the others wondering where I was. I was nearly there, so left it until I was parked. A quick phone to David established they were in the queue for their numbers, so I headed over to the tent to meet them, watching the earlier starters head off. I spotted David and Bryan, our team kit easily picked out from the crowd, just getting the numbers as I approached. A few quick hellos and we returned to cars, attached our numbers, swithered about gloves and overshoes, then moved to the start via the ‘facilities’.
smile, its not *that* cold
We got going, turning easily down a gentle hill away from the start line with our group stringing out as we went. It wasn’t long before a few words between Bryan and myself resulted in us pushing forward to the lead cyclists of our group, as they appeared to be a bit more organised and taking advantage of slip-streaming. We tagged on the back as we started to climb upwards, and the first serious hill appeared ahead of us. Clunking down to the small chain and standing up, we were packed a bit too close for comfort and it was a nervous ascent. One unfortunate rider just ahead of me skidded his back wheel, hit a pothole coming to a dead stop, ending with him toppling sideways with a groan as he was unable to do anything to stay upright. A quick ‘are you ok?’ from David and myself (Bryan had avoided the melee by surging ahead) with a resigned ‘yeah’ (poor guy would have to walk it up due to the gradient preventing restarting) and we forged on. The top reached, the descent was as bad – potholes, gravel and narrow, twisting roadway to contend with saw me sitting on the brakes all the way down, though one rider (fearless or stupid?) zoomed by us, less concerned with the road condition than us.
We continued, climbing through Craigdarroch with Lynne (I think) from Ayr CC making our group into a four, swapping conversation and our places in the road as we went. The route became a long sweeping descent, I tucked in behind our Ayr buddy to follow her lines round the bends, guessing she’d know what she was at (she did), helping me to keep a solid pace down in to Glenhoul.
We were passing a few folk, rarely were we overtaken until a shout of ‘on your right’ from behind and a swarm of Johnstone Wheelers overhauled us – the cry to tag on the back went up and we dug in to maintain their pace, with a dozen or more other riders who had taken the same initiative.
I’m sure the train was bigger than this a minute ago
Our average began to shoot up, the train making it easy to keep the cranks turning, but forcing extra effort after any sharp bends – the slow in, fast out of the train requiring a burn each time – or on anything but a short incline to keep up with the trains momentum. I missed the ‘bump’ behind between David and another rider, so escaped any incident of note in the train, but once we turned off the A702 and hit a proper hill, the train began to out-pace my “done 88 miles yesterday” legs and I, along with many other of the ‘carried’ riders dropped off. David seemed to waver between digging in to keep up, or holding back to wait on me, in the end choosing the latter, giving me a target to work toward as he slowed and chatted to a fellow rider as the climb levelled off. I soon caught up, and the route headed downhill, offering some respite from the recent climb. This was short lived, another hill to tackle before a longer descent and levelling off. It wasn’t long before a cake stop came into sight, and Bryan had stopped to wait on us, about 15 miles from the end. I dove in to the jam and cream scones, a few egg sandwiches and grabbed a flapjack and a banana as Bryan had spotted a group approaching to tag on to. By the time I’d got back on board, David and I were playing catch up, each time we seemed to be nearly about to make contact, a hill or junction foiled us. A final hill (or so it seemed) with 4 miles to go and the group had out-paced us, so we settled in to the climb, over taking some tired riders as we went along. A bit of 2 man train saw us pass a few more folk, before the end was in sight – a slightly mean of them uphill section to the line, where a beaming Bryan snapped us as we crossed the line, happy with his 18mph average, and we too pleased to have completed the route without too much trouble in a solid 16.4mph average.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/175029221
And then on to cake! Well, sandwiches then cake. I stowed my bike, swapped my shoes, said “Hi” to Lynne (parked directly behind me, refilling her bottles) and wished her luck with the extra 38 miles she was off to complete, then met the others at the food tent. A variety of stuff was on offer, with a friendly ‘take as many as you want’ from the volunteers pulling out extra tubs of grub to replace any getting low. We chatted to the Wheelers and thanked them for the tow, and to a few other folk we’d met on the route. Cake was consumed (millionaire shortbread, marble cake, flapjacks, and various other goodies of unknown name), then we parted ways, 3 happy LEJOGers having completed a fine event, vowing to return next year.
sandwich? cheese with everything
More Sammidges!
Oh, and my plan to cycle home on Sunday? It went a bit awry – my phone was out of battery, and a solo run with no way of calling in help if anything were to happen on some of the back roads resulted in me sat on train. Not quite the memory of Largs, as this time the carriage with the bike store was full of stag party drunks, so I and a few fellow sober passengers ended up dodging their shoe slinging antics and tutting quietly to ourselves at their general misbehaviour until they had the good grace to get off the train, to the reflief of all. Made up for this non-cycle by doing a 45 miler (16.8 avg) on Monday morning, avoiding the worst of the rain to give me a nice tally of 195 miles for the long weekend.
