Tour de France complete!

Hooray! - it's done

Saturday solo....

I'd planned to meet up with Gary for a ride, we haven't done too many things together this year and the Friday pub session with the usual omnipresent bike-talk made me feel like making the effort . But Gary had to work Saturday morning so we decided to do our own thing. My plan started out as a simple 90 minute meander along my usual route. I have a hankering these days for slowness. I like to look around without the concentration needed when travelling at speed, for then the need to be aware of the road surface along with all that might threaten safe passage is paramount. A man grows older, and my 'new' bike, although a lovely machine, is beginning to feel like a young Valkyrie who wears me out with her prodigious appetite.

I headed out on my bike of choice of late - my trusty Trek 7.5FX. here is an old girl that, if the need arises, can turn a head of speed, but is happy and content to drift along at a more sedate and regal pace. And the added bonus is that there is absolutely no need to snipe at any stray cyclists that enter my no-ride zone. I don't feel the need to chase distance figures or, better still, feel no frustration when attacked from behind by some nifty noughties racer dressed in black on a matt black steed more akin to a stealth fighter plane than a bicycle. Leave them to it I say, let me go slow and watch the butterflies, or stop to admire a beautiful tree. Let me gaze at the immense enveloping green vista stretching out beyond the hedgerows; let me dream of mystery, romance and unfulfilled adventure.

The day is warm and welcoming as the golden glow of another beautiful dawn fades to blue. There's the blended song of blackbird and mistle thrush for the soundtrack and all is well. I feel happy and content and decide I don't want to stop. Instead of turning up the hill and the route home I carry on, still holding the gentle rhythm that seems perfectly natural and rewarding. I mooch around the lanes, stopping occasionally to peer through a gap between trees or to look at the patterns on the bark of a tree. It feels like it should feel. Unhurried and with no pressure of time. I pass a pub and decide to stop, rolling onto the car-park and up to the garden area at the rear. There are people gathered at picnic tables, eating, drinking and enjoying the sunshine. Some children are gathering tufts of grass and leaves to feed the pub chickens housed in a shady corner of the garden. I buy a pint and settle at a table with my bike perched at the end. Then I notice a group of cyclists arriving. Ordinarily this would be an expected, almost typical sight on a sunny Saturday afternoon - but this collection of five are all riding Brompton bikes. What would be the collective noun?..... a clot perhaps? The sight from a distance somehow conjours up a vision of Reliant Robin's and Thermos flasks of Tupperware boxes and cheese sandwiches. As it happens they set up at the next table to me and inevitably a conversation strikes up. The leader of the group is over eager to demonstrate the Brompton offering - that it folds away quickly and neatly and can be easily carried around. He's something of zealot, folding and unfolding the machine with dextrous speed and efficiency, discoursing at length on its lightness and portability as well as the quality of its ride. I was sold - had he have been carrying a spare I may have purchased it there and then. As it was one of his Brompton buddies was indeed carrying another Brompton, neatly stashed in a special bag - this was properly nerdish - a bit of bike-on-bike action - maybe that's what the foldaway perverts really go for! Truth is though there really is a lot going for the Brompton brand. And I have to admit to an element of desire. Come the lottery win there'll definitely be a Brompton somewhere - and it wouldn't take up much space in my dream bike shed. Think of the opportunities - get on a train with the Brommie folded, pop off at some far flung destination, pedal around a bit, get a bus, a ferry, even in a car, pedal some more - and no need to worry about leaving it around to get stolen, this baby goes everywhere you do.

I only stayed for the one beer - I felt the need to cycle along the canal towpath back towards Ashby - at least I think it was towards Ashby? - it was definitely the Ashby Canal. After a mile of so of unhindered bliss I emerged back onto the road and made my way back towards home. But even then I felt the need to carry on - back at the foot of the hill that would take me home I ignored the turning yet again - this time happy to simply repeat the first 10 miles of my journey instead. And every mile was just as enjoyable as the first time round. To be honest I can't remember a ride I've enjoyed more. The conditions were just perfect; beautifully calm and warm but not oppressive. I approached the hill turn for the third time. This time I stopped at the foot and wondered whether to carry on - 45 miles covered and I felt I could easily cover the same again. But by now it was 2.00pm - I'd been out since early morning and reality was beginning to influence my judgement. Too much of a good thing and all that. So I set off for home, but with a smile on my face.

As the Olympics moves on, I'm still stuck at the Tour de France...

Everyone's favourite Brit cyclist Sir Bradley Wiggins added an eighth Olympic medal to his impressive collection - well done Brad. Apparently he'll now ride the Tour of Britain in September followed by a London Six-Day and the Ghent Six Day - and that'll be it - Bradley will retire, as the most successful and well liked British cyclist of all-time. And it's true I think - the breadth of his success is what seals the deal - All those track medals, World Championships, Olympics, World Records - then the switch to the road and winning the Tour de France, The Olympic Time Trial Gold, The Hour record, then back to the track for more medals... its an impressive list. But what about retirement? - there's a rumour that he's going to reform The Jam???

