tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11492435868711080892024-02-08T00:46:11.108+00:00dislocatedMTBA blog about mountain bikes, road bikes, training, eating, cooking and whatever else is keeping me occupied at the time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.comBlogger346125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-67011305169758271382015-01-01T16:44:00.000+00:002015-01-01T16:44:34.361+00:00I'm back!A year off writing this blog... kind of deliberate, kind of accidental. It wasn't that there was nothing to write about, but I just didn't feel the urge. However it's always good to be able to look back at the end of the year so I'll try and summarise the whole thing in a single post.<br />
<br />
This time last year I'd entered three things: the Dragon Ride 300km route in its first year of running, the Tour of Wessex and the Bontrager 24/12 MTB race as a 12 hour solo. Some things went to plan and some not so much.<br />
<br />
In order of awesomeness...<br />
<br />
<b>The Dragon Ride</b><br />
This was always going to be the main focus for the year, although as it was in mid-June it meant that I'd be done by the Summer. My biggest ride in previous years had been 230-240km so this was definitely a stretch. Training was based around keeping the power at a reasonable level whilst building up the length of the rides. I think I topped 200km a couple of times which was certainly a first for a solo trip as all my past rides over 200km had been with others.<br />
<br />
The day went as well as I could have hoped. The weather was almost perfect (bar one light rain shower) with temperatures of 15-20C and only mild winds. I did the first third with Darren who then diverted onto the 230km route, kept my pacing even, ate to plan and ticked off the climbs. Oh, the climbs - in the week before the event the organisers discovered they'd vastly miscalculated the amount of climbing, or rather vastly under-calculated. I think the original figure was 3500m or so, and the revised number about 4900m! My Garmin logged 4800m on the day.<br />
<br />
Total ride time was 11 hours 53 mins, with moving time about 11 hours 30.<br />
<br />
<b>The Tour of Wessex</b><br />
This is a three day event, with multiple distances up to 100-110 miles each day. Day one was brutal - it pissed down all day and plenty of people on the 100 mile route took the shorter 70 mile option. Not Jon and I, for some reason we took in the whole thing. Thankfully we weren't camping so we were able to defrost and clean up in the luxury surroundings of a Travelodge.<br />
<br />
Day two was much better conditions with sunshine and the seaside. I couldn't stay with Jon so ended up riding with various random groups. We met at the finish and rode back to the hotel, which was handy for Jon as he picked up the only puncture of the weekend and could borrow my pump. Found a great pub too, just a short walk from the 'lodge.<br />
<br />
Day three we decided to just do the 65 mile route, which mean we got back early afternoon and could get on the road for a tortuous Bank Holiday drive home. I ended up going cross-country, making use of some of my training ride roads to avoid the worst jams.<br />
<br />
<b>24/12</b><br />
Didn't get any MTB training in. No-one else entered. Sold my place. Didn't mind.<br />
<br />
<b>Other things</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Work charity 100 mile ride from Newbury to London. Not quite first this time, 5 minutes back on the leading pair. I was suffering from a virus and a month off though.</li>
<li>Old school no pressure local MTB ride with Jon, Darren and Rob. We stopped, we chatted, we got muddy. Must do more of this.</li>
<li>A winter 90 miler with Jon and Phill, were we all suffered in various ways.</li>
<li>The Cotswold Spring Classic ride the route on the same day as the event ride. I normally pace myself of these things, this time I thought I'd try staying with Jon and rode as hard as I could from the start. The result? Cramp, lots of cramp. Good time though.</li>
<li>Via Roma Sportive with Jon and Phill. Took our time, lazed at the food stops, all very social.</li>
<li>A week riding in the Dolomites with some old friends and some new. Brilliant week of food, wine, beer, gelato, chat and climbs. GrossGlockner in the snow was probably in my top 3 most memorable rides. The weather could have been better but it all adds to the experience.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>The graphs</b><br />
A good progression here, can I keep it up in 2015?<br />
<br />
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<br />
So, 2015? I've entered Tour of Wessex, got trips to Ventoux and Corsica booked and one local sportive. There will be more, but I think I'll just take things as they come. Planning is over-rated.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-43671993461356592312013-12-31T17:15:00.001+00:002013-12-31T17:15:58.447+00:00Bye bye 2013!Seven hours of 2013 left in my timezone, and as I've taken the day off work I thought I'd use the time wisely and eat muffins, crisps (chips for the U.S.A.ers) and chocolate. I also thought I could use some of that time (between handfuls of crisps) to look back on 2013 and see how I did on the ol' exercise front.<br />
<br />
In previous years I've written out the stats - you know, "5 hours of running, 35 hours of country dancing". However, given most young people these days have trouble comprehending the written word and instead need "infographics" I've done some simple graphs for the hard of thinking.<br />
<br />
First, time spent doing stuff.<br />
<br />
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440 hours of exercise in total, mainly road biking. This was almost exactly the same amount of time on the road as last year, but a decent increase in mountain biking. What's pretty clear though is how much I did in 2010, which was my Lands End - John O'Groats year. Running this year - non-existent.</div>
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Second, distance.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I had a target for the year of 10000 kilometers, which I managed to smash through about a week ago. 10130 km in total. The increase in mountain biking is almost certainly due to my Sardinia holiday - you can rack up a fair distance in a week.<br />
<br />
Third, I set myself some goals at the start of the year.<br />
<br />
<b>Ride at least 10,000km:</b> Tick!<br />
<br />