Taking the Johnstone express. All aboard.
Saturday saw the introduction of Ian and David to the sportive world. John and then Mark were meant to join us but were unable to do so for various reasons. A sportive (French) is an organised event where a marked/ signed route has been put in place and cyclists are timed round the course. There are normally different distances of routes (commonly 100 miles and 100km) put in place to suit differing levels of ability. Also, food stops are normally provided, and this is part of the fun for some but for others the thought of stopping would send them into a cold sweat.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyclosportive
For Ian and David, this was a placeholder in the diary as a mid term aim before LeJog. For me and originally John it was to be a tune up for the Etape Caledonia (a closed road sportive in Pitlochry with 5000 others) the following week.
This particular sportive was the ‘Drumlanrig Challenge’, so named as it started/ ended at Drumlanrig Castle in Dumfries and Country. This is a beautifully maintained castle set within a country park with adventure playground, forest walks and mountain biking trails. I was so taken with place after last year’s event that I came down the next day with the family for a picnic.
The sportive had been organized by the Dumfries section of a charity called Tearfund who ‘work globally to end poverty and injustice, and to restore dignity and hope in some of the world’s poorest communities’. One of the reasons for wanting to do this sportive again was the superb organization and friendliness of the volunteers helping out. With the entry form I had sent a note about why we taking part in the event and about our LeJog expedition and received a very nice reply back when we were given our entry acceptance. Some of the big sportives can seem very corporate but this one you genuinely feel that they care more than just about your donation. The other reason I wanted to return you will see evidence of at the end.
Ian in his wisdom had decided to cycle down and stay with his mother who lived relatively nearby (90 miles from Glasgow) on the Friday. I had suggested I would give him a lift down and he could cycle back, but he was adamant and who could blame him, the extra miles would do him good in the long run. For me, my offer of a lift was part selfish to ensure his legs were fresh for the sportive.
For David and I, the journey began early on Saturday morning. I picked David up shortly after 7am from Uddingston and hit the motorway. Google maps duly printed out and an estimated journey time of 1hr 20min. The motorway was quiet for a holiday weekend and we took it easy with 2 bikes on top of the car not exactly helping the aerodynamics. Google maps had us turning off at junction 13 which I thought was a junction earlier from the last time I was here but we took it any way and headed towards Leadhills. There was not a cloud in the sky and since the temperature outside was nearing zero there was a remarkable clarity of light as we travelled through the hills. As we went down past Wanlockhead and the extremely long hill that featured in one of today’s sportive routes, David recalled having camped down this way before. He also recalled having invented a new Olympic sport which was like skiing without skis down the scree off the side of the hill. There also had been a name attached to this sport which I cant quite recall at the moment. But then earlier than expected, we had arrived, met with the sight of the castle in the distance up the long drive way.
We were efficiently directed towards a space in the grass car park, there was already plenty of cars there and a nice atmosphere starting to build. It was cold, but the sun was shining and all the signs were good for the day ahead. First job to was to register and get the numbers for the front of the bike. On the way we phoned Ian, no answer. He had threatened to cycle from his mum’s (30 miles) and that was possibly why he was not answering but at that point we were in the dark. Numbers duly received, we spot Ian driving in and wander back to the car to get kitted out and get the bikes ready.
Just before 9 we joined the queue of riders to be let loose on the road. To avoid disruption out on the road, you are normally let out in groups of approx. 15 a time. We took time out for a quick photocall and then after a few instructions on road conditions(a bit like the roll call from Hill Street Blues ‘ Be careful out there’) we were off.
We set out last in our group, and initially kept rolling with the same people we started with. It was a chance to get the legs warmed up and get a feel for group riding. After a couple of miles, we decided to start moving up, it has been a while since I had seen the guys but it looked like the Majorca trip had worked wonders. We upped the pace and joined another group further up, things were going well. Soon enough though, we had a short, really steep hill. It was terribly potholed and very thin. There were bodies everywhere, some riders were still riding two abreast, not giving much room for maneuver. On a hill like this you really want to go at your own pace, and I had to jink through a couple of riders to break free and I pushed on up to the top of the hill and waited on David and Ian. They had got stuck behind a couple of guys and also watched the as a rider got a backwheel stuck in a pothole and had fallen over.
We then headed down a equally steep and potholed hill, it was a very dangerous descent and I went down not exactly slow but not exactly fast, however I was still passed by someone I thought was going dangerously fast. Maybe he was a local..