Meanwhile I'm making good progress with the Tour puzzle... another couple days should sort it ....

 

Ride London 2016

I didn't get a place in this year's Ride London event - as it happens I wouldn't have been able to ride anyway, we had a family christening to attend - with me as the photographer for the day!

Gary, Dave the damp, Baz the bell and newbie, Paul from over the border (as opposed to Paul from over the road, and because he lives in Shropshire - which is almost Wales!) travelled down to take part - for my part I downloaded the 'Ride London App' and managed to load up the guys so I could track their progress during the day via the interactive map of the course - technology is so sweet! - I had four little blue circles on my map, lined up on the start-line, each with the rider's initials displayed.

Now back behind the camera - church, vicar etc etc

I checked progress through the day - technology is sweet... just as long as it works. It seemed to me that the promise of interactive tracking had been something of a hollow promise on behalf of the developers - Despite rigourous checking, closing the app, restarting the app, shutting down and restarting the iphone - my little blue blobs didn't move past the first check point.

Back to the camera - group shots, family, friends etc etc

Later I checked again - this time a few of the circles had moved a short way - but one seemed to be stuck? - Was it the app? - Did I need wifi? - I hooked up to Google and did a quick search for Prudential Ride London - I soon discovered that a couple of serious accidents had halted proceedings out on the road - air ambulances had been involved to lift the injured to hospital and the knock-on effect, with something like 30,000 cyclists on narrow roads, was massive delays. It seemed like the app was giving me good representation after all.

Back to the camera - post christening now - barbecue etc etc...

I kept checking throughout the day - right up to a time I figured they should have completed the course - the little blue blobs were still out there - but gradually creeping along. Later I could see that three had finished together but with Paul from over the border still out - at least that's what the app said. Then I got a text from Gary telling me they'd finished but the delays had been considerable and they'd had to walk for some considerable distance.

It's a shame when this sort of thing happens - and it seems that something happens every year at Ride London. Although this was only the fourth year, there's been representation from this blog at the event for three of those years and each has thrown up reasons for delays or diversions from the course. First time torrential rain caused part of the course to be closed, last year someone sadly died on Leith Hill and this year a couple of serious accidents - I don't think there's anything the organisers could do to alleviate any of these unfortunate incidents - and with so many riders on the road consequential delays are somewhat inevitable. Of the reports I've seen so far riders were patient and typically stoical in their outlook - which is how it should be.

Camera work all done - just the post-shoot editing to tackle - almost 600 photographs to be looked at, edited and stripped down to around 100 maximum. That will keep me busy for a few evenings this week.

Meantime the 'Tour' is making slow progress too.....

...bit further

Progress so far - the peloton will begin emerging soon!

I'm doing the Tour de France.....

..... in....er......Jigsaw format.

Its amazing the bargains that can be found in the hidden corners of your local 'The Works' - check it out.....

Ok - let's get going....

So far so good - not too many hills either. Further reports to follow!

 

Chris Froome - one of the greats?....

As Chris Froome crossed the line arm-in-arm with his Team Sky teammates to confirm his victory in the 2016 Tour de France he joins a small, elite group of cyclists and becomes Britain's first ever three-time winner.

Froome becomes only the eighth man to win three or more Tours - and will now have his sights set on the record jointly held by Jaques Anquetil, Miguel Indurain, Bernard Hinault and Eddy Merckx - All five-time winners of sports most grueling prize.

Eddy Merckx sent out a stark message to the rest of the cycling world last week. He does not see anyone capable of beating Chris for the next few years. He added that he was impressed by Froome - but not by his rivals.

"Chris Froome is a very great champion" said the Belgian legend " I think he can win more Tours. If you look at the guys who are behind him, I don't see anyone who can beat him in the next years. He's complete; a good time-triallist, good at ascents, he's overall, he's the best of the moment - even his teammates are as strong as his rivals"

The last point is perhaps the bone of contention that has emerged this year as far as Froome and Sky are concerned. With speculation regarding the legitimacy of Froome's performances far less pronounced than in 2013 and 2015 - largely because of the way he built his lead this year - on descents and time trials and flat stages - attention has turned to the power of the Sky team, with bitter rivals complaining that Sky have bought up an army of potential grand-tour winners and got them all working for the three-time champion.

There is a truth to it. Sky's .'pain-train' at the front of the peloton keeps the pace high - even on climbs - daring anyone to have a go and put themselves in the red - and then shutting them down if they do. Sky undoubtably have the numbers and talent to control things - with four riders in the top 20 of the general classification.