<b>Enter at least one 12 hour mountain bike solo:</b> Tick! Although my attempt to insert my handlebars into my chest cavity ended the ride early. I also failed completely to blog about it, but I assure you you can find my name under "DNF" in the 12 Hours of Exposure results.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Haute Route again, complete within the time limit and finish top 40%:</b> Vague Tick! I completely well within the time limits but failed to make the top 40%. I put it down to faster people being there and me not trying particularly hard. Hell, I even tried to enjoy myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Do a minimum of three (3) rides that I'd consider stupid and worth blogging about:</b> Well, there was t<a href="http://www.dislocatedmtb.com/2013/01/peer-pressure.html" target="_blank">he week of procrastination leading up to a January ride</a>, the <a href="http://www.dislocatedmtb.com/2013/05/my-first-rubber-glove.html" target="_blank">review of the Sufferfest Rubber Glove</a> and the <a href="http://www.dislocatedmtb.com/2013/06/the-longest-day-do-something-silly.html" target="_blank">Longest Day</a>. So, another tick.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Other highlights of the year were the trip to Paris-Roubaix (not as a rider, but as close as you could get), the three day company organised charity ride from Newbury to Manchester, the training weekend in the Pyrenees with Dangerous Dave and Greasy Dave and the Sardinia week. Looking back, not a bad year.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Next year... no Haute Route this time but I've entered the Tour of Wessex (3 x 100+ mile rides), the 300km Dragon Devil and the 24/12 12 hour MTB solo. Lots of endurance needed so I'd like to see 12,000 kilometers in 2014!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've got some other exciting plans too, but I'm not going to reveal them here...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, Happy New Year to you all and I hope that 2014 is a cracker.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-36946417438192940572013-11-11T19:54:00.002+00:002013-11-11T19:54:40.758+00:00And Winter FellIt's 4C, raining, windy, I've been out riding for over two hours, my hands and feet are just starting to chill... and I'm loving it.<br />
<br />
Generally, I dislike winter riding. There are exceptions - fresh snow, the odd cold and crisp day - but I spent a whole lot of last winter tucked away in my Pain Cave, battering myself into submission on the turbo trainer.<br />
<br />
The Pain Cave isn't a pleasant environment. It's bare, stark, harsh and cold. No-one to distract me, no idle chatter to pass the time, just me, a screen and either Breaking Bad or <a href="http://www.thesufferfest.com/" target="_blank">The Sufferfest</a>. For hours and hours and hours.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For extra suffering I stare at the wall, not the screen</td></tr>
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Still, I find this preferable to the British winter. All that drizzle, the grit that gets everywhere, the taste of salt in the air, the crushing inevitability of puncturing whilst slamming into the edge of another water-filled pothole. That's winter to me.<br />
<br />
So when I awoke on Saturday, and bounded down the stairs like a Spring lamb on catnip (lambs like catnip too - FACT) to be greeted by my outside thermometer telling me it was cold, the weather forecast telling me it was going to stay cold and the window telling me it was... moist... why did I feel excited? Well, it was a first ride. The first true winter ride.<br />
<br />
Every Spring I yearn for the first true shorts and jersey ride. This year it was probably about mid-June given how long it stayed cold for. That makes some kind of sense; riding in the sunshine is glorious. But also, variety comes into it. I get to dig out the white disco slippers, the obscenely tight lycra and the tiny gloves. I get to wear the dark sunglasses. I get to start on my tan lines.<br />
<br />
Strangely, this variety had overcome my hate of the winter. New toasty neoprene gloves. My favourite softshell. The winter boots that last year, finally, kept my feet warm after many years of icy toes. I revelled in the act of dressing - shorts, tights, merino base, woolly socks, boots, softshell, hat, gloves, helmet, glasses. I choose my bike with glee - the Kaffenback, the heavy steel mudguarded tank. I met the wind and the rain head on, screaming defiance.<br />
<br />
At one point, about 90 minutes into the ride, I found myself grinning as I rode. I think I scared some drivers. I certainly surprised some other cyclists as I met their misery with my joy. My mind was full of food thoughts as I pondered what I could eat for recovery. Hot rice pudding? Porridge? Toasted malt loaf? Tea? Coffee? Thick hot chocolate? I don't do that in the summer.<br />
<br />
At home I peeled off my sodden outerwear and hung my trophies on the radiator to dry.<br />
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<br />
I showered, ate (porridge!) and stretched, content in the warm glow of a ride well done.<br />
<br />
Well, that's my winter fun over for another year. Back to the misery.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-17310003686101003452013-10-21T20:42:00.001+01:002013-10-21T20:42:39.936+01:00Three days as a professional cyclistAbout eight weeks ago I got an offer I really, really couldn't refuse.<br />
<br />
"Would you like to spend three days riding your bike? Working days? Paid working days?"<br />
<br />
Um... yeah... What's the catch?<br />
<br />
"100 miles a day for three days!"<br />
<br />
Well, sure. That's not too much of a stretch.<br />
<br />
"Fully supported, catered, good hotels, transport back from the finish?"<br />
<br />
I said yes didn't I?<br />
<br />
"In October. It'll almost certainly be terrible conditions. Wind, rain, fog, cold."<br />
<br />
Ah.<br />
<br />
"Free jersey!"<br />
<br />
Yay!<br />
<br />
"And you can use it as a way of raising money for your favourite charity and publicising the very excellent <a href="http://www.justgiving.com/en/justtextgiving" target="_blank">JustTextGiving</a> service!"<br />
<br />
Double yay! (I apologise at this point for the use of "yay" in what's generally a vaguely intelligent blog. However I feel that it's justified this time to represent how excited I was by this opportunity.)<br />
<br />
Some background. The company I work for supports a service that allows small charities and members of the public to take donations in the form of a text message from a mobile phone. So if you want to raise money for say, Air Ambulance, and you're doing a bike ride from Newbury to Manchester you can set up a personal code that will allow people to donate to your cause simply by sending a text - with the donation being paid via their mobile phone bill or prepaid account.<br />
<br />