Soon enough, we were back together and had picked up a rider from Ayr Cycling Club, she was down herself and was in training for a time trial the following week. We continued as a group for a while, passing others and not being passed, it was going well. At some points, I pushed my heart rate up and went ahead, testing myself to see what the legs would take and then drawing back together. Then quickly we were getting swarmed by yellow jerseys, I indicated to Ian and David that it would be a good idea to get on the back of this group and let them do the work. We duly joined the group and so it seemed did a few others, there was at least 40 riders together. The yellow jerseys belonged to the Johnstone Wheelers and they seemed to have the group in control, moving their riders around at the front to take the wind and giving instructions to the group of the dangers ahead. Within a tightly bunched group, you cant see the what’s ahead and rely upon shouts or hand signals. We were flying along, upper twenties mph but with about half the effort, one of the reasons why you do these events. David and Ian were loving it and so was I, sometimes you had to push to keep on the back if you let your mind wander but it was worth it. The other side of this coin was the danger in riding in close proximity to others. As were cruising along, I heard the sound of bikes colliding and shouting, and looked round to see David wavering from side to side. I dont know how many sits up he has been doing because it took a lot of core stability to pull it back from the brink and not go over. Apologies given from the guy behind and we kept on rolling.
We soon then hit a big long hill and the group starting to string out, I pushed on hard to keep up with the Johnstone Wheelers, I knew it’s what I would need to do in the following event to get a good time. In my concerted effort I had lost touch with David and Ian but I had decided to stay with the Wheelers for a further bit and give myself a test. I rolled along for another few miles and then stopped at the last feed station to wait for David and Ian. I indulged in a bit of fruit loaf while I waited and chatted with the volunteers and it was difficult not overindulge, given the quality of baked goods on show. However, there was still around 16 miles to go and I didn’t want to be weighed down. The cakes could wait.
David and Ian arrived shortly after and for Ian it was like being given a free pass to Greggs (the nations favourite baker) and he worked the table like a pro, sampling everything and anything. David and I eventually pulled him out and reminded him that they also did food at the end of the race. After a quick chat with the guys I decided to push home alone, I needed to dig deep to see what I had, and off I went. I passed a few more cyclist and the average was sitting at 18.2 mph and I wanted to keep it above 18mph. After failing to do so in a group ride a few weeks previous, I was looking for redemption. I was feeling good and then I hit a hill that I had forgotten about 18.2, 18.1, 18.0, 17.9, 17.8. The average goes down a lot quicker than it goes up. Hill over, the fun began. 3 miles to find 0.2mph. I tried to watch the road, keeping the body still, not wasting energy, pushing hard, ‘breath and push’ ‘ breath and push’. I hit 18.0 average and am on the road back to the end, I can relax now. Not really, there is a hill ahead, my speed drops to 16, is that going to blow the average, I push again, legs sore. The finish line comes into view, I hit the line, slam on the brakes and stop the clock. An 18mph average achieved.
I sit down at the side of the road, still high with the adrenaline. David and Ian then appear and I catch them coming over the line, all smiles.
We roll back through the castle grounds to the cars and stand and chat about the day. It’s been a great success and everybody has enjoyed it. Recovery drinks taken, we wander over to the food tent, firstly stopping to chat to the Johnstone Wheelers and thank them for their effort. We joke with them about not taking a short of the front because we dont know their system but they are not daft but not exactly worried either. They are soon off to Italy for a sportive in the Dolomites and it sounds a little bit hard. Gran Fondo Nove Colli – translated 9 hills.
We hit the food tent, first the sandwiches, tuna, ham, cheese, cheese and pickle, cheese and jam. I go tuna and then ham, one eye on the cake stand. The second reason that I wanted to come back to this sportive, many sportives promise home baking but few deliver like this. It was time our efforts were rewarded. First the tablet, then the caramel shortbread and to finish some chocolate shortbread combo. Volunteers thanked, it was back to the cars and off home.
David and I hit the road, leisurely wandering back up and shooting the breeze. A nice end to a good day.
Don’t Worry Mate – I’ve Got Your Back
So. Last Sunday Sammy and myself did the “Wrynose or Bust” sportive starting in Lancaster and heading into the Lake District. The big chap said that he would write it up. As Diana Ross says, “I’m still waiting”.
Therefore, it’s up to me to do the work. WHich should not be an issue as I surely was ‘invited’ to do much of the work last weekend. Hence the title – in the first 90 miles, the Sam was ahead of me for about 5 of those miles. Do the math for the rest.
Anyway. A 112 mile route with 20+ mph winds forecast (gusting to 40 mph) and serious rain forecast for much of the day. Pretty daunting.
On the Saturday, we did a recce of some of the course. The weather was awesome. Surely the forecast was wrong? The recce showed some tough hills, with some steep gradients. However, Wrynose itself did not look to bad (easy said from the comfort of the car). Easy or not, there was not doubt that we were tackling the hill from the not-hard direction. The descent would be brutal with 30% gradient and twisty turns on a road that “wasn’t great” (so say the locals. Compared to a lot of what we ride up here, the roads were joyful). In truth, we were both disappointed. Wrynose is one of the climbs from the previously mentioned “100 Greatest Climbs” – but not this way round. Anyway, it ensures that we will have to return.