None of this is a concern for Sky though - quite right! - It is up to others to come up with a plan to stop them. No other team, seemingly, came with a game plan even to try?. As Chris Froome pointed out - no other team have eight riders working with the sole purpose of getting their team leader to Paris in as quick a time as possible.

Geraint Thomas added - "Maybe its boring? - but we don't get paid to make it an exciting  - we get paid to win the race"

Whatever - there'll be teams working on a strategy to break down Sky's dominance - and that will make things more exciting - but I'm hoping Sky will hold out - Chris Froome is one of cycling greats and I'd love to see him become a five-time winner.

What would it be like to ride a stage of the Tour?...

As Gary and I hunt around for future cycling challenges it suddenly occurred to me - riding an official stage of the Tour de France - a day or so before the professionals - that would be one to remember.

The chance to feel part of it, to ride the same routes under the same conditions, the roads closed, spectators cheering us on.... it might be worth thinking about?

You'll get the idea here.....

Tales from the Tour.....

As this years Tour heads gently towards an ignonimious, Cav-Free finale, I wonder whether it's all become a bit banal? - where's the drama? Apart from the farcical day on the Ventoux there's not been a great deal of spectacle so far? There's been a few minor crashes but nothing like the usual skin lacerating affairs. I suppose it makes a change. Since the race started in 1903 there has been hardly a year where riders (or their supporters) haven't resorted to dubious methods to ensure success.

The second tour, in 1904, was one of the most scandalous. Riders were punished for skulduggery including taking shortcuts and using cars and trains. Others, such as race favourite Maurice Garin, were beaten up by their rivals' supporters. The following year saw nails being strewn on the course, a practice that continued for several more Tours.

Tales of riders seeking chemical assistance began to make the news in the 1920s when brothers Francis and Henri Pélissier (the 1923 Tour winner) boasted to a journalist that they had...

 "cocaine to go in our eyes, chloroform for our gums, and do you want to see the pills? We keep going on dynamite. In the evenings we dance around our rooms instead of sleeping."

 Needless to say, the Pélissier brothers were French cycling heroes. While not all competitors relied on "dynamite", it was common practice for Tour cyclists to drink alcohol during the race until the 1960s, when the French passed a law forbidding the use of stimulants in sport. However, the British rider Tom Simpson reportedly drank brandy before his death on Mont Ventoux during the 1967 Tour.

Stories of other methods of assistance, especially in the mountain stages, regularly crop up. A 1938 article described how a former champion was praised for making a miraculous recovery – only for it to be later revealed that he was hanging on to the back of a car. In 1955 the Guardian reported a long list of riders who had been fined for receiving an "unsolicited push" from spectators.

Meanwhile, in 1950, the French government had to apologise to Italy when drunk spectators blocked the road in the Pyrenees and threatened favourite Gino Bartali, forcing the Italian team to withdraw. Even more extreme was the case of the "fan" who punched five-times Tour winner Eddy Merckx in the kidneys during the 1975 race. Merckx finished the stage, but his attempt to win a sixth Tour was fatally damaged.

Doping tests were introduced in the mid-60s and so began a long history of riders trying to fool the doctors. One infamous case was that of Michel Pollentier who was disqualified in 1978, after it was discovered that he had an elaborate system of tubes running from his armpit to his penis containing clean urine.

Recent drug scandals have included cases of riders using testosterone. Perhaps they should have taken note of Italian cyclist Mario Cipollini who used a more natural method to boost his supply of the male hormone – taping a picture of Pamela Anderson to his handlebars.

Mont Ventoux - A higher hell

Standing alone above Provençal fields, Mont Ventoux has a history of triumph and tragedy in the Tour and on Bastille Day will again ask questions of riders like no other

“Physically, the Ventoux is dreadful,” wrote Roland Barthes, the French philosopher and cycling fan who sought in Mythologies to capture the cruel spirit of the mountain. “it is much more an essence of climate than a geographic place – a damned terrain, a testing place for heroes, something like a higher hell.”             
 
The limestone giant that is Mont Ventoux stands 1,912 metres above the lavender-filled fields of Provence. With an average gradient of 7.2%, stands alone, bleak and awesome, “God’s tomb” adrift in the massif des Cèdres – your eyeline forced to adjust radically from its foothills to the observatory at its peak. It thrusts its way out of the plain like a great tumescent white whale. It is the Moby Dick of cycling.

The Tour uses it sparingly and always as the dominant climb, the main protagonist of a day’s racing – this year, on Bastille Day, the Ventoux will again host the queen stage of the Grand Boucle. The winds that rake its slopes are ferocious, especially when the Mistral blows - and today, with winds at the top in excess of 100kph the stage has been cut short, ending at the Chalet Reynard some 6km shy of the summit.

On the ascent, as the road climbs out of the tree line it is completely exposed – a thin black ribbon winding precariously across the blinding white scree. If you’re strong enough, or crazy enough, you can tackle all three routes to the top. If you can ride them in 24 hours you earn membership of the Club des Cinglés du Mont-Ventoux and join the other lunatics who have fallen in love with the Bald Mountain.

