Sardinia Part 2 - holidays with random people

You know those stories in magazines and blogs, where people describe their rides in astoundingly remembered detail? You know, the "we rode for 300m up the slightly stony track before taking a left across a field, diverting slightly around a rather large puddle that could have been tricky" kind of thing?

Well, I'm terrible at both remembering rides like that, and reading write-ups like that. So instead, I'll avoid misremembering all of the routes we did - suffice to say they were varied and excellent - and instead concentrate on why I really enjoyed this trip.

It felt like a holiday, with just enough cycling to stop me getting restless.
I'm terrible on holidays. I can laze around and relax for maybe an hour or so but any more than that and I'm itching to do something - go to a bar, an attraction, for a wander, for a shop. I'm not cut out for beaches or spending all day by a pool. However, I don't want to be wearing myself out all the time. This trip had that variety. I could laze for a bit.

Use for Buff No 17.

I could walk for a bit:

Sardinian Jungle

I could even ride for a bit:

No pictures of me riding exist, so here's Sir Shagalot, a very friendly puppy

There was food. Lots of food. And drink too.

Gelato

Lunchie-munchies

About 10% of one night's antipasti

Some beer.

Meeting strangers
I've done quite a few trips like this one, and with the exception of one trip (which had some really odd characters - about 8 years ago) all the groups have been great. Everyone on this trip was a stranger (with the exception of David - and he's pretty strange too) and we embraced that - we all had different backgrounds, experiences and views, yet a shared love of eating. Oh, and bikes. I think most of us had bikes too.


The scenery (shamelessly stolen photos from Jenny!)
We were in Sardinia at a brilliant time - the Spring rains had turned everything green and bright and yet we didn't really get wet and basked in warm sunshine.

There were green forested hills

Pretty flowers

And the odd waterfall too.

And.... well, you get the idea. Everything was stunning.


The guides, the routes, the accommodation
Our guides had come first, second and third in a "Most Sardinian Bike Guide" competition. At least, I assume that's how they were selected. Laid back, helpful and enthusiastic, they could describe a route in minute detail ("It goes up a bit, then down, technical up, some more up, then some technical down, some up, then 4km down, then 3km up. Then we'll have a coffee stop"), spend 10 minutes animatedly discussing some minor detail (Was it 2.3km to the junction or 2.4km?) and give a lesson on stone age settlements whilst spanking our arses on every technical descent.

The routes were well balanced between technical, mile-munching and practicality. We had adventure, we had rivers, we had some scary-but-you'll-probably-not-die challenges. We also had at least two coffee stops and two snack stops. Before lunch.

We stayed mainly on farms, in converted outbuildings or purpose built blocks. There were a couple of luxury hotels thrown in too, just so we could kick back and spend two hours in a bubble bath. Never underestimate the power of bubble bath.


Finally, baby animals
We met baby dogs, pigs, sheep, goats, horses, cows, donkeys, wild boar, lizards (probably) and were even presented with a one-day old kitten.

This is the internet - of course I have to finish with a kitten picture.

At first, we thought it was a rat...

Sardinia Coast to Coast

I'm sitting here slightly battered after trying to insert the end of my handlebars into my chest cavity... but that's another story. Suffice to say, ibuprofen is a wonderful drug.

Anyway, this time two weeks ago I was basking in the sunshine, indulging in the usual pre-ride faffing that you get when there are more than two mountain bikers trying to go out and ride together. I was probably slightly hungover, full of breakfast and looking forward to the first coffee stop 30 minutes into the ride.

The whole idea of Sardinia was to do a bike trip that was actually (whisper it...) a holiday. Something where the riding would be fun, not too stressful and there was plenty of opportunity to relax and have a bit of a bimble. Compare that to the two bike trips last year - a week in the Italian Alps and Dolomites dragging myself up the big mountains, and a week in the French Alps dragging myself up the big mountains against the clock.

Why Sardinia? Well, somewhere Italian was preferred due to a love of coffee, gelato, pizza and Italian food in general. It had to be warm, it had to be about a week long, it had to be an easyish grade and most importantly it had to fit the schedules of two people - David (Pyrenees, Dolomites, Haute Route) and me. Brochures were studied, calendars cross-referenced until we finally found a trip that would work - the Saddle Skedaddle Sardinia Coast to Coast.