So Saturday involved a large pasta lunch before heading to Lancaster and our hotel. The hotel looked smashing on the website. When we got to Lancaster we went twice round the block and missed the brilliant white exterior of the hotel. On the third lap we spotted a rather less brilliant white and realised this was indeed the place. Photoshop is a wonderful application is it not? That said, the hotel was fine.
And so to dinner. A half pasta starter (same size as a full pasta just about) followed by a bowl of pasta. And to large pizza shaped garlic breads. Carbed up and then some (young Tubs aka Novak will be reading this and will be aghast about the ingestion of bread).
Up in the morning at 5 am. Not a bad sleep, with only two rude awakenings from Sammy’s turbo-charged snoring – he’s defo getting better. As the belly gets smaller, so too do the snores it seems. The lovely fruit-laden muesli filled the bellies (which were already full of the pasta that was finished about 25 minutes earlier it seemed). Showtime.
The race started at the Halton Army training camp in Lancaster. We entered the site and about 500 direction arrows directed us round to the completely obvious car park. This was the best signposted quarter mile in the history of signposted routes – which would prove ironic.
Not long after 6.30 we were on the way. I pushed on followed by Sam (‘get used to it Johnny boy’ was not something he uttered, but it would have been appropriate). We hit the first hill after a quarter of a mile and passed a few riders. The truth is that we were hoping to pick up a group to share the work load a little. However, the pace of these riders was too slow for comfort. At the top of the ride though, we noticed a chap had tagged on the back. A nice chap (Mark) and we got working together. 3 beats 2.
After a few miles, 3 riders went past at a good lick – “I know those shirts – the Glasgow Nightingales”. Sam seemed reluctant to follow them, worrying the pace was too tidy. I urged him on and of course the pace was just fine – 6 beats 3, especially when they seemed happy to take more than their share on the front.
Not long after we hooked up with the chaps, Sam was caught in discussion with one of the nightingales. The word got round. The turn at the mini-roundabout, with the poorly positioned sign (remember Halton?) now had the GPS (the good old 800 version with maps that Sam and now Ian own) was telling us that we were off course. So we turned back. And met another bunch of riders. And turned back again. And rode till we came to a junction. With no sign. And turned back again.
Yes, our 112 mile sportive was now destined to be a 120 mile sportive. However, the good thing was that we now had a good going group. The peleton was on. The nightingale boys picked anther route but we joined them after a few miles in our group, which was marshalled by a beast of a boy on a mountain bike who was knocking out a really tidy rhythm.
Now that wind. The early parts of the course were hard going, but once we got into the group you really didn’t notice the effect so much. This was a really enjoyable stage of the ride and the miles flew by. Me and one of the nightingales seemed to do a fair amount on the front. At one stage, the nightingale looked around for a bit of help. ”On you go Sam”, I said. ”There’s no point wasting energy” said the bold one. So again, I went on the front.
The big climb at Grizedale (I think) put paid to the large group. I was climbing really well here. Eventually, one of the nightingales came up and we chatted a bit. He was a fair one for getting up on the pedals I had noticed earlier. Because he wanted to or he had to? Answer – he wanted to. This guy was clearly class, and was holding loads back waiting for the other 2 who weren’t quite as nippy.
A fast descent, another couple of climbs and we regrouped at the first feed station (cracking chicken and stuffing sandwiches). Sam came in and we decided to wait for the nightingales. Our earlier friend Mark was skulking around, looking like he’d rather not hook up again – the hills had caught him out a bit. Waiting for the nightingales wasn’t the greatest idea as we separated from them pretty sharpish (yes, more hills). However, we would meet up with them at various other parts of the route.
On we battered, seeing some familiar faces from the earlier group. The miles ticked by, the hills rose and fell, and the wind really began to blow until eventually we were in the valley looking to the distance and Wrynose Pass – the easy way. Not today, my friend. In the valley, Sam and I worked together, taking very short bursts at the front. The road was flat here and we couldn’t get to 10 mph. And we were overtaling everyone on route. The wind was now hellish. Hopefully, the slope of the hill would prove some respite from the wind, or getting up without pushing would look to be an impossibility.
And so we go to the base of the hill – and the slope proved to be no respite. This was hell. I was up on the pedals and turning them sooo slowly. Please let me get up here without coming off. I looked round for Sam. He was still there and suffering as much as me. ”One more turn, one more turn, one more turn”. I looked up and realised it was too far, too windy, too steep, too hard. If I was Ian I would be giving it full volume Sharapova grunting now. But I gave it an inner “aaarrrrggghhh!!!!” and fought on – and made it. The summit! Oh Lord in Heaven, thank you so much. This was a real sense of achievement. Next time I’m struggling, it’s going to be the go too place in the memory banks – the day I stepped into the hurt locker.