Like this.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUwzI-86QVxXhj5onw-Jtg49wFIjaCURbfH6OcotHYfkBprUqwkpCDlwtLDsID2Sr4k8NjZOeHt6HNuPABQ8Ijt8CpQHjqYfodsRHhlStMCCUBFp1tjBrZpErx-lmCXiYB629jybQLJ7w/s1600/Banner-300x250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUwzI-86QVxXhj5onw-Jtg49wFIjaCURbfH6OcotHYfkBprUqwkpCDlwtLDsID2Sr4k8NjZOeHt6HNuPABQ8Ijt8CpQHjqYfodsRHhlStMCCUBFp1tjBrZpErx-lmCXiYB629jybQLJ7w/s400/Banner-300x250.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UK Mobiles Only </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For the past two years we've been encouraged to set up a <a href="http://www.justgiving.com/WetWindyWild" target="_blank">personal JustGiving page</a> and ask people to use the text donation service - with the incentive of a company donation of £100 if we manage to raise £100 through text donations. Last year people did all kind of crazy things but there wasn't much organised to help people who couldn't really think of anything to do.<br />
<br />
This year, some bright spark came up with the idea of the Big Bike Challenge - a company organised ride with options for all abilities - 30 miles, 100 miles or 300 miles. It would take in five company locations: Newbury, Bracknell, Newark, Stoke and Manchester. Three hundred people signed up to the challenge, including me.<br />
<br />
I may have been first to sign up. Top 5 at least.<br />
<br />
There were training plans published, encouraging emails, chatter on the internal forum and a general frisson of excitement leading up to last Wednesday. For me, and about 80 others, we had 300 miles ahead. For more normal people, a single ride of 30ish miles or 100 miles. Our office was buzzing with riders resplendent in their new (free) jerseys, slightly petrified at the apocalyptic weather conditions that had appeared that morning. However, we were distracted from our fear by the addition of Formula 1 driver Jenson Button.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
At Vodafone UK HQ setting off 300 employees raising money for over 250 charities cycling from Newbury to Manchester! <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23JTG100&src=hash">#JTG100</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23ridesafe&src=hash">#ridesafe</a><br />
— Jenson Button (@JensonButton) <a href="https://twitter.com/JensonButton/statuses/390385393876893696">October 16, 2013</a></blockquote>
<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
<a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23JTG100&src=hash">#JTG100</a> - Nice to have Vittorio and <a href="https://twitter.com/JensonButton">@JensonButton</a> chaperoning the <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23bigbikechallenge&src=hash">#bigbikechallenge</a> today <a href="http://t.co/cpk8DttQz9">pic.twitter.com/cpk8DttQz9</a><br />
— Marshie (@MarshieP) <a href="https://twitter.com/MarshieP/statuses/390383162481991681">October 16, 2013</a></blockquote>
<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script><br />
<br />
Jenson was meant to be riding but a slight hand injury meant he could only wave us off. Quite frankly if he'd sacked off due to the weather we wouldn't have minded, it being mid-season and everything.<br />
<br />
Gilets, arm-warmers and jackets were pulled on, Buffs buffed and we set off, with us 300 milers getting the honour of leading the ride out. The usual sportive activities took place, with most people pretending that they weren't trying to get to the front and some sizing up of everyone around. The first section, 30 miles to Bracknell, was mainly memorable for my inner turmoil regarding whether I should put on my rain jacket.<br />
<br />
I hate rain jackets. It has to be really, really, really wet for me to put one on. I'll suffer in a gilet and arm-warmers for a long time before submitting. By that time I'll normally be so cold that I'll struggle to get it on and will spend the rest of the ride cursing my idiocy.<br />
<br />
Thankfully it was only really, really wet.<br />
<br />
We whizzed through the first feed station at Bracknell, stopping only for a flapjack and a whizz, and cracked on. Our little group was close to the front - there were only two people ahead - and we set a perfect pace to stay exactly under the worst of the rain. Exiting Marlow we spotted the ex-leading pair fixing a puncture and after pausing momentarily to check they weren't seriously in trouble we chugged up the only climb worthy of the name that day.<br />
<br />
We were now down to three, and I just about hung on to the other two. Time passed. Legs burnt. Lungs exploded. Cycling in the rain isn't very exciting to write about.<br />
.<br />
..<br />
...<br />
....<br />
<br />
The finish! We were greeted by the ever cheerful support team and were directed to the showers, coffee and cake that were provided. Sod that. There was a bar.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtN6cqvLZsg7yUD4DyduMcLqv3dTnMWHjz6ZJyOdv4MYRNer77jKKhpN_MqA8QkhYH4LLBdjuAZ2nhMa_nN7HfRSHVVmLRIMfuvEy7tBI8r-sXVTDLpqbnWZOzrlRUL4zSgY_QyyhCc6A/s1600/IMAG0277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtN6cqvLZsg7yUD4DyduMcLqv3dTnMWHjz6ZJyOdv4MYRNer77jKKhpN_MqA8QkhYH4LLBdjuAZ2nhMa_nN7HfRSHVVmLRIMfuvEy7tBI8r-sXVTDLpqbnWZOzrlRUL4zSgY_QyyhCc6A/s400/IMAG0277.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guinness is a recovery drink</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Others rolled in, with tales of suffering and daring-do. As is often the case with these events it was much tougher for the more casual riders - some were out 9-10 hours and had really done their sponsors proud. Punctures everywhere, bruised bums, aching knees and the odd minor crash.<br />
<br />
Bus, hotel, showers, all you can eat buffet and a couple of pints. Two days to go.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-55732626779367580892013-10-11T12:56:00.000+01:002013-10-11T12:56:13.047+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part... oh, I forget. The last one anyway.And lo, it came to pass. The final stage. The last time I would drag myself up at some ungodly hour, wolf down whatever the hotel thought of as breakfast, go through my eleven stage kit routine and ride off praying that I wouldn't crash into a Frenchman. Or worse, a triathlete.<br />
<br />
This stage had another bus ride to the start so I was careful not to drink too much at breakfast in order to avoid the bladder clenching of stage one. The bus also kept us warm and dry... for the day had brought proper, rainy rain. All through the ride people were looking nervously out the windows hoping for one of two things.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>More rain, thunder and lightning. This would mean that the first climb would be cancelled and we'd be riding a flat, shortened stage.</li>
<li>Less rain, clear skies and a sudden increase in temperature. This would make the day far more pleasant.</li>
</ul>
<div>