The start to the trip was brutal - getting up at 2:45am! Still, the roads were clear, the check-in was hassle free and we were soon greased up and inserted into the spaces that Easyjet calls seats. We met a couple of the other riders at the other end, along with our guides, and were then dropped into the centre of Cagliari to wait for the rest of the people coming in on other flights. Cold local beer? Oh, go on then.

Our trip started for real at Montevecchio, at a Agriturismo (farm stay). This one had a pool which came in handy for building the bikes around. It was a little cloudy and a little windy so we avoided taking a dip and made ourselves at home in the bar.

Dinner was a preview of what we'd be eating all week - cured hams, salami, cheese, bread, grilled vegetables, wine and beer. And that was just the antipasti. Then came home-made pasta, braised lamb, salad, fruit and liqueurs. Mmm, Limoncello. Only a couple though, for tomorrow we ride.

Ride Day 1
We were staying at Montevecchio for two nights so there was no need to get luggage ready or load up the van. Still, despite the fact we'd built the bikes the previous night we somehow managed to leave about an hour later than scheduled. Adjusting saddles, polishing frames, ensuring valves and tyre logos lined up. We were in Italy - we had to look good.

The ride started with a gentle rocky climb, with a moderate rocky contouring, followed by a YOU WANT ME TO RIDE DOWN THAT? Yes, it may only have been a moderate grade trip but it was time to drop the saddles and get our rocky descent heads on. We don't have rocks down our way so my rocky descent head hadn't been used for a while. I managed to pick up a flat on the first descent - Giant seem to use cling-flim as inner tube material on their off-the shelf bikes - but made it down without too much incident. There were a few cries of "ohshitohshitoshit" behind me which I think was a comment on the trail rather than a comment on my riding. The second descent was slightly harder - tight, slow and twisty rocks - but all still ridable for an XC numpty like me.

Part two of the day was the famous 23 river crossings trail - something that I'd done 10 years before on my previous visit to Sardinia. It may have been 23 crossings but it was a single river, thankfully more of a stream.  We had a whale of a time splashing through and astonishingly, with 9 x 23 crossings in total no-one fell in. We were all mildly moist by the end though. The route came out near the sea, close to the biggest sand dunes in Sardinia/Italy/Europe/the World (delete as necessary depending on tourist hype).

So big they don't even look like dunes

 From here there was some up, some down, some trail, some tarmac, some lunch - cured ham, salami, pasta, cheese... you get the idea. We had two options after lunch - the long, off-road climb or the easier tarmac route back. It was day 1 - of course we took the climb. It was fabulous - steep enough so you knew you were climbing but no so steep that there was any danger of having to stop. It went on, and on, and on. What goes up went down (slightly - our agriturismo was on top of a hill) and then we had the fun of another off road climb, another descent and finally 10km of up on tarmac.

Bring on the beers. And the cured ham, salami, cheeses...

Paris Roubaix Part 2: The magic pass

Race day dawned bright and sunny. We were up at a reasonable hour - a 7am alarm is nothing compared to the 0515s of the Haute Route. We filled up on breakfast as if we were riding the race itself and were soon in the minibus on our way to the start.

We'd been promised access to the start on the trip itinerary, and I assumed we'd be able to wander around the public areas with the rest of the spectators. We started like this, watching the publicity caravan start to leave and the teams start to arrive.

Follow that truck!

There was even an Android!

Saxo bank were one of the first to arrive. 3 or 4 team cars and the usual bus.

The Saxo bank caravan.

They were closely followed by the Death Star itself.

Dum dum dum, dum der dum, dum der dum...

We watched the parade of vehicles as they went into the team car park, which was closely guarded by a belligerent looking Frenchman. Misty eyed, we strained to get a better look - what was going on in there? Then the Vacansoleil bus arrived and Matteo dashed off, hopping inside before it entered the restricted area. A couple of minutes later he appeared, with a handful of plastic cards. These were our passes for the day, and we could get into the team parking area with them. He flicked through the passes and carefully handed them out, making sure the names matched. Well, I say names... maybe "gender" would be a better word. Apparently, due to some administrative delay, they had to produce the passes in other names. Oh, and they weren't from Vacansoleil. And we seemed to be Assistant Sportifs. Still, if they worked...

We approached the belligerent Frenchman. He challenged the first of our party, pointing out that he didn't look much like an Assistant Sportif. Still, a few words from Matteo and he seemed to accept the situation. We were in!