The houses of Bédoin nestle into the slopes of the surrounding hills, dwarfed by the spire of the church that echoes the tower of the observatory high above. The mountain lowers over the village and it is from its medieval streets that the classic route to the summit begins. Up through the cool depths of the forest, the road rises through gradients of more than 12% to the ski station at Chalet Reynard. Here is the bar where generations of riders (Me and Gary included!) have taken a little nip of brandy or a glass of beer (expressos with 6 sugars!) before the final assault on the summit.

Up here the road bursts from shadow into bright, white light. If you’re lucky, (we weren't) the wind will ride your back and you’ll fly over the final seven kilometres to the observatory. But if the evil god of the Ventoux demands a sacrifice, you’ll battle your way over the final kilometres against the kind of headwind that threatens to blow you off your bike.

Mont Ventoux is the proving ground of giants, the mountain every champion aspires to conquer, yet it is a relative newcomer to the Tour. It was first used by the race in 1951 and the elfin climber Charly Gaul became the first rider to win at the summit seven years later, crushing the hopes of Federico Bahamontes, Jacques Anquetil and Louison Bobet as the “Angel of the Mountains” flew to a time trial victory. That year the Luxembourg rider would win his only Tour. Gaul returned to his mountain for the final time in 1993, climbing its brutal slopes with his daughter at his side.

His polar opposite, the Italian domestique Eros Poli, was the first man over the summit in 1994. The tallest man in the race, he hauled his mighty carcass over the Géant de Provence. Slowly, painfully, the huge Italian ground almost to a standstill, his 25-minute advantage tumbling with every pedal stroke. But he held on, descending into Carpentras to claim a famous victory.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the French can claim supremacy on the Ventoux. Raymond Poulidor, “the eternal second”, and Bernard Thévenet, both stood atop the podium in the shadow of the observatory. Bobet added the Ventoux to his palmarès in 1955 on the way to the last of his three consecutive Tour de France wins. Richard Virenque, France’s tainted chouchou, scored a sentimental victory there in 2002 to deny Lance Armstrong on a mountain he could never conquer

 

The now disgraced American came closest in 2000, racing head-to-head with Marco Pantani, the most gifted climber of his generation and the spiritual inheritor of Gaul, his friend and mentor. The lanky Texan marked every attack by the slight Italian magician before launching his own brutal offensive. Inch by inexorable inch, the Italian clawed his way back to the American as he bulleted towards the finish. Finally Pantani threw his bike towards the line to snatch victory, leaving Armstrong to sulk that he had gifted Pantani the win. “No gifts” would become the American’s raison d’être. Pantani would win one last time, a stage to the ski station at Courchevel that was to be his final professional victory. But for the wizard of the pedale, the rest was tragedy.

Jean-François Bernard is one of only three riders to conquer the Ventoux in the maillot jaune. In 1970 it was Merckx’s turn. Clad in the fabled Golden Fleece, he ascended into the dazzling whiteness, the observatory winking in and out of his eyeline. He passed the Tom Simpson memorial with a tip of his casquette to his fallen former teammate. But even Merckx was not immune to the mountain. His pedal stroke became jerkier, his thighs seemed about to explode. When he crossed the finish line and made his way to the podium, his legs gave way. He spoke of his fear during the ascent – the fear of ending like Simpson, a victim in 1967 of pride and desperation and a lethal cocktail of drugs, alcohol and dehydration, like an ecstasy death at 6,000 feet. Merckx himself was taken away in an ambulance after being administered oxygen, but he recovered and went on to win the Tour.

Mont Ventoux is inextricably linked in the imagination with Simpson’s Calvary. He is the mountain’s only victim but others have come close to joining him. In an eerie foreshadowing of Simpson’s fate, 12 years earlier Jean Malléjac had begun to pedal erratically – one leg spinning like an automaton before the rider fell at the side of the road, his eyes rolled back in his skull, his face a waxen effigy. The race doctor, Pierre Dumas, managed to revive the stricken Frenchman, who began to cry out for his bike, desperate to finish the stage. In 1965 Dumas was instrumental in drafting the first real anti‑doping law. He would spend the rest of his career trying to protect the young riders in his care. In Simpson’s case he was not so lucky

Simpson’s memorial stands between the Chalet and summit on Mont Ventoux, paid for by the subscriptions of thousands of British riders for whom the first Briton to wear the yellow jersey remains a hero. It marks the spot where Simpson fell, tantalisingly close to the finish line that he would never cross, the Tour’s great tragedy etched in stone.

Today the crowds scrambling for a foothold along the route will be immense – an estimated 300,000 gather whenever the Tour attacks Ventoux – the tricolore flying boldly for Bastille Day, the sun-beaten crowds hoping for another French victory on this most evocative of summit finishes. But it is always Mont Ventoux, that most pitiless of mountains, that will decide.