Now the descent. Absolutely daunting. The roads are narrow and the occasional car would come up the hill. It’s hard work gripping the bike so tense (I know I shouldn’t) and braking as much. However, down we go, meeting up with the lead nightingale again, for the last time (they DNF’d – don’t know why). After some remonstrations with some mad old lady in a car, trying to pass where there was absolutely no room, we ventured away from Wrynose in agroup of 5 that became 4 then 3 then me and Sam. Alone again (naturally). After a while we reached the 2nd and last food stop. Here we put on our jackets. I wasn’t going to, but decided to at the last minute – just as well. We hooked up with another chap here (the 90 mile mark) and would stay with him until the end). ”At this point I asked Sam, have you enjoyed it so far”? ”Yes, it’s been tough but great” he said. And till that point I would have agreed wholeheartedly.
The rain now came belting down and I took several miles trying to retrieve my thicker gloves to wear. Signs looking ominous with the cold hands. I only got one of the gloves out (the other would make an appearance at the end of the ride). Sam was now looking very strong. To the point that he took an extended turn at the front. In truth, that turn lasted about 20 miles. I was the 3rd man in the group and staying there. Although my legs felt pretty good, it was tough keeping up and my hands were feeling very strange in a “is this frost-bite” kind of way. Soon enough, I couldn’t really change gears and braking was torture. The rain just kept belting down and this was serious work. Let’s just get home now.
Eventually, we made it (although Sam missed the most obvious sign in the race, especially with a bunch of riders heading up the route). Back to the training camp, into the showers for the agony and ecstasy as the warm water got to work on the hands and the rest of the freezing body, but mainly the hands. A bit of hotpot and into the car and back up the road, convinced that Sam’s bike was going to blow off the roof – it was doing some serious wobbling). Of course, once we hit Scotland, the wind had abated and the rain gone. All just a dream perhaps?
in Retrospect? A belter of a route with 2500m of climbing. Average of 15.4 mph, which was commendable in the conditions. The conditions? What doesn’t break you can only make you stronger. It’s all good.
Final verdict. Awesome. We’ll be back – probably. Although, the Fred Whitton (Wrynose or Bust’s “Big Brother”) is definitely going in the diary next year. Next stop Etape Caledonia. Bring it on. All right Sam, you can come out now. It’s all over.
Balloch loop
I’d checked out the weather report for the weekend, and Sunday was looking a tad windy, Saturday dry and sunny, so my plan was to get a decent ride done then rather than playing with the wind on Sunday. This also worked out better with my non-cycling activities, as I was playing catch up with folk I’d not seen in a while on Saturday night/ Sunday. I’d met Mark M for a few drinks at the Stand comedy club on Friday night, and he and his pal Mark D were up for “a few hours” on the bike on Saturday morning. The plan was set – meet at the corner of Byres Rd and Queen Margaret Drive at around 9.30 and we’d hit the road for a few hours.
Saturday morning came, and a text from Mark M that he “wasn’t going to be any use ’til midday”. I replied I’d head out anyway to meet Mark D, then got a follow up that as he was now up (turns out another friend had phoned with good news, so any chance of him getting back to sleep went out the window) so he may as well come out. I arrived at the rendezvous round about the 9.30 mark, but no sign of either Mark. No worries, it was a bit chilly, but the sun was out, so I just kicked back and watched the traffic go by, checking out the occasional passing bike and roof-down convertible (the sun is out, get that roof down!). Mark M phoned soon after, “give me 10 minutes”, but no sign/ call from Mark D. So it turned out to be a 2 man outing, and Mark unsure of a throat/ chest infection brewing, we decided on a 40-50-ish miler. We set off up Great Western Road, through Annniesland and made our way on to Dumbarton, through Renton and on to Balloch, taking it easy and chatting as we turned the cranks. As we left Balloch, we turned on to proper country roads, not the smooth tarmac of our week in Majorca, but a mix of reasonable condition surface with the occasional pothole or two to keep us on our toes.
blue sky, but Mark wishing he had an extra layer on, as it was a bit nippy
A minor ‘bump’ of 80m or so lead in to a few miles of quiet rolling roads, for the most part allowing us to cycle side by side and keep the conversation going, occasionally switching to single file when any vehicles (or a couple of horses) came into view.
yup, there's snow on them there hills
Eventually we passed through Croftamie, and a sort of proper climb began, 180m or so over the next few miles of hilly road, which Mark intended to use for some speed work – standing up on the pedals and working hard to put in a burst of effort up each rise, back on the saddle as it levelled out (or if we were lucky, a short downhill). For the most part, I worked to keep up, but on some of the longer sections, I was left behind, catching up as Mark eased off.