We were now in a world populated by pro cyclists, mechanics, team heads, press and the odd fan or two. We started to hang around the Sky bus and I started to take a few pictures.

Ian Stannard's bike - note FMB tubulars

Dave Brailsford looking shifty

Eddie Boss with the youngest assistant sportif in pro-cycling

Geraint Thomas having sunglasses issues

Of course, it wasn't just Team Sky. Euskatel were there with their Orbeas. They must have some really tiny riders for the race, as their frames were pretty small.

You'd think they'd be more tidy.

We were now having a whale of a time. It was slightly chilly though, and someone suggested a coffee. There was a VIP tent - maybe we could get in there? Off we wandered and brandished the magic passes. This time there was no hesitation from the guard and we were waved in. I took a look at the back of the pass.

VIP start, VIP finish, all PR spaces, Press Room and finishing line...

Let's just skip over the "non-transmissible" part shall we?

Things were getting more lively outside now as the riders started to sign in for the race. They were also starting to form up in the start lane, so we lined up at the entrance to the start area to see the riders better. Matteo had other plans though. A swift wave of his pass and he was in the start lane - well, deep breath, look confident, follow.... and I'm in.

I'm in the start lane of Paris-Roubaix with riders all around me and Matteo chatting to Baden-Cooke and look that's the big star of the race Fabian three feet from me climbing up to be the last to sign in and a gaggle of press taking pictures and I'M RIGHT HERE WITH THEM!

I was slightly excited.

Matteo catches up with old mates

A little wave

Rider's eye view of the start

Of course I'm meant to be here...

A few minutes before the start we were finally asked to leave - else we'd have to ride the 262km as well - so we went to the beginning of the course to watch the roll out. This wasn't particularly exciting (although we may have been feeling spoilt by this time) and the riders were soon gone.

Next - Arenberg Forest. Arenberg is one of the roughest sections of cobbles and a great place to get a feel for what riding Paris Roubaix involves. It was a good hour's drive away so we spent the time trying to calm ourselves down.

 At Arenberg we followed tradition and enjoyed sausages and beer.

 Before finding ourselves a spot by the barriers. It wasn't as crowded as I expected - we were able to find space fairly easily - and we settled in to wait for the race. Occasionally we were enlivened by a passing car or moto, or some dancing Belgians. Sooner than we expected the race arrived, with the break about a minute ahead of the main chase group.

The break, breaking

 Occasionally a rider came past much more slowly than the rest.

New Zipp wheel shape

We waited for most of the riders to come past - some blood stained, most with gritted teeth, some with no teeth. This was a hard, hard race. The poor Euskatel riders on their tiny bikes really weren't having fun.

However, we were. Next - the velodrome for the finish. As we approached we found the road closed - this was the race route and no cars were allowed.

Unless... you have a magic pass for your minibus. Which we did.

Equipe = Team

Once we were past the first set of barriers, the rest were easy. Three more sets were pulled aside so we could approach the velodrome on the most direct road. We parked up a few hundred metres from the entrance (off to the side of the course - we're not that dumb) and walked to the first entrance we found.

Inside we found ourselves trackside with a big screen to watch.

Surely there must be more to this... we had magic passes! Glancing around there were a few cabins, a stage, some tables and a bar. Hmm, how much for a drink? We went to the nearest cabin that contained a giant TV showing the race - 40km to go - and a bar handing out free champagne. Well, if I must.

We made ourselves at home, and the room started to fill up as people realised that this was actually a pretty exciting race. Having a recently-ex-pro as a personal pundit was handy as well.

3km to go, and I decided I'd watch the finish for real. With a free beer. The atmosphere built as the two lead riders approached - and there they were, with a lap and a half of the velodrome to go. It was all a bit cagey until the final bend, then the sprint, the straining of eyes... and Fab had won again.

Cheers!

More riders arrived, looking shattered. There was much milling around, a presentation, more arrivals, more milling around.

The comedown. It was all over bar the showering (for the riders) and the drive/tunnel back (for us). As an experience it was awesome - way beyond what I was expecting when I received that first text message. I think it's probably ruined watching cycling for me now as I'll want this treatment at every race I go to. The organisation, the travel, the food, the guiding and the backstage access were all superb, as was the race itself.

My final photo - looks like they'll need another stone for Fabian.