Sagan does Grease!!!

Ha - found it now - check this out! 

Sagan Skills...

Did anyone see the clips of Peter Sagan re-enacting scenes from the movie 'Grease' shown on the Tour de France highlights the other day? - I can't find them on the web right now - but I did find this clip - some skilful riding!!

Stop Press.... Win 28 for Cav!

Amazing - Cav's done it again - stage win 28 for the Manx Missile - only Eddy Merckx has won more!

Tour 2016....

The world's biggest annual sporting event is underway once again. The 103rd Tour de France started on Saturday.....and what a start for Mark Cavendish!

Between The Tour and the Rio Olympics Cav faces an intense summer - but he got off to the perfect start on stage one. Victory and the chance to wear the coveted yellow jersey for the first time in his long and illustrious career As the riders raced parallel to the vast strand of Utah Beach, Cav timed his sprint to perfection to leave arch rival Marcel Kittel trailing a bike length behind. Brilliant!

This year's Tour is a hard one - 56 categorized climbs, including the iconic Mont Ventoux and the Col de Tourmalet. Chris Froome returns to defend his yellow jersey and become the first rider in twenty years to win consecutive tours. But there's a long way to go (3,500km) and a host riders (Quintana, Pinot, Aru et al) eager to topple the Team Sky rider.

The final week should be exciting - stages 17, 18, 19 and 20 for anyone trying to make up time or increase their lead these will be deciding stages.

It's unlikely that we'll see Cav hauling himself up those slopes. By then his work will be done and he will be concentrating on an Olympic Gold. But that sprint on Saturday brings his total Tour stage wins to 27 - a record for a sprinter and third in the overall stage winners list.If he can sneak another before he drops out he will be level with Bernard Hinault. and only 6 behind the great Eddy Merckx who, naturally, sits at the top of the pile.

Is it too late to register for the Olympics?

I've been meaning to add this to the blog.

A while back, me, Gary, David, Baz and Gary's boss Jason enjoyed an outing to the new Derby Velodrome. We booked in for a beginners 'taster' session early one Saturday morning.

This new facility was designed by Velotrack - a specialist German track building company. 26 miles of Siberian spruce was used to create the track, taking six weeks to install using 265,000 hand-driven nails.

At the time we went I'd just about recovered from a bad case of man-flu - I hadn't been out on my bike for a couple of months so I was feeling a bit apprehensive.

The facility is excellent, brand new, clean and spacious. We booked in and were shown where to go. We were already wearing our cycling gear so no need to get changed - we were each given a track bike for the session - single speed, fixed wheel - so no freewheeling! - and no brakes.

Once we got going it all felt great - I'd ridden a 'fixie' many years ago so didn't have too much trouble getting used to it. We started off simply riding round at a comfortable tempo, but soon we had to wind up the speed to enable us to climb the banked track. At ground level the banking looks intimidating, scary even - much steeper than it appears on tv and the initial thought is of sliding down or falling over - but as long as a reasonable speed is maintained all is well! - as the instructor kept yelling at us "Speed is your friend"

Gradually the intensity of the session builds up - for me it was hard after the first 20 minutes - the long lay-off and lack of any fitness was soon brought to bear. It was difficult to keep up the momentum and soon I felt I was dropping off the back. We all enjoyed the experience though - certainly i'd like to have another go. The programme to gain track accreditation means completing a three stage training programme comprising of at least three track sessions with tuition but for most riders I suspect it would probably take five or six.

Here's a short clip of our session.

Old men, old bikes, old clothes.....

We've got a plan for next year - L'Eroica Britannia.

What happens when you combine a vintage Italian bike ride with the rolling hills of the Peak District? You get a lot of tweed, flapjacks, and loads of vintage bike geekery. LEroica Britannia is a three day, family friendly cycling festival held in Bakewell in the heart of Derbyshire. L’Eroica is more a way of life than a cycle ride. The name means ‘heroic’ and it began life in Italy in 1997 when 92 riders came together to highlight a campaign to prevent the asphalting over of the famous Tuscan white gravel roads – the strade bianchi – and to celebrate the fortitude of the cycling heroes of yesteryear.

Since then, the annual event has been governed by strict rules: the bikes must be from 1987 or earlier – so no indexed gears, gear changers must be on the downtube, and no routed cables. Clothing must be of an appropriate era to the bike. It's a non-competitive event and has always been about more than cycling alone – a celebration of the environmental heritage, and the food and drink of the region, a fond remembrance of when cycling’s biggest drug controversy was a few too many swigs of red wine at the food stops.

From these beginnings, L’Eroica is now becoming a global phenomenon. There are events in Japan, California, and Spain, It's been running in the UK for three years now (we went to the first one - think there's a blog somewhere?) 