As it was, things stayed about the same. Quite rainy with occasional breaks. We heard that the first climb was staying in and that rain jackets we recommended. Ah well, at least we British were well prepared and equipped for the conditions. No plastic bags taped on the feet for us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We started. The heavens opened. We grimaced. We hit the final categorised climb of the week - the Col d'Ahusquy. The stats don't do it justice, 14km long at an average of 5.6%. All I know was it was damp, drizzly, cloudy, steep in sections and seemed to go on for ever. No-one seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the fact that no-one knew where the top was didn't help. The feed station was at a minor summit - everyone thought it was the top - with a good few km to go after it. Misery.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And after misery and rain, came enjoyment and gain (OK, I'm struggling for a rhyme here). We bimbled the neutral descent (rough, wet, broken tarmac and poor visibility) and took a break at the bottom to form a group. I was with Darren, Dave B and Kirsty at this point and we were soon joined by a few others all riding with the intention of keeping the group together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's odd how certain sections become highlights, and the last 50km of rolling country to the timed finish of Camo-les-Bains was one of them. We worked for each other, we kept the pace sustainable for everyone and the strong took care of the weak. I'm almost tearing up at the thought of it. Much of this was due to our road captain, "Spartacus", who was one of the crazies who'd also done the Haute Route Alps a couple of weeks earlier. He told us when to ease back, kept the turns short and generally marshalled us to the finish. Only in the last few hundred metres did anyone try and drop the others but by then the objective had been achieved - we'd all finished.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We got our medals, finisher polo shirts and engaged in a round of hearty handshakes, hugs and photographs. Job done.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Almost.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You see, a couple of tasks remained. Getting fed in the piss-ant town of C-l-B and getting to the coast for the official event finish. C-l-B simply couldn't cope with the demand and we were once again treated to bar and cafe owners getting angry at having customers to serve. How dare we want to give them money in exchange for food and drink. Bastards, the lot of us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The ride from C-l-B to the event finish at <strike>Biarritz</strike> Anglet was just that little bit too long and little bit too rolling to be enjoyable. It took about and hour and a half, which when you've mentally completed riding is not what you want. The finish line was outside the ice rink on some windswept peninsula of Anglet (not Biarritz... apparently things were changed late on in the planning) with a few bemused locals out walking their dogs looking on. This didn't really have the same feeling as rolling down Les Promenade des Anglais in Nice, with full police escort and 100's of tourists taking photos. To be honest, it was underwhelming and a massive anti-climax.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was a bit grumpy by this point and just wanted to get to the hotel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I stayed briefly for a team photo, then used the navigation feature on my Garmin (first time ever!) to route us the 5km to our hotel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the hotel, my grump left me. Party time!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One thing I can say about the Haute Route people - they can put on a good after-party. It was here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8Q1YZqEmKQUn6SP3Ubi2cT1Ual0i6tOeA42PVucW0_I3IlVBntUw6Ff9ePPd4XtlMMy4eZt-cX8atH7nviIxXOsRuoQCrM4nI3EAYd12m633HUIKkVasXSBi6jCH9EJwAI0XQ6EYv68/s1600/IMAG0142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8Q1YZqEmKQUn6SP3Ubi2cT1Ual0i6tOeA42PVucW0_I3IlVBntUw6Ff9ePPd4XtlMMy4eZt-cX8atH7nviIxXOsRuoQCrM4nI3EAYd12m633HUIKkVasXSBi6jCH9EJwAI0XQ6EYv68/s400/IMAG0142.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posh hotel/casino</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
And had a free bar.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBT9dXyooGBWekMIyFU2-70BHKDqAu9kQayAJwDpSpGFM7Kkx4AI6Nzvd0fvQfFh-I-qlcYinkh7vTc8jxH0fDesm22VUPmWNaQn6zEMJhWzvvYQhsUvJA4QijjqPVZugHKxyQIlPIf0/s1600/IMAG0148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBT9dXyooGBWekMIyFU2-70BHKDqAu9kQayAJwDpSpGFM7Kkx4AI6Nzvd0fvQfFh-I-qlcYinkh7vTc8jxH0fDesm22VUPmWNaQn6zEMJhWzvvYQhsUvJA4QijjqPVZugHKxyQIlPIf0/s400/IMAG0148.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer from the beer sponsor, naturally</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
And even had a Greg LeMond to entertain us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR62Ljt7SJgjWIyXmHFkIlaL6I7UxwV-FvUl3oZyp4zOTrbFoz0FvDlkeCeNR4t7gkbpFbh1j0lkKmYA0EuSR4pWntxgwGyzXgO9Cag9J25FxyPuWv4TDK646tOCkgRUmmswAgldWcOE/s1600/Greg+and+us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR62Ljt7SJgjWIyXmHFkIlaL6I7UxwV-FvUl3oZyp4zOTrbFoz0FvDlkeCeNR4t7gkbpFbh1j0lkKmYA0EuSR4pWntxgwGyzXgO9Cag9J25FxyPuWv4TDK646tOCkgRUmmswAgldWcOE/s400/Greg+and+us.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's a very very nice man</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
What more do you need?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-34129114989148976372013-10-06T09:00:00.002+01:002013-10-06T09:00:43.881+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 7: It's the little differencesStage 6 was slightly different to the others as we were now nearing the edge of the mountains and actually included a long, rolling section. One big climb (Aubisque from the Soler side), 100km, 2200m of climbing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJQPbBrQKp4LeiswmasnQgT8omNqU6tut_CHpNBnhD6e5SI4c3_qytD5I-IumWnMdGYj9yjb8rFU3Q02rM8ODjYj4_U6fqSy296oTymUTfs8etK8MDgBB_DgnMcDZcli-kgPUxyS9OUJk/s1600/Stage+6+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJQPbBrQKp4LeiswmasnQgT8omNqU6tut_CHpNBnhD6e5SI4c3_qytD5I-IumWnMdGYj9yjb8rFU3Q02rM8ODjYj4_U6fqSy296oTymUTfs8etK8MDgBB_DgnMcDZcli-kgPUxyS9OUJk/s400/Stage+6+map.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
We also had a difference in the weather - the top half of Soler/Aubisque was under low cloud, with very poor visibility. There was a sensible, late decision to neutralise the descent, the only issue being that the first 100 or so people over the top didn't know this - the cloud closed in during the morning and the change was made during the stage. This meant that some people raced the downhill and first flat section whilst other (like me) could take some time to recover.<br />
<br />
Still, those not in the top 100 probably needed the recovery more.<br />
<br />
Anyway, once racing started again on the rolling section I managed to pick up a group of about 15 people (by virtue of waiting until they caught me up). It all got a little fighty from that point. The route was like Southern England - rolling shortish hills, sharp little punchy climbs, even some UK standard terrible tarmac. It was a case of "sprint up the climb", "recover for a minute", "sprint up the climb", "get spat out the back", "chase back on", "get dropped again".<br />