It started with a text: Paris-Roubaix from the inside

"Are you interested in a trip to Paris Roubaix next weekend? Access to start, transport, hotel, meet Vacansoleil before race, ex-pro as a guide."

Those were the words that leapt out of my phone when I got back from my ride last Friday. They were from David, who you may have seen in blog posts about the Pyrenees, the Dolomites, the Haute Route and the greatest cycling cafe/pub crawl ever performed. A quick consultation with my girlfriend followed ("That sounds ace, you should definitely go") and a hopeful "yes please!" was sent in return. A couple of nervous hours followed until I got the confirmation that David and I had the last two places.

Roll forward a week and I was on my way to London. The trip was organised by Cadence Performance , a bike shop/training venue/cafe kind of place. They were using the contacts of their in-house recently-ex-pro, Matteo Carrara, who rode for Vacansoleil 2009-2012 (as well as Lampre, Barloworld, QuickStep...). I'd not heard of him but a quick check on Wikipedia showed a pretty impressive palmares. When we arrived at the shop I was surprised to find that this was only a small group - seven guests and two from Cadence. Somehow I'd got in my head that there would be 20-30 people and a much bigger bus.

We drove out of London towards the channel tunnel terminal. Traffic was light (at least on the roads - it was dark in the tunnel) and before long we were in France, on our way to our hotel in Noyon - about 20km from the start town of Compiègne. Looking out of our hotel room window there was a hint that a bike race was taking place.

I spy a team car

We had an hour to kill before the first activity - meeting Vacansoleil - so obviously we spent it watching the time trial stage of the Tour of the Basque country. You know, just to get us in the mood. We met the rest of the gang in the hotel reception for the short drive to Soissons where Vacansoleil were staying.
You read about how the life of a pro-cyclist is a stream of anonymous chain hotels on industrial estates. Well, I can confirm that this was certainly the case this time, with the team being located on an estate just by the ring road. We knew we were in the right place when we pulled into the car park.

The service truck

Matteo leapt out to greet his old mates and we took a nosey round. The truck had washing machines.

Handy.

And was full of maybe £300K worth of bikes, wheels and bits.

Remember not to steal anything

I even got into the truck without being wrestled to the ground by an angry Dutch mechanic. Clearly we were in for special treatment.

I said, don't steal anything!

Next, we were told that there might be a rider or two hanging around. We went into the hotel, stopping to check where everyone would be.

If only all hotels did this

Although in the end, we were saved any hunting by the simple tactic of waiting for Juan Antonio Flecha, one of the big favourites, to come and say hi to us. Which was nice. We had a brief chat about the race, how he was feeling and he signed a couple of autographs for those brave enough to ask for them ("You bought this cap specially? I'd better sign it properly then!").

Flecha, Mirko Selvaggi and Matteo

We left the riders to their dinner, and went to find ours in the start town of Compiègne. Thanks to the research and planning of Simon from Cadence we had a great meal - traditional French country cooking at its best - washed down with local beer and wine. The meal was enlivened by Matteo's tales from the peloton (Oh, that Giro stage in 2010 with the six climbs....), training hints and a long discussion of Tarantino's films. See, it wasn't all about cycling.
Coming soon, part two: Race day.

Light, warm, dry. Pick one, preferably two.

First early long commute of the year. It was necessity rather than desire - there was no way to train in the evening and I'd already missed a day. Pack everything the night before, pump the tyres, fix the lights. Lay out the tights, the merino, the softshell. Balance the hat and gloves on the radiator.

Read the weather forecast. 3C, wind, drizzle. Ignore it. Set the alarm for half an hour earlier than normal.

Sleep.

Wake.

Do not look out of the window. Do not look out of the window until chamois cream is on, bib shorts in place, heart rate strap tightened. Once the cream and shorts are on, you're either going out or taking an embarrassing shower of shame.

Down the stairs to the hallway, recoiling from the drying sweat dead animal stench coming from the gloves. I really should wash them some time. On with the boots, the toasty comforting Northwave Artics. Boots so good you can forgive the poor spelling in the name.

Open the front door, survey the weather. Rain, real rain. Still, the boots were on. I've never missed a workout once I've got my shoes on. Get out the Kaffenback, fire up the lights, hold down the Garmin switch til I hear the comforting bleep. Garmin is now watching you.

It was light. That was a relief. I don't mind cold and wet, if it's light. I don't mind cold and dark, if it's dry. I don't mind wet and dark, if it's warm. There's probably a joke in there somewhere.