Finish the ride in Italy and you get a bottle of Chianti and the local bread. Here, you get a Bakewell pudding and a pint of beer especially brewed for the event by Thornbridge! The vision for Eroica Britannia was always more ambitious though. “We dreamt of a festival that celebrated the best of British across a spectrum of vintage and lifestyle and obviously bikes.” says the organiser. Their aim is for Eroica Britannia to do for cycling what the Goodwood Revival has done for classic cars. The festival offers a 30 acre showground estate awash with family fun and frolics, including, rather bizarrely in a town that is renowned as an agricultural centre, a recreation of a Great British beach, complete with deck chairs and 30 tons of sand. Still, the kids loved it.
But the centrepiece of the festival is, of course, the bicycle. If your thing is old bikes and vintage clothing, you would have thought you had died and pedalled off to nerd heaven here. And you wouldn’t have been alone: the three day bash attracts over 50,000 visitors.

Stefano Del Sarto used to be a professional cyclist and now runs tours in Tuscany to ride the L’Eroica. “More business here,” he says in imperfect English  as he gestures to the bustling stalls around him. “In Italy, all free.”

Welcome to England, Stefano.

L’Eroica is just as much about clothes and food as it is about bikes. It’s a festival for retro fashionistas and foodies alike. The majority of cyclists are decked out in 60s, 70s or 80s garb with  steel framed 531s or Columbuses, but there was a significant number in finest tweeds, plus fours, handmade brogues and stylish summer dresses from various periods on traditional ‘sit-up and beg’ steeds.

The whole point of L’Eroica is to make a bit of an effort - and it doesn’t matter too much if you get your periods mixed up – everyone looks good and everyone has tried hard to get their look right.

Without doubt it‘s the best two-wheeled fancy dress party imaginable.

As you walk around the maze of stalls selling almost every component ever made for the bicycle and every garment ever worn, your senses turn to food as the aromas wafting around become irresistible. Finest prosciuttos, cheeses and salamis sit next to enormous pans of ragu and pasta with vino rosso being the absolutely obligatory accompaniment.

Yes - this is next year's target. Gary has already found his bike - a 1959 McLean - currently undergoing restoration. I've placed an order for an old Italian bike - I've dreamt of owning one since my early teens - and it has to have Campagnolo components! - watch this space for further details as the project develops - we've got almost a year to get things sorted and source old clothes/shoes/hats/goggles etc!

 

Nailstone to Norfolk.....

The year is passing so quickly - my youngest is revising for college exams - I've seen her and I've occasionally seen her books , but never together. Last Thursday she attended an all-day revision session at college and came back looking suspiciously sunburnt. Suddenly I realise our annual 'ride', our 'target', our 'goal' is here - and i realised that I should have practiced what I preach.

As the 'event' got ever close I fell into a kind of morbid dread at the prospect of a long ride. This year has been rubbish for cycling. I don't want to start making wimpy excuses, but the truth is I simply haven't done the miles. Leading up to it was day after day of torrential rain - I told Gary that I wouldn't ride in the rain - too dangerous, no pleasure. Then every evening I danced naked around the garden in my Sioux headdress. It worked well; come Thursday morning the rain was still pelting down. Then Gary texted..... 'We'll be there at 10.00'

'What about the rain though' I replied.

'Goose Fat' was the response.

There just isn't anything good to say about setting out on a 100 mile bike ride in the pouring rain. It's not clever, it's not in any way fun... it is pure misery. Grey skies have hung over us for days, dark leaden and spouting, stretched from horizon to horizon like a mottled blanket the tones shift and change as though the heavens can't decide on the palette to use. Artists can replicate what they see, mixing colour and tone with a sensitivity that is hard to match with words; gunmetal, teal, flint, pewter, charcoal, ash, limestone and 50 shades of grey - all are here and more. Gary and David arrived at the meeting point...drenched and within ten minutes of setting off I was soaked through too - even though I was wearing a so-called waterproof jacket. We plodded along through Stanton under Bardon up some steep roads to Copt Oak and then Woodhouse Eaves and Quorn. We paused for a minute to pick up new paddles and I asked where we were heading next - 'Six Hills'

I usually prefer not to know what lies ahead on one of these trips - somehow I had perfect vision this time.

Actually the hills weren't too bad - a better name might have been Two Hills with Four Humps. As we skirted around Melton Mowbray I noticed signs for Long Clawson and Colston Bassett - we were in cheese country. The rain had actually stopped by now and amazingly we dried out quiet quickly. Then it started again. Then it stopped. Then it started. Most of our time was spent at the roadside either dressing or undressing. Then it was time to eat.

Through misfortune or sheer bad (or maybe good) planning we were cycling on the day England were playing Wales in the Euro's. We stopped at a big Thatched Pub on a crossroads. The TV was ready and the pre-match build up had started - 'It'll be mad in here when the game starts' said the barmaid - 'You okay with that?'