<br />
Yep, I was dropped. 20km or so to go, but at least I had a handy Frenchman who'd also been dropped. His mates were in the group - I heard him shouting at them ("don't leave me you bastards!", probably). We were sensible enough to work together the whole way to the finish, swapping turns at the front every minute or so. I quite enjoyed it, through the taste of blood and tear-soaked eyes.<br />
<br />
We finished in Pau - a city of 85,000 people. It had shops, buses, bars, humanity! I think this was the main difference between the Alps last year and the Pyrenees event. In the Alps we were staying mainly in out of season ski villages. Very few shops, bars, restaurants. Getting fed in the evening was a major challenge that we barely scraped through.<br />
<br />
In the Pyrenees we stayed in little towns. This was mainly positive - the afternoons and evenings could be spent chilling out watching the Vuelta in a bar, hunting for ice cream or exploring a series of fascinating museums and art galleries. Eating every night was simple. Wander around the town. Read some menus. Pick a restaurant. They all had food, staff and even special "cyclist" deals.<br />
<br />
The possible downside was that we often finished the timed stages either at the top of a nearby mountain, or some distance out of town. Almost every stage had an untimed section at the end - either rolling down the mountain we'd just raced up, or a gentle 10km of flat. For me this was a positive. Rather than a sudden transition from maximum effort to stopped completely there was the chance to cool down with a gentle 30-60 minutes of riding.<br />
<br />
So, Pau. That evening we dined on giant burgers, beer, desserts and cognac. The end was in sight. We'd also found out that due to bad weather the organisers had decided to change the route of the final stage - thunderstorms were predicted. The first big climb was cut and there was a chance the second (and final) one could go as well.<br />
<br />
Fingers crossed. For the shorter route, obviously.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-53884576409458115432013-09-25T17:20:00.001+01:002013-09-25T17:20:07.840+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 6: How to ruin a rest dayAfter four stages, the fourth one being a monster, it was definitely time for some recovery. This started on the evening after stage four with pizza, beer and ice cream, and the next morning even allowed a lie in. This was because stage 5 was as close to a rest day as the Haute Route got - a mountain time trial up a HC climb: Hautacam.<br />
<br />
I'd like to show you the stage profile using the official graphic, but they seem to have disappeared from the <a href="http://www.hauteroutepyrenees.org/en/" target="_blank">Haute Route site</a> - so instead you get to see the full glory of my Garmin trace.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb09Q-LF6lRLUL1TPbsYlPD5BYv6ALW6hD4gCoYHtdfikzJuv0nAwfMC3Woq29HJe03cNEbkg4bVp8f93i7-0IySViJwWUZkrsLAtHaF09jTwJeKzvfBZdlIfG6O4__Ej0bQozFkJea8w/s1600/TimeTrial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb09Q-LF6lRLUL1TPbsYlPD5BYv6ALW6hD4gCoYHtdfikzJuv0nAwfMC3Woq29HJe03cNEbkg4bVp8f93i7-0IySViJwWUZkrsLAtHaF09jTwJeKzvfBZdlIfG6O4__Ej0bQozFkJea8w/s400/TimeTrial.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It goes up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's about 16km long with around 1000m of ascent.<br />
<br />
There are a couple of ways to treat this - if you are racing the event, or interested in how fast you can ride up a mountain, you can go what commonly known as "full gas". If you want to recover a little from the previous night's pizza, beer and ice cream you can go "economy gas". Guess which I did?<br />
<br />
Economy gas was still hard work though - on the very odd occasion I overtook other riders and they spoke to me my response was a mixture of panting, whimpering and dribbling. Imagine an overheating St Bernard. That was me.<br />
<br />
At the top I stayed to watch people come in who'd put far more effort into it - there was the odd vomit on the line, some mild collapsing but thankfully no need for medical attention. It was warm and sunny and the view was stunning.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqXAEHPl_rkeGZV6JK-81YfGi0-QZ8AQIw1197q_QXzdw4zKLWFbx1DKwKah0KmTZ5R_OkWlQv0gBtKSIsIZ-g5vQgMnjlE7nCciS0T-97Zro-S2z3Q_vFTSaA6bC9pbJNZljBxhyh8E/s1600/IMAG0138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqXAEHPl_rkeGZV6JK-81YfGi0-QZ8AQIw1197q_QXzdw4zKLWFbx1DKwKah0KmTZ5R_OkWlQv0gBtKSIsIZ-g5vQgMnjlE7nCciS0T-97Zro-S2z3Q_vFTSaA6bC9pbJNZljBxhyh8E/s400/IMAG0138.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out the disco slippers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was even pretty good without my legs.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgra5ZiFQZywE5rlsUeTeWC5Gf544E6DMwD4M1g6953SwmFPGvJIoKOI-92jpSUf-LiTvfp5-eVZWqYZ0Aa-54W1IxtO4Mzzu3QJlduEe1XVWChpsTRZwYyrXxDCy_6A2SrGN2LQpzajHw/s1600/IMAG0139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgra5ZiFQZywE5rlsUeTeWC5Gf544E6DMwD4M1g6953SwmFPGvJIoKOI-92jpSUf-LiTvfp5-eVZWqYZ0Aa-54W1IxtO4Mzzu3QJlduEe1XVWChpsTRZwYyrXxDCy_6A2SrGN2LQpzajHw/s400/IMAG0139.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Eventually I ran out of excuses for sitting in the sun and had to ride back down the mountain with Darren, just as the leaders were coming up. We waved to the people we knew - for some reason they failed to wave back through their tears of pain - and were soon back at the event village. We ate, we did some light shopping and ambled back to the holiday camp. The original plan was to make use of their pool and waterslides but somehow even that seemed like too much trouble. Sun bathing and sleeping were just about all we could manage to do.<br />
<br />
So, five days of riding in glorious sunshine... and two stages left.<br />
<br />
What could possibly go wrong?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-18670057715417782562013-09-22T20:59:00.001+01:002013-09-22T20:59:45.262+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 5: Control the force, you must.(Cue ominous music)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Z3w2OCylUTU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Slightly scary voice: "Peyresourde, 939 metres of elevation gain"<br />
Slightly scary voice: "Col d'Azet, 7.5km at an average of 8.2%"<br />
Scary voice: "Col d'Aspin, nearly 800 metres of gain"<br />
Very scary voice, the kind of voice that is normally threatening to kill you: "Tourmalet. The giant of the Pyrenees. 17km, 1277 metres of gain, summit at 2117 metres..."<br />
Slightly scary voice: "Each by themselves a challenge. All in one day... suffering like you've never suffered."<br />