Only Belgians and hardmen like cold, wet and dark.

Of course, once I was riding I felt much better. Rain when you're actually cycling is much better than rain before you cycle - it's rarely that bad. I had mudguards, I had softshell, I had dead-badger-stinking gloves and I had toasty warm boots. I was starting to enjoy myself. There were even signs of Spring - daffodils, snowdrops and squished dead frogs. First ones of the year.

I chugged along. I wasn't fast but I felt awake, rain blasted and wind whipped. An hour and a bit later I turned into the work bike park and locked up the Kaff, stripping it of lights, GPS, bottle and pump. Dripping muddy water I entered the main office building, wishing the giant security guard a cheery good morning. I think I saw him smile at the state of me. Up to where I sit (we don't have personal desks), dumped most of my kit and headed to the next door building to shower.

After the shower I stopped at the restaurant for a bucket of coffee and a bowl of porridge bigger than my own head, with a good half pint of maple syrup. Reward time. Burn 700 kcals on the way in, eat 1000 to refuel.

I always feel a little bit proud when I do the long work commute, a glow of satisfaction. Sure, some people do it every day but I only live 2km from work - the mental strength to go out of my way every day just isn't there yet.

Especially if it's dark, cold and wet.

Escaping the Turbo

You sit, constant power, spinning smoothly. The air flows over your arms, chilling them to the bones, yet you remain unnaturally hot, dripping sweat onto the ground. Puddles form.

A tiny window of your world changes. The rest, static. Time slooooooooooows.

Turbo hell.

January was not a good month for going out and riding. I've just totted up my workouts on Training Peaks, and I did sixteen turbo sessions and only ten real-outside-bike rides. Turbo fatigue has set in.

I'm normally pretty good on the turbo - I've done a few four hour sessions in the past, with a couple of movies and some kidnapped cats for company. If you ever want to liven up a four hour turbo session, kidnap a strange cat. You never know how it's going to turn out so you get that frisson of risk.

I also like to mix up the sessions - intervals, Sufferfests, single leg drills, no leg drills, naps. Still, even with these tricks riding with never changing breeze-block walls for a view (I train in my garage) gets to you in the end.

I cracked.

The conditions weren't ideal. Cold, wet, windy, dark, My lights may not have been fully charged. My tyres, unchecked. I didn't care.

The first 45 minutes were tolerable. Then I hit a long stretch of roadworks. I sat at the temporary lights, the red boring into my eyes. I waited. No change. Obviously a bike wasn't enough to trigger the sensors.

I thought "fuck it" and went on through, praying that there would be space for me to dive to the side if I met a car head on. There wasn't space. I was lucky though and made it across - noticing that the lights coming the other way had thankfully changed to red.

A couple of more miles, and another stretch of roadworks. I sat in the queue of traffic, unable to filter to the front due to oncoming cars and a narrow road. This was starting to be annoying. I turned around, and decided to take the back way home.

Big mistake. Huge.

The back way - road closed. Roadworks. Bah, I'm on my cross bike and a closed road normally means that cars can't get past. Bikes? No problem, normally. I ride up the hill to be confronted with fences, machines and what looked like a major trans-Alaskan size pipeline, half in the ground, half out. There was a workman guarding the fence who grudgingly let me past after warning me that I might disappear down a trench. I said I'd be careful. As a trudged on - walking seeming to be the sensible option - I thought I heard a voice on the wind... "You'll be dead!". Save me, Obi-wan!

More machinery, this time alive. Diggers, trenchers, pipelayers, generators and lights. Workmen everywhere. Apparently with all the rain the pipe had somehow pulled itself out of the ground, hence a flurry of late night activity. As I neared the top of the hill there was a mini-crane reversing. By now I was near a junction with another road so I cut across the brambly verge to get to it, avoiding the crane. Finally, a clear road was ahead of me. I saddled up and set off.

Scuff scuff scuff scuff scuff. Odd. Something was rubbing that hadn't been rubbing earlier. My tyre. My flat tyre. Arse-biscuits. I pushed to a convenient space at the side of the road and tried the "pump it up and pray" technique. Twenty metres down the road I knew my prayers were falling on deaf ears. I'd clearly angered the Gods. Then I understood - the Turbo Gods.