We weren't bothered to be honest. Our plan was a pint, a sandwich and be on our way, thank you very much. The sandwiches were good though. We set off with about fifteen minutes to go to kick-off - the pub was still more or less empty.

By now we'd covered 50 miles or so - I was doing okay considering I hadn't cycled this sort of distance in one go since last year. We passed through some superb little villages, the rain was holding off now and everything seemed brighter. Gradually the landscape flattened as we travelled further East, which has to be a good thing.

We paused outside a Wild Hog farm... that's right......somewhere? - and feasted on Jelly Babies - glycogen levels needed lifting, many jelly lives were sacrificed for the cause. And we battled on. By now I was weary; my legs were aching, my arse was sore, hands and neck as well. My lack of proper preparation was beginning to tell and we still had 20 or so miles to do. I managed to hang on though and we finally made it into Wisbech at around 6.30pm.

Wisbech is a town that looks past its best. There's a sorry, faded grandeur to the place that seems a shame. It's the kind of place where you might step into Miss Haversham's house. The Georgian buildings lining the River Nene look to be original and with a lick of paint would probably polish up nicely. We rolled into the backyard of the White Lion Hotel, there was a gang of drunken football supporters rocking gently from side to side and trying to talk to each other. It didn't look good. Gary went inside and re-emerged with a youngish scouser from behind the bar - he took us to where the bikes were to be left - a store room full of soiled mattresses, drums of vegetable oil and general mess.

After a quick shower we were down in the bar for a couple of well earned Stellas before supper. We booked a table for 8pm - The scouser said it would be busy, but we were the only ones eating. The food was okay and the chef was a friendly chap from Aberdeen. We bought the scouser a drink - but we made him promise not to steal the wheels off our bikes - we put a drink in for the chef too.

I didn't hear Gary scream in the night but I'm sure he did - he always screams when he gets cramp and if he's sitting anywhere near a table he usually knocks it over. Over breakfast, cramp was the subject most discussed. We all suffered during the night. For me it was like a nightmare, a shadowy monster tearing the muscles from my legs and then devouring them as I lay there helplessly. Gary apparently had to rush to the bathroom and disguise his screams by ramming a whole toilet roll into his mouth - it worked - I never heard a thing.

The morning looked promising. No sign of rain, relatively clear skies and no wind to speak of.  Just wait for the beans to work their magic. We set of in reasonable spirits - the first mile or two in relative silence as we concentrated on controlling the pain from our undercarriage.

It's interesting that we all think a ride out to the east is going to be easy and flat. We climbed around 6000 feet yesterday! - although today should be a lot easier. I can't remember much about the final 40 or so miles into Hunstanton - I felt pretty good to be fair - better than I deserved that's for sure, and we made good progress, arriving at Old Hunstanton at about 1.00pm for a celebratory drink at 'The Lodge', our work was done and we could now relax with the promise of a couple of days of fine food and wine in the company of friends - apart from dry weather what more could you ask for?

Check this out.....

Catching up....

The flu bug has left me here at home with an opportunity to catch up on whats happening in the world of cycling. I know its generally a quiet time, but there's always something going on...


Race news....
Two-time Tour de France winner and Sky leader Chris Froome showed that his passion for victory is undiminished by winning the Herald Sun Tour in Australia last Sunday. His first appearance of the season. The 30 year old won his second Tour title last July and became a dad for the first time in December.

Mark Cavendish chalked up a first victory for 2016, taking stage one of the Tour of Quatar to get off the mark (no pun intended) for the fledgling African outfit - Dimension Data.

Wiggo....
Bradley Wiggins has put on a whopping 12kgs of weight - Doubtless his crack team of advisors are analysing commercial opportunities for their man's latest metamorphosis - 'Bulk up with Brad' may provide an appetising alternative to the latest eating fads? Brad is of course no stranger to the world of weight fluctuation - this is perhaps the latest physiological modification required to go very fast in a different cycling discipline to his last?

Motor Doping...
The bike at the centre of the 'motor doping' scandal is available to buy online with a motor fitted. Willier however stress that their Cross Disc Carbon is not supplied by the factory with a motor fitted fitted and is threatening legal action against the rider at the centre of the allegations - Femke Van den Driessche, who competed in the Women's U23 world cycle-cross championship last weekend.

'Everyone knows parts to fit concealed motors to a standard frame are readily available' a spokesman for Willier said. 'However I want to make it clear that the Willier factory does not, and never has supplied bikes or frames fitted with motors - not ever'

A Wilier bike with a retro fitted Vivax motor is available to buy on-line from a Dutch retailer. Salden.nl who list the bike (with pedal assistance) at €4990.

Career in cycle sport?....
If you fancy a career change I hear that the UCI are running courses on how to drive safely in a convoy in a Grand Tour event.