Carbeth Inn - somewhere warm to escape the chilly sunshine
A solid workout, rewarded with a short break at the Carbeth Inn for a coffee/hot chocolate and the chance to get some warmth back in the fingers. We stayed long enough to finish our drinks, then got back on the bikes for a nice roll down the hill to Bearsden, nipping through the woods between Maryhill and the Switchback roads. A few short miles through some of my old running routes from when I was a West End dweller and we were at the Botanics, where we said our goodbyes and headed to our respective homes.
A solid ride, not a particularly great average, but a good mix of easy cycling and speedwork done. As it was a bit shy of my planned mileage for the weekend, I did a wee cheeky 20 on Sunday to top things up, having missed out on a Duke’s run with Gio and Bryan as I was staying overnight with friends.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/172512449
Definitely ready for the Drumlanrig Tearfund Challenge sportive next weekend, though I’m planning an extra 80-ish miles either side of that to mix a visit to my Mum’s (near Castle Douglas) with the sportive.
You going to Nice? That’s Nice.
The French Riviera, a place I first visited over 20 years ago during an Inter-railing holiday with John. After spending most of our 3 weeks in a 2 man tent in camp-sites on the edge of major cities we hit some accommodation good fortune. Luckily for us, but perhaps not for the family, Carol (John’s girlfriend now wife) was working as an au-pair in Eze, a hilltop town just along the road from Nice. The family kindly let John and I stay for a couple of days and we experienced a different side of life. Real food, not just rottisseire chicken that we have been surviving on up until that point and having a private swimming pool at our disposal. That was the life. The downside to this was of course, me becoming a goosberry. I had met Stephanie (my girfriend and future wife) earlier that year and we hadn’t spend much time apart. Before, we left for interailing Stephanie had been in Egypt for 3 weeks and apart from a brief passing moment in London as our holidays overlapped we were going to be apart for 6 weeks. So, at night I would retreat with my Sony Walkman and the mix tape Stephanie had given me but I could never get passed track 3 Spandau Ballet’s ‘Through the Barricades’…..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLR9yyI9CHg
You might ask, what has this got to do with cycling? Well, I am back in Nice this week on a holiday and with most plans these days, there has got to be some sort of cycling interest in there. With my optimism around Lejog varying from day to day, a week of eating pizza and baguettes was never going to increase that significantly so a cycle was put into the mix to keep the fitness up. The Nice area is quite popular with professional cyclists due to the favourable climate and the access to some great mountains as Nice is at the end of the Maritime-Alpes. This was where Lance Armstrong made his winter base for a number of years and specifically tested himself on a mountain by the name of the ‘Col de Madone’. He felt this mountain gave him a good test and he was always knew where he stood in terms of fitness by how he performed there. 32 minutes was his record. This mountain also became the name of TREK manufactures who sponsor Lance Armstrong range of road bikes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsnAF652bWc
With this is mind I organised a trip and bike hire with a local company specializing in tours of the area, all booked through the internet and e-mail. http://www.cyclecotedazur.com/ The company is run by a former Commonwealth games cyclist and since I didn’t know the area it would keep me from getting lost. This would also keep Stephanie happy as my last cycle trip abroad I decided to go up a different mountain at the last minute and didnt tell anyone!
With my big ride not due until the Wednesday I thought it might be wise to get the legs moving before tempting out to the mountains. This however, proved to be probably the most brutal ride I have undertaken this year. With a bike duly rented from the local beach front store and extra seat duly attached I set out along the Promenade D’Anglais, the famous sea side walkway.
What I had not reckoned on was the gale force winds that were buffeting the coast which was making a struggle to move in my 7 speed dream machine.In the easiest gear, I was barely moving and was glad my Garmin was not attached, reporting a 5 mph average would not have done my street cred much good. A couple of miles up the coast and enough was enough, not sure the wee man was really enjoying it and I certainly wasnt and decision to turn round was taken. What a difference, without barely a turn of the pedal I was getting blown back along at a fair old pace.
On the way back we decided to hire a car a do a further recce but only ended in getting more lost in Nice’s one way system and going round in circles.
With my ride day quickly approaching, it was time to pick up my hire bike. It was a 10 minute walk from the apartment further into Nice, a new area for me, I am guessing where the professional people stay, judging by the Marks and Spencer’s express style MONOP shop and fancy coffee shops that abounded. I reached my pick up point and met who was going to be my guide for the trip, Mike. Mike who is Australian, currently over for the wedding of the owner of the tour company and spending some covering while the owner was on honeymoon. With the pleasantries out the way, my bike for the day was wheeled. A custom built ‘ Harry Hall’ carbon bike with top of the range Shimano ‘Dura Ace’ groupset, things are looking good. I hadn’t heard of this particular make but research later showed this to be a make of great repute. I then enquired about the gears on the bike, and was told it was a double set up. For those without knowledge (me included), the double means having 2 chain rings(the part where the pedals attach) with sizes of 53 and 39 (the number refers to the number of teeth) respectively, the bigger the number the harder it is to push but potentially faster. Given this was to be a hilly ride this was not the best news. What about at the back I ask? That’s a 25/12 I am told, the bigger number on the back makes it easier, 25 was not that big a number. At home I have a 50/34 on the front and a newly installed 28/12 on the back, giving me about 4 easier gears than I was getting on this ride and given I am famous for always keeping my easiest gear in reserve ‘just in case’ this was a worry. However, I smile manfully and say ‘sounds great’ and continued with the bike set up. Mike did a great job of setting me up after I advised him of some calf problems I was having and off I rode home into night. The bike felt great on the 5 minute journey and what was the point of worrying, it wouldnt do the legs any harm to work a bit harder. Although, John’s text after I told him about the bike set up was not exactly encouraging ‘ Enjoy the walk’ he said!