Wheel out, tyre off, new tube out of the saddle pack. Put in a bit of air to help get it into the tyre. Hmm. I'm sure I put more air in than that. No matter. Tyre back on the rim, fingers only. Tyre levers? Where I'm going, I don't need tyre levers. Attach pump. Pump. Pump more and more and more. Either this pump is broken, or I'm broken, or the new tube isn't as airtight as I'd generally like it to be.

Turbo Gods, I'm very very very sorry.

By now I was cold, wet and miserable. I was only about three miles from home though and I knew that most likely there was someone there who could come and get me. I had a stark choice. Start patching leaky tubes by the light of my bike or make the call of shame.

"Um, hello? I'm fine... but I could use a lift".

Hangs head.

Back home, I made a ritual sacrifice to the Turbo Gods, burning a bicycle in the back garden. Fingers crossed that they let me go out again sometime soon.

I am now qualified in beer!

It's now about 630pm on Sunday, and my head is just about clear enough now to tell you how I spent yesterday - getting educated in beer. Obviously any beer based education will involve a certain amount of tasting, and beer tasting has one significant difference from wine tasting. You swallow.

Let's rewind to about May last year, when I was trying to think of a birthday present for my friend Chris. He's as difficult to buy for as I am so we've fallen into getting things to do, rather than things to have. Gig tickets, driving courses and even butchery. Part of the deal with presents like this is that you have to go yourself too. More fun that way.

Chris likes beer, and he's very proficient at drinking it. He does tend to lean towards standard premium lagers, and occasionally he leans towards the floor - mainly after the lagers. I've developed a more varied taste so I thought a little bit of education would do us both good.

Off to the internet to find The Beer Academyhttp://www.beeracademy.org/. The one day foundation course looked about right - you even got a qualification at the end. A voucher was bought. Fast-forward eight months and we finally do the course. Not that there was a long waiting list, more that we were both pretty rubbish at arranging a date.

The course notes

The one day foundation course covers

• The history of beer
• Ingredients
• The brewing process
• How to taste beer
• Practicing tasting beer
• Lunch, with a little more practice
• Different styles of beer
• More tasting practice
• Matching beer with food
• Food and beer tasting practice
• Some other things, I forget
• Was there an exam? I have a vague recollection there may have been an exam.
• Extending the course into the evening for some more practicing.

There were twelve or so of us there, all attending for fun. They quite often get publicans or trainee publicans on these courses but as this was a Saturday the amateur enthusiasts were out in force. Ages ranged from about 30 to 60, there were a couple of home brewers and quite a few people there who'd been bought the course as a gift.

Skipping over the history, the first "hands-on" activity was getting to know the key ingredients. We tasted a couple of different waters, barley in various forms - dried, steeped, germinating (with the shoots still on) and kilned, at which point it became malt. The kilned grains went from a light, slow drying all the way up to the coffee and burnt caramel taste of chocolate malt. Smelling and tasting these was our first chance to test our beer tasting skills as we were trying individual flavour components.

We soon learnt that there was a massive variation in our ability to pick out certain flavours. Around me people were calling out "melon", "parsnip", "sweetcorn", "cocoa" and "caramel" and all I could pick up off the malt was "grainy", "wet grainy", "slightly malty" and in a moment of inspiration "coffee". Although, the coffee was probably picked up from my leftover Americano that was still on the table.

Then onto the hops. I was better at this. We had a good rub and a sniff at Goldings, Saaz (more grassy, from the Czech Republic) and Cascade (Very citrusy, grapefruit... hang on, this is the American IPA one!).

As we were doing this we were also being taking through the brewing process, the different ways of using the ingredients and the effect they had on the beer. Did you know, that officially an ale doesn't have hops? And that hops have a significant preservative effect? This was all new to me and would clearly make my drinking far more enjoyable from now on.

By this time we were all dying for a pint. Or at least, several quarter pints.

The tasting process involved looking at the beer's colour (brown, generally) and head, doing lots of swirling and smelling (smells... like beer) and finally tasting. I was told off for going straight to the tasting and necking the first sample in one.

I've lost track of how many different beers we tasted. There was a mass production lager (Carling) which surprised us all as we actually tried to analyse the taste without knowing what it was. There was Fraoch, an old Scottish ale that uses heather and bogmyrtle but no hops. Greene King IPA (which isn't an IPA), ESB, bottled Guinness... and that was before lunch.