Very very scary voice: "And we've run out of chocolate brioche for the feed stops"<br />
<br />
Not your usual evening briefing. They do like a bit of drama on this event.<br />
<br />
Honestly, how hard could it be? I've done Tourmalet, Aspin, Peyresourde before, admittedly with a long lunch and an overnight stop breaking them up. I can ride slowly, for ages. All I need is control, pacing and eating.<br />
<br />
Let's have a look at the route.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3Ei7Qtzpj7_ZcwrdHHx5pDkE221mQhLH8wlt9LVPxIR4o8Gj0vhzPgbr5YoP6S4c1xvtuUWQZjioE8DPb2YhnorZcQH7gwZxf7vLFydwWJZ2QtfwrzmS1C_dH21rAJadQMUHDMwfyuw/s1600/HPR_MAP_STAGE4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3Ei7Qtzpj7_ZcwrdHHx5pDkE221mQhLH8wlt9LVPxIR4o8Gj0vhzPgbr5YoP6S4c1xvtuUWQZjioE8DPb2YhnorZcQH7gwZxf7vLFydwWJZ2QtfwrzmS1C_dH21rAJadQMUHDMwfyuw/s400/HPR_MAP_STAGE4.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five feed stops!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the stage profile.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFSCbBBkGbRmeoqbywhXNTSWRnlKSlFMWw_Aj1JoLjzUnU7Ob9Jl_3Ug2tmfvkJ8iktoWicMop9mSM2rFyHhZBCyGSN8ETMHJDsUxVrrpaHsYPJA_Kj1Gw8ve68GPSPAaQ5QlIBy_dTg/s1600/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFSCbBBkGbRmeoqbywhXNTSWRnlKSlFMWw_Aj1JoLjzUnU7Ob9Jl_3Ug2tmfvkJ8iktoWicMop9mSM2rFyHhZBCyGSN8ETMHJDsUxVrrpaHsYPJA_Kj1Gw8ve68GPSPAaQ5QlIBy_dTg/s400/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-04.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like the little cyclist going up Tourmalet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not much flat in that one is there? Due to safety reasons there were a couple of neutralised sections - the Col d'Azet descent (rough, narrow, sheep) and the Tourmalet descent (<a href="http://www.pedaldancer.com/2013/06/pyrenees-floods.html" target="_blank">road washed away by terrible floods</a>). This meant that we could have a bit of a rest at the top of the Azet (after crossing the timing mat) and the timed stage ended at 99km. Still, 4000m of climbing wasn't to be taken lightly.<br />
<br />
My strategy for this stage was to ride it like a 12 hour mountain bike race - and I don't mean quitting after three-quarters of the time... Essentially, keep my heat rate down, don't get excited and don't chase people up hills. The trace from my Garmin surprised me when I uploaded it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmDw6tzo25-tMz368lEsk7c0208zHSKCy5x_ocsgyc9_asIvX30NAp2Y6O6ip8RdEgQLpXzp8CmrwA6Rv7mYnTSqoKg2us7B6INCERZAfVdSOcvGELNF7LrO8gSrybBIw3h5sqfHiyA8/s1600/MarathonStage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmDw6tzo25-tMz368lEsk7c0208zHSKCy5x_ocsgyc9_asIvX30NAp2Y6O6ip8RdEgQLpXzp8CmrwA6Rv7mYnTSqoKg2us7B6INCERZAfVdSOcvGELNF7LrO8gSrybBIw3h5sqfHiyA8/s400/MarathonStage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Red line is the heart rate, green line the elevation. You can see I stopped recording at the top of the Tourmalet, and you can see me taking it easy between the top of the Azet and the bottom of Aspin - the untimed section. What you might be able to make out is my heart rate didn't get above 140. That's mad. The average was 125. I'd like to say that I was riding within myself and felt fresh as a daisy at the end.<br />
<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
The reason that my heart rate didn't get above 140 was mainly because it really, really didn't want to. My legs didn't want to go faster, my whole body was washed out, eroded and telling me that the speed limiter had been set and nothing was going to break it. I ground my way up Aspin and Tourmalet, legs barely turning over. I even let a funnily dressed German overtake me in the last hundred metres.<br />
<br />
At the top, relief and photos.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfiDAEt3Eq5lbYS3J72NmjvAHx2BtLkQOP1-NhaDle-RIVKHXak98Jl0AM0TK7ZZVlJ5Kl01GPzN5a4pFBzIMQNDoYlNOVqYBkVBuQw86ifTkkV-HsXEy5rUpvaGCBUP9ro2iBIsHTWI/s1600/WP_20130904_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfiDAEt3Eq5lbYS3J72NmjvAHx2BtLkQOP1-NhaDle-RIVKHXak98Jl0AM0TK7ZZVlJ5Kl01GPzN5a4pFBzIMQNDoYlNOVqYBkVBuQw86ifTkkV-HsXEy5rUpvaGCBUP9ro2iBIsHTWI/s400/WP_20130904_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beat the giant silver man</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh, and chocolate brioche. They'd managed to source some more.<br />
<br />
All that remained was 33km to Argeles-Gazost. The Tourmalet descent was astonishing, in that when I rode up it a couple of years previously there was a road and villages along the way. Huge amounts of it was gone, to be replaced with vast gorges where the flooding river had ripped out everything man-made. We rolled along gently, open mouthed at the destruction. It was incredible that the road was open - a huge amount of work must have been done very quickly to make it passable and there was still an enormous amount to do.<br />
<br />
Finally, we reached the town. There was some initial confusion as the official finish was in a different location to the food and massages, and our holiday camp accommodation was a short ride away too. It was great when we got there though, as every pair of people had their own little wooden cabin, with a sun deck too.<br />
<br />
Only one thing for it. Washing!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-38261984715712747382013-09-20T19:16:00.000+01:002013-09-20T19:16:50.939+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 4: Cold, hot, hurty.Stage 4 brought a few new challenges.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>In the morning, it would be cold, cold, cold.</li>
<li>In the day, it would be hot, hot, hot.</li>
<li>During the stage, we would ride through Luchon twice - which is where our overnight stay was</li>
</ul>
<div>
There was also the usual challenge, this time 120km with 3300m (ish) of climbing. Col de Portillon, Port de Bales and Superbagneres.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You can see from the map that we passed through Luchon after Col de Portillon, before looping round to climb Port de Bales, back to Luchon and up to the finish at Superbag (as it swiftly became known).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y0yS289v63A-K3j5y3nWnT0WaAqzE1ZBwP9mxjB8MjddJHASkYmKdq9i9aampdl8DpmiLA3h-8gb4m9VDq0gGANVPyXshXSeAKRbxvpXKtYks2OjDqCpZTEloCoXR6yutCpUSlBn2og/s1600/HRP_MAP_STAGE3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y0yS289v63A-K3j5y3nWnT0WaAqzE1ZBwP9mxjB8MjddJHASkYmKdq9i9aampdl8DpmiLA3h-8gb4m9VDq0gGANVPyXshXSeAKRbxvpXKtYks2OjDqCpZTEloCoXR6yutCpUSlBn2og/s400/HRP_MAP_STAGE3.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tempting to hide in Luchon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOudBoqdjAwmhVKxFfGR5GAVyDV-p3eAP7Yy1gETcjcYBrLqv-Mkek8Z2p1Ai9qOijrUVCTlXxfBh5YT46tC1yjfyb2DIWux22-34nvDOUBNv58C4ila4MsJgGgFt8ZtW1xwBvBjwA9NY/s1600/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOudBoqdjAwmhVKxFfGR5GAVyDV-p3eAP7Yy1gETcjcYBrLqv-Mkek8Z2p1Ai9qOijrUVCTlXxfBh5YT46tC1yjfyb2DIWux22-34nvDOUBNv58C4ila4MsJgGgFt8ZtW1xwBvBjwA9NY/s400/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-03.