With my kit and food all duly laid out, I retire to bed but instead of going to sleep watch 3 episodes of ‘Sons of Anarchy’ with Stephanie, the adventures of an outlaw biker gang in California, top rated holiday entertainment. I am excited about the ride tomorrow and struggle to sleep but eventually dropped off.
With trip day finally here I was up and atom early and had my porridge and berries and was ready to go. It was 08:15 as I rolled out the door into the streets of Nice and my meeting point on the Promenade d’Anglais. Mike was there to meet me and also there was Daniel, a Columbian student studying in Nice who was going to be doing some guiding during his summer recess. A couple of photographs later and we were off.
The route today was going to be 2 major climbs. The Col de Eze (0 to 600m) back down to the sea and then the aforementioned Col de Madone (0 to 950m). We started slowly on the cycle path avoiding the traffic lights on the road proper, firstly round to the port where we join the road , less than a mile from the start and then we start climbing. I am already in the easiest gear , maybe it’s the good bike or the warm weather but it doesn’t feel too bad. The route planned takes in a road called the Grand Corniche and climbs up and along the coast. There are fantastic views as we climb and then look down on the sparkling blue water.
Mike was doing a good job on keeping a good but not blistering pace. I am known for knocking myself out early and leaving nothing for the end plus I am holiday and it’s nice to sometimes smell the roses along the way. We reach Eze and I look down on the village to try and recall where the house was I stayed but nothing is coming to mind and then we turn a corner and we can see the snow capped mountains of the Alps in the distance. Then it’s time to come down, a super long descent to the town of Menton, it’s a beautiful sweeping road and any car drivers are being patient as we speed along. Soon enough, we are in Menton and the real fun is about to begin.
We take a left turn off the main road, and immediately we begin climbing. It’s a bit different from the alpine (ski type) climbs I have done as the scenery at this point is a bit more industrial/residential. Fences abound at the side of the road and the grasses and ground are dried and rutted rather than rich from the snow run off.
The road however is definitely a different beast from the Col De Eze, I am standing more often as the turns are sharper. The distance to the summit is 10km. The town of St Agnes sits half way up hidden behind a rock and that is the immediate target. My heart rate isn’t too high, about 160 when some climbs have brought it as high as 180. The views back to sea are still fantastic though and also some of the houses that we pass. Infinity pools seem to be popular, cant see them taking off in Burnside though. We pass our first group of cyclists, only 1 road bike in there but an overtakes is an overtake so I am happy. As the we come into St Agnes we hear the sound of play time at the local school. 
A brief (less than a minute) stop ensues and a quick photograph ens. The road then starts to change at this point, it gets a lot thinner and the surface is markedly poorer, also there is a lot of rock fall from the side of the road to watch for.
But the other side of the coin is that it is also slightly easier and at points I have moved out of the easiest gear. We go through a few tunnels and any car coming down give a few toots to warn you of their arrival, not that this is a busy road, it’s mainly cyclists. We reach the top and it;s definitely not the horror show I thought it might be, did I do it in 30 minutes like Lance Armstrong? Not quite, but that’s not the point. We pause for a few minutes at the top and take in the views, the sea one side, the snow capped mountains the other way. The sign denoting the top of the mountain has been stolen but you can see the posts where it stood.
Then we are off again, swooping down the hillside. The road is better this side of the mountain but you still have to be careful. It would not be wise to go off the side, there is also a few hairpin turns to undertake which takes the speed down. We soon get onto a bigger road and I indicate to Mike that my legs are feeling reasonably fresh and he can put the boot down if he wants. The next bit although downhill is not greatly so and wind is starting to freshen. We are haring along and I tend to lose a bit of momentum on the corners and need to learn to keep pedalling but it’s still a fair old pace. We have a quick coffee stop in La Turbie and then we are off again, a slight incline to get us started and then the coastal road again for a bit. The wind is definetely up and it;s feeling a wee bit like hard work but it doesnt last and then we are on some steep stuff again. We go a different route back into Nice, round the back way and I manage to hit 42 mph on a clear bit of road, then quickly we are back into civilizaion. The pace slows as we dodge through trams, one way streets and traffic lights which takes us back to the sea where we started. I thank Mike and Daniel, they have been good company and clearly good cyclists although not sure they would last the pace in Scotland. Mike still had his winter gear on and Daniel has shaved his legs!! Back at the apartment I downloaded the Garmin and looked at what I had done. Nice!