Rumours....
Are rife that Wiggle are set to buy out their biggest rivals Chain Reaction. Wiggle is owned by Bridgeport Capital which bought the Portsmouth based company for £180 million in 2011. Wiggles sales soared to £168 million in 2015 and it has moved its warehouse operation from the South Coast to er... Wolverhampton! Chain Reaction meanwhile, has a much longer history, growing from a bike shop in Northern Ireland which started out in 1989 and changing to Chain Reaction in 1998. It boasts of being the world's leading online bike retailer - with sales of £170 million.

Stop Press...
Latest on the 'motor doping' - check out this video - you won't understand it but you'll get the idea of what a discreet motor can do - this an amateur versus a pro shot back in 2014 - they ride a hill first on standard bikes - then with the amateur using a motor assist

Man flu.....

I've been struck down: All my new-year plans are shot to bits as I struggle with a crippling and debilitating disorder. The illness is often referred to, insultingly, by females of the species as Man Flu. They are in fact immune from the illness, as man flu is now known to exclusively attack the XY chromosome carrier. It is a fact that if man flu is kind enough not to kill the infected party it will definitely leave him weak, sick, hurting everywhere and in dire need of TLC.

Medical professionals apparently now widely recognise that self diagnosis by the sufferer is the best means of identification as the symptoms of man flu are far more severe than those of the simple common cold - which predominantly attacks the XX chromosome holders (i.e. females). This goes some way to explain the cynicism sometimes displayed by some women towards their male counterparts. (I should qualify that this is not something I have experienced personally)

Fact or Fiction?...

Man flu is simply a cold - the symptoms of which are greatly exaggerated by men...
FALSE: Man Flu is a serious illness and will no doubt soon be on the Health and Safety executives list of reportable diseases. It is a distinct disease in its own right and should not be misdiagnosed as a mere cold.

Women can catch Man Flu...
FALSE: Man Flu is a genetic mutation that only attacks men - This may account for the reason that women widely believe that it is just a cold - but with extra drama thrown in for good measure.

The best way to deal with Man Flu is to just get on with it....
FALSE: Extensive research has proven that the only way to combat the crippling effects of Man Flu is complete withdrawal to the sofa and uninterrupted mollycoddling by girlfriend/wife

Men have a slower recovery rate from Man Flu than women do from the common cold....
TRUE: The effects of MF can linger for weeks - compared with a day or two for a cold. If a man is not allowed the correct period of convalescence following an attack of MF he can be plunged into a serious condition.

Man Flu is just a way for men to get sympathy/time off work/time in front of the telly....
FALSE: MF is a bona-fide illness - would men make a meal of that sort of thing?

The pain and suffering of Man Flu is similar to that of child birth....
TRUE: Though at least with child birth it's all done and dusted in a few hours - MF can last for weeks!

The best cure for MF is a cocktail of night-nurse, Day-nurse, chicken soup and whiskey...FALSE: There is no cure. Once infected the afflicted can only hope that the gods roll the dice in favour of life rather than a slow lingering death.


While suffering from MF, men would like nothing more than to go to work and try to forget about their affliction...TRUE: However men recognise the huge risk of spreading MF to other men - indeed a single cough in the wrong direction could hold enough MF germs to wipe out a small peloton.


What to do if you're struck down....

It's imperative that you get to a place of safety before the full force of Man Flu takes hold. Phone your nominated female carer (normally wife or girlfriend) and inform her of the crisis which is about to unfold. They must reach you at your place of safety in the initial stages before you become bed ridden.

Once you're home it's important that you feel as comfortable as possible. Slip into your dressing gown, pop your feet up on the sofa and reach for the remote control. Your nominated female carer will feel helpless as you plunge deeper and deeper into misery. Counter her feeling of helplessness by keeping her occupied with small tasks, such as massaging your feet or using a sponge to lightly dampen your forehead. 

 

Allow her to prepare Man Flu comfort foods such as chicken soup, or put Man Flu comfort television on, such as Wiggins' Tour de France victory highlights! Keep her fit and healthy by regularly sending her to the shops for a selection of Cycling magazines for you to browse. Remember, you're doing this for her. 

 

If you didn't die from your Man Flu it is imperative that a period of convalescence is taken. All to often men try to soldier on through the last symptoms only to be flung back into the depths of the illness because they didn't rest for the full term of the condition. Begin by moving short distances away from the sofa. Try not to mention your near death experience. Try to eat food that is 'healthy' rather than 'comforting'. But don't overdo it.

 

Frequently, following a period of Man Flu, the nominated female carer may also start to exhibit symptoms such as a runny nose and aching joints. This is, of course, the common cold and not Man Flu (obviously!). By far, the best way for her to deal with this is carry on with her normal day to day routine as if the cold wasn't there. After all, it's hardly Man Flu, is it?