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See that downhill bit at the start?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We had a 7:30am stage start, so assembled from 7am. It was mildly chilly as we stood around, although some had arm-warmers, jackets, thicker gloves. I had a light gilet. There was a 14km downhill before the first climb which was controlled and untimed - so pretty much freewheeling for half an hour. There is a simple sum to do here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(Cold (9C) - windchill (30kph) + effort (0, freewheeling) + extra clothing (light gilet)) x 30 minutes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The answer? I couldn't feel my hands, feet or face and my teeth were chattering like this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4sLwDFWXiBM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We were almost thankful for the first climb to begin. Happily it was one of the best of the trip - I'd done it from the other direction a couple of years ago and I remembered it was tight, twisty and not too tough. The descent was a real rush, and I managed to overtake a fair number of people, with an older Frenchman hanging on my back wheel. When we got to the valley he even gave my descending skills a "Tres bon!" and a thumbs up. Either that or he liked my bottom.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
That was during the first pass through Luchon. I hooked up with Darren, Kirsty and a few others and we had a good group working through the valley until the start of Port de Bales. I can't say I enjoyed PdB, but at least it was pretty - lush woodland, rocky outcrops, stunningly quiet roads only interrupted by the curses of cyclists wishing they'd fitted that 12-32 cassette on the back.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or was that just me?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can't remember the descent, I do remember coming back through Luchon again (and deciding that I should really have hidden in a cafe for two hours)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then the climb to Superbag. By now the temperature was in the 30's and no-one was looking chirpy. The climb was a real drag - it went on and on and on with no noticeable let up in steepness. I remember a feed stop, the American/Finnish couple on Orbeas (go team Orca!) and then the final few kilometres where the trees fell back and you could see the top and it wasn't getting any nearer... Oh, that last km, still at 10% or so... and then the ramp to the finish line, seeing Phill taking a picture and Darren leaning against the railing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Relax. That. Was. Tough.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We took our time at the top. <a href="http://nicholaroberts.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Nic </a>arrived, and she had the presence of mind to suggest some photos on the way back down (yes, another ride down to a town at the end of a stage).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Which is why I have this fantastic picture.</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwN1Wg7vPnpeRGofd2STt0Kku8ab3w-poRouWeblQrgkCTSXJZsBZBnx3v36PuP9R-MgghQ8qcYwStwQVBdHvpFJu5sHoI31mijwaHf1xtEeONX7phY1wRvU8qnOny7W5dYFJlhKq5xo/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwN1Wg7vPnpeRGofd2STt0Kku8ab3w-poRouWeblQrgkCTSXJZsBZBnx3v36PuP9R-MgghQ8qcYwStwQVBdHvpFJu5sHoI31mijwaHf1xtEeONX7phY1wRvU8qnOny7W5dYFJlhKq5xo/s400/photo.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bike must be very, very light</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Luchon was another great place (note - can these towns be moved to the Haute Route Alps?). We'd had some tips from the locals and somehow ended up in the bistro they recommended. After a hard day, with another hard one to follow, we had to be very careful what we ate and drank.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRWXg0HUeVlBI-ehTLhrZ2aJwDw7M3iUM8gXPM4CymRQGI4x3PxRn5V6OTRkQ2p9j8jHf_DRK3de5_UkIGffZe3xDkW4iVxLhzvsQgWK87VL_zf4SCnHtodO4wZ1ID5xPwyqGSYKAAPg/s1600/IMAG0135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRWXg0HUeVlBI-ehTLhrZ2aJwDw7M3iUM8gXPM4CymRQGI4x3PxRn5V6OTRkQ2p9j8jHf_DRK3de5_UkIGffZe3xDkW4iVxLhzvsQgWK87VL_zf4SCnHtodO4wZ1ID5xPwyqGSYKAAPg/s400/IMAG0135.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<div>
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<div>
Meat sticks and beer people, meat sticks and beer.</div>
<div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-1396589536079207662013-09-19T20:39:00.000+01:002013-09-19T20:39:01.107+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 3: Into the swingAfter the first, shortened stage, stage two was more in the classic mold. Get up early, wolf down some breakfast, get kitted up, get on the bike, ride for 5-6 hours, recover, sleep, repeat.<br />
<br />
The route for stage two went something like this.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXfeFc2R9c_KcmQpcs-WhF6H3niy6osAucxqi7hDLvWX3Ajdap99L65U-r5CSMalossq1NxpaZJ0gATVRH0t_gzDuYiV_RQcCrohlBOB8FgfHznPy6t-lQgVy9Ca0dO0RxIMewMBMUdI/s1600/HRP_MAP_STAGE2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXfeFc2R9c_KcmQpcs-WhF6H3niy6osAucxqi7hDLvWX3Ajdap99L65U-r5CSMalossq1NxpaZJ0gATVRH0t_gzDuYiV_RQcCrohlBOB8FgfHznPy6t-lQgVy9Ca0dO0RxIMewMBMUdI/s400/HRP_MAP_STAGE2.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wiggly 120km line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the uppy-downy view went like this.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9M0R6O8NqwMWuybnPPC3jc7ApBLeBiimUp9Gd8_VYd_67JjEhK8hrXXKZmurpX0W7oQ3g-1Dz6WhAUzlhs8pE0qCQftGuu34bCHRsx9FUCpDxan-O31pTm_DSTk5MaGJm-pkYHTmBF6U/s1600/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9M0R6O8NqwMWuybnPPC3jc7ApBLeBiimUp9Gd8_VYd_67JjEhK8hrXXKZmurpX0W7oQ3g-1Dz6WhAUzlhs8pE0qCQftGuu34bCHRsx9FUCpDxan-O31pTm_DSTk5MaGJm-pkYHTmBF6U/s400/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-02.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up, down, flat, up, down, up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As usual, the first climb was cycled with a little more zip than was sensible. We were riding with Kirsty, who was representing <a href="http://www.aquickrelease.com/" target="_blank">A Quick Release</a>, the most excellent mountain bike holiday, coaching, guiding and racing company. Darren and I know Kate and Ian who run AQR, and Darren had been told to look out for Kirsty (and Matt) at the event. It didn't take long as I spotted them at the start of the second stage in their very obvious team kit. It turned out that Darren and Kirsty rode at pretty much the same pace for the whole week, and I was just about able to keep up when I was feeling sprightly.<br />