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/171612818
As these things go, once you have done something once, you want to do it again. So utilising the course feature of the Garmin I headed out again at 0630 the next day for a near non stop trip. This time there was no stopping on the way up the Col de Madone. Couple of hairy moments on the way back down as I locked the brakes to avoiding hitting cars slowing down in front of me but apart from that just the same great views but not the same great conversations. The Garmin output seemed a bit strange though but I had a slightly faster moving average which was good.
Preceding the Kneesome Threesome
“Dad, I read your blog. It’s boring”.
Thanks to my dear eldest daughter, who is an avid reader – just not of my material.
Anyway, not going to get less boring as I sandwich in between the Majorca exploits of the “kneesome threesome” and the Maritime Alps of young Turbine – plenty of pictures please Tubs.
For the Sunday ride from a couple of weeks ago, Turbine suggested focusing on the upcoming Etape Caledonia. The plan was to go over the well known route of the Duke’s Pass, sticking tightly together as a foursome sharing the workload at the front equally, having no stops over the 75 mile route and obtaining an 18 mph average.
A good shout from Tubby who was feeling good in body and mind, clearly, after a couple of very promising rides in the past couple of weeks.
The upshot? Tubs was feeling it on the Duke’s Pass – a worrying sign. After a bit, he decided to sit on the back – too much too soon last week? By Kippen he was well out the back door, and a decision had to be made. Stop and wait or push on over the Crow road and homewards trying for the 18 average. Considering the group consisted on myself, Sammy and Gio the decision will be no surprise – “he knows the way home” said Sam, and on we pushed as a trio (the Majorca boys would all have waited it must be recognised).
We fair belted on and Gio was beginning to go backwards up the final little hill at Torrance – always a nice feeling to crest any hill in front of the mountain goat – big Sam was clearly invigorated and powering on. However, we waited on him and duly returned to the clubhouse with an average of 18.1 mph. Mission accomplished (almost). Tubs rolled in 10 minutes later. Today was not his day – it happens. He’ll be back bigger and stronger next time.
So. Can we break 4 hours for the 81 miles of the Etape (requiring a 20 + mph average)? Time will tell, but with the big chain gangs to be found in this route, we’ve got a chance.
Majorca training day 6
Friday. Sunny + windy. Our last day. David slightly overdid the sauce last night, so solo breakfast for me. Pottered around the apartment for a few hours giving him chance to get some extra kip, then went out for a short ride around town and to nearby Alcanada (11 miles round trip) on my own to return for lunch, David assuring me he’d be ready to roll after some grub.
Fine sights of Alcanada - cement factory?
Food down the hatch and we headed off to Petra as a known 25-ish miles away, planning to loop back on the same sort of route as Tuesday, but skipping the hill to the monastery giving us roughly 50 miles. First stage to Petra went without incident, almost caught the back of a large group, but they turned off not much further on.
David sporting non-conventional cycling attire
Made good time to Petra, stopped in the square for coffee/ coke/fanta and cakes, and a bonus – free orange segments. More points to this cafe over Tuesdays effort, service was quicker too.
cake, imitation Fanta (sugary goodness!) and free orange segments.
We headed off to Sineu, straight into the wind, so heads down and turn about on the front until we turned northwards, escaping the worst of the wind for a downhill stretch into Lubi, picking up some easy fast miles, continuing on to Sa Pobla. Got a bit confused as to the route at this point, so just told my Garmin to take us home, which it duly did, but it decided the best route was via Pollenca. Not ideal, as we were getting close to 6pm and had to have the rental bikes back by 7. Some fast miles, and a decent back road from Pollenca to Aldudia and we got home around 6.30, David sticking in his top gear for the last 30 miles as ‘its good training’. A quick jog up to the flat to get our trainers and the paperwork for the bikes then a mad dash to the rental place to hand the bikes in. Free socks for handing back our inner tubes intact, we headed home, a fine week of cycling and a solid intention of coming back next year, just maybe not to stay at the Bellevue.
the Bellevue resort, how we will miss you...
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/169943247
57 miles, 16.7mph average, not bad for weeklong tired legs.
Majorca training day 5
Thursday. Mark up and at ‘em early to get his flight home, though we had a bit of a late night to celebrate the end of his cycling for the week. As a consequence of slight over indulgence by yours truly (large whiskies were bigger than I thought), had a ‘rest day’. Convincing myself its justified, allowing my knee a bit more time to sort itself out. David’s knee still not right either, though he went out for a gentle few miles around the town. We’ve got an easy 50 planned for Friday which should round off the week well, before flying home on Saturday.