Lunch was unexciting, apart from we got to drink more beer - this time brewed on site at the venue, The Bull in Highgate.

Then the afternoon was spent in a similar manner to the second half of the morning. More tasting, sometimes with food to explore matching, sometimes without. A US lager with tortilla chips? A German sausage with a German lager? Kriek, a Belgian cherry beer, with dark chocolate. A couple of wheat beers. A Czech lager. A couple more English beers - Worthington White Shield, Marstons Owd Rodger. Duvel. Another lager. Another Belgian.

It's all a bit of a blur.

So, the verdict?

The course was well taught, interactive, fun and had a good bunch of people on it. I got to taste lots of different styles and more importantly learnt why they tasted as they did. I appreciate the art and science that goes into the whole range of beer - from mass produced lagers to limited run crazy microbrews. I can now talk of the sweetcorny notes of a Carling, due to the light malt that they use. I can say things like "I'm really getting the citrus overtones of the Cascade hops). But most of all, I learnt one thing.

Beer is ace.

Peer Pressure

Most of the messages here are paraphrased to protect terrible spelling and grammar. The sentiment behind the messages remains. My inner thoughts [are written like this].

Ride minus 5 days, text messages.

Me to J: Hey, fancy a ride soon? It's been ages!
J to me: Sure, I was thinking the same. How about an MTB ride? Or I've got a hard 100km road route? I'm not in great shape though.

[J's not in great shape? Fantastic, I might be slightly faster than him. You never know. Still, don't want him to realise that my training's been going pretty well]

Me to J: Either, but our trails are underwater. How is it your way? Hard road ride would be fine, but I'm not in fantastic shape either. Saturday would work. I can ask D if he's interested too.

J to Me: Should be OK to do an early ride Saturday. Will confirm later.

Ride minus 3 days, more text messages.

[I'm currently thinking of a road ride. Still a bit nervous riding off road with J, he's a bit good and I'll probably crash and break myself again. Let's see if I can talk D into coming along.]

Me to D: Might be doing a ride with J on Saturday, early. Leave here 8am, ride 9-1pm, 100km or so?

D to Me: Sounds good, will check.

Ride minus 2 days, email exchange.

[The weather has turned cold and the forecast isn't promising. I'll float the thought of not going out]

Me to D & J: Link to weather forecast. 1C and moderate rain/snow. I don't fancy 4 hours in that.

J: Me neither, but I'll be out doing something. It'll be fine once we're out.

[Bugger, he's not gone for it. Arse. Better put on a brave face]

Me: Are you trying to out badass me? OK, take a view tomorrow.

D: Mountain Bike!

[Oh no, he's still interested and has made a sensible suggestion. I really am going to get injured.]

J: Cool, lots of stuff we can do that drains OK. See you 9am.

[ArseBugger]

Ride minus 1 day, text messages and an actual phone call

[The weather forecast hasn't got any better. Let's see if D is still interested...]

Me to D: What's the plan then?

[No response, maybe he's thinking better of it]

Call from J: Still coming then? I'll be great, we've got proper clothing, stop being such a big wuss.
Me: ....ummmm.... OK. Don't make it too hard or technical. You know, sensible. Nasty weather forecast, add some bail out options. And some coffee stop options too. And pub options. We don't have to go far. Actually, we could just come round for cake...
J: Yeah, brilliant, 4 hours or so of hard MTB, fantastic, brutal, Belgian!

[Arrrggggghhhhhhhh]

[Finally, an answer from D]

D to Me: Hmm, not sure. Bit scared :-)

[Hurrah! I might be able to build on this excuse. I don't want to appear weak though]

Me to D: It was your idea to mountain bike! Are you wimping out? Told J not to make it too technical.

[Hang on, am I trying to talk him into coming?]

D to Me: Not sure, have you seen the weather forecast?

Me to D: My forecast says 3C and a possibility of rain. Windy. I'm still thinking of going but I won't think less of you if you don't.

[Although I may use it as an excuse not to go as well!]

Me to J: We may have a D wimping out situation...

J to Me: Pah! You?

[Can't wimp out before D, but better leave myself an excuse hanging]

Me to J: Well, my kit is ready. Unless it's shocking in the morning I'm still on. Unless you want to give it a miss...

J to Me: No way, just gotta crack on! Will be fun.

[Grrrrrr]

D to Me: OK, I'll come. See you in the morning.

[Oh well.... I tried]

Ride Day

Everyone turns up. We ride MTBs for close to four hours in the cold, wind and rain. No-one falls off, we all kinda have fun.

That's mutual peer pressure for you.

Well, that was 2012...

At the end of 2010 I totted up all of my exercise:

• Road bike, 321 hours, 9840 km
• Mountain bike, 104 hours, 1448 km
• Gym, 47 hours
• Run, 8 hours

And for 2011 it got a little worse:

• Road bike, 293 hours, 6850 km
• Mountain bike, 34 hours, 561 km
• Gym, 25 hours
• Run, 7 hours

So, how was 2012, with all its road bike training, Dolomites week and Haute Route week? Yet balanced against two months off after the Haute Route, and shocking, shonky weather in the UK.

Well. Wait for it.

• Road bike, 363 hours, 8926 km
• Mountain bike, 26 hours, 446 km
• Gym, 21 hours
• Run, 2 hours. Go me!

So, in terms of hours, better than 2011, worse than 2010. Mountain biking way down, road biking pretty good. Interestingly 42 more hours on the road bike than 2010, but nearly 900km less distance. That's all those mountains for you.

Overall, not a bad year. I did some things that stretched and challenged me, I didn't fall off much, I stayed fairly fit and fairly unchubby. However, having a single focus for the year did get slightly dull as I cut back on random, interesting rides. That'll change for 2013 I hope - it should be a year of variety.

So, bike goals for the year.

• Ride at least 10,000km
• Enter at least one 12 hour mountain bike solo, possibly the 24 hours of Exposure - which also has a 12 hour option. It's frighteningly close to where I live too, and the UK and European championships!
• Haute Route again, complete within the time limit and finish top 40%
• Do a minimum of three (3) rides that I'd consider stupid and worth blogging about.

There we go. Fingers crossed that the rain stops sometime this year.

Bikes are ace!

A couple of months ago I picked up a new full-suspension, geared mountain bike. Thankfully I'd paid for it first, otherwise this would be a completely different story. After the initial fiddling and tweaking I took it for its first proper off-road ride.

"This bike is brilliant!" I said to myself, much to the consternation of a passing dog walker. It tracked through the singletrack like it knew where I wanted to go, the suspension soaked up the roots and rocks and the 2 x 10 drivetrain was faultless. Wow, a new favourite bike.

I got home and hosed off the worst of the mud, squirted oil on the most important parts (grips and tyres, I find) and hung it up on the rack.

Fast forward a week or two. Time for a road ride. The weather had been pretty crappy and the roads were scattered with puddles that could be considered minor lakes, grit, gravel, mud, leaves and various dead things. I grabbed my winter/cross/steamroller road bike - steel, heavy, full mudguards and disc brakes - and headed out. As I plowed through what passes for roads around here, bouncing over potholes, ignoring the muddy water splashing up and the cleanish water coming down, laughing at the God of punctures, I thought to myself "This bike is brilliant!". I was confident it could take the punishment, pleased it was so much faster than a mountain bike and most of all happy that it made me badass for riding in the rain.

Badass rain bike

I got home and threw it in the garage. Meh, the chain was so thickly coated with oil that it'd take a Greenpeace clean-up team to make any difference.

Another week. I'd not been out on my singlespeed for ages. It was still wet out so I dressed in full mud-proof armour. Waterproof 3/4s, softshell, winter boots. The bike, as well as being gear-free, was wearing Mud-X tyres (which, as a slight aside, are awesome) and a neoprene front mud-catcher.

I slid and slithered around, balancing traction and grip, thankful I had no complex mechs to clog and grind. I thought to myself "This bike is perfect! Brilliant! I'd rather be on this bike than any other!".

Singlespeed with beer holder

I got home and washed off just enough mud so that I could tell it was a bike, dribbled some lube on the chain and hung it up.

Yesterday I went out on my good road bike, the one that I lovingly polish after ever ride. You can guess the rest...

All bikes can be ace, at the right time. For my 1.5 mile trip to work my cheap, knackered, never cleaned or serviced rat-bike is perfect. I'd rather not ride it up an Alp, but given the choice between that and walking I'd give it a damn good go - and I'd probably look back and grin at attempting it after the event. So maybe that needs rephrasing - all bikes are ace, at any time.

The best bike, for any situation, at any point in time, is the one you're on.