<br />
My main memory of the climb was Darren attempting to injure me again - after his success in the velodrome and at the UK 12 hour championships he thought he'd try for a hat trick. This time his approach was to drop a bottle in front of me, get Kirsty to run it over and ping it into my path...<br />
<br />
Ha! Missed me. Clearly that plan was too complex to succeed and it resulted in Darren having to ride back down the mountain for a hundred metres before he could retrieve the escaping bottle.<br />
<br />
The second climb was, quite frankly, a bitch. Steep, mildly desolate and with a vicious headwind. I did all I could to try and reign Darren's excitement in, telling him that he had to conserve energy for the week. My energy, obviously, because I needed someone to ride in front of me in the wind.<br />
<br />
I told him to go ahead for the last climb to Plan de Beret, and sucked down a caffeine gel myself. The energy conservation must have work because I actually felt (whisper it...) quite good. I even overtook a couple of people, something that never happened on a final climb last year.<br />
<br />
As it was a mountain top finish, and as it was the Pyrenees, that meant just one thing - a ride back down the mountain to the nearest town, in this case Vielha. It was close to 30km more riding but as it was pretty much downhill it actually served as a decent warm down.<br />
<br />
Vielha was a lovely little town, and we were in a hotel right in the centre. Once again we struck lucky with a restaurant, finding a three course menu with wine for only 12 Euros. This was after a post-stage recovery session involving beer, churros, hot chocolate, ice cream and watching the Vuelta.<br />
<br />
We were getting the hang of this Haute Route thing. Roll on stage 3.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-34644801193784374542013-09-15T19:55:00.001+01:002013-09-15T19:55:25.518+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 2: Today, we rideAfter the shuffling of bikes and bags the previous day, it was a relief to have a simple schedule. Get up, get breakfast, get the day bag packed with post-ride gear, get most bike kit on, put bike shoes/gloves/helmet/glasses/GPS in the day bag, put on something for the bus ride, pack the main bag, take it down to reception, check-in with the bus monitors, get on the bus.<br />
<br />
Simple.<br />
<br />
Oh no, not today. Although the race officially started in Barcelona, it actually started in Solsona. This was a good hour and a half bus ride away, and it meant that the normal routine of leave hotel, get on bike and ride was a little disrupted. We'd planned ahead for the bus journey, packing extra drink and snacks to eat on the way, but we'd failed to take account of Jon's excitement - he spent most of the trip bouncing up and down in his seat, desperate for a wee. We should have brought an empty bottle.<br />
<br />
At Solsona we disembarked, collected our bikes (which had come by truck), suited up and then did what everyone does before a big race. Found a place for some cool pictures.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Fiu0teTqip3VTzDmcLz7XQ16LmMOmoZMc0eTNy_4FjUchjzFhA9WfGIMHEeNYHYY1jakD2-uDNkM4mpDFmgwzWcgu7JEfHBo2MFXI_HdJl1v3vzxjSo4cSTDItFK5z03HdHNTm1BPK4/s1600/IMAG0120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Fiu0teTqip3VTzDmcLz7XQ16LmMOmoZMc0eTNy_4FjUchjzFhA9WfGIMHEeNYHYY1jakD2-uDNkM4mpDFmgwzWcgu7JEfHBo2MFXI_HdJl1v3vzxjSo4cSTDItFK5z03HdHNTm1BPK4/s400/IMAG0120.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rule 80: <a href="http://www.velominati.com/the-rules/#80">http://www.velominati.com/the-rules/#80</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Rested, excited and slightly nervous, the tension built. Greg LeMond was led to the front of the start lane - he was riding the first stage - the music got louder, the start hooter went off.... and we crept forward at about 2 kph. Start, stop, clip, unclip. We did a ceremonial lap of the town, exiting through a tiny medieval gate, and we were properly off.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was a short stage to start things off - and by cunningly stealing pictures from the <a href="http://www.hauteroutepyrenees.org/en/" target="_blank">official Haute Route site</a> I can show you. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrz5sJsqYT01DBhS9VTNiWwUcBi5J7onxNmk9tUp7vWp4CKN0mmkPQhaFCSps3hsgotVp-GnxY3I07-zeLCKH3H5vyHP0tb9H7C7llANmZgKFVv6bASVUZM63KmBZZE2dMIeap3xRB54/s1600/HRP_MAP_STAGE1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrz5sJsqYT01DBhS9VTNiWwUcBi5J7onxNmk9tUp7vWp4CKN0mmkPQhaFCSps3hsgotVp-GnxY3I07-zeLCKH3H5vyHP0tb9H7C7llANmZgKFVv6bASVUZM63KmBZZE2dMIeap3xRB54/s400/HRP_MAP_STAGE1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click for biggerer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLcq7O5GKbaJzfEVojBHv2DEuOnlEhCTFqYaFPGljeqz468il1wq-dnjPYiRHpqnhqBMsWi5YNJTw3J3SHmi9YDGDZyi9utC38ADMMU-sYtH94msclog_kNr3Os8XlYtRvBPH8WvZf8l4/s1600/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLcq7O5GKbaJzfEVojBHv2DEuOnlEhCTFqYaFPGljeqz468il1wq-dnjPYiRHpqnhqBMsWi5YNJTw3J3SHmi9YDGDZyi9utC38ADMMU-sYtH94msclog_kNr3Os8XlYtRvBPH8WvZf8l4/s400/Pyrenees_Profiles_Stage-01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first three climbs were really one moderate one, with three little peaks on the way. On a stage race it's important to pace yourself for the week so obviously we rode far harder than we should have, feeling great, legs all zingy. When you haven't really done much for a week it's almost impossible to not take advantage of that fresh feeling.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can't remember much of the ride - there was some work in a group in the valley, Darren and I kept together for the whole time - but the descents were fun. Rough broken tarmac, steep sections, hairpins. It was like mountain biking on a road bike and we even managed to overtake a few people. I was definitely ahead of the curve on the downy bits, and probably behind the curve on the uppy bits.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the finish I slipped back into routine - recovery drink, riders' meal, stretch, find the others, chat. We rode to our hotel, showered, relaxed. Dinner was at the hotel - we'd avoided the mistakes of last year and pre-booked - and we even managed to entice a few other people to join our little group. Dinner is always more fun with more people.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Oh, one other change from last year - we were on the recovery beer from day one. Marginal gains, it's all about the marginal gains.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-5134431372237865992013-09-12T22:11:00.000+01:002013-09-12T22:11:35.267+01:00The Haute Route Diaries Part 1: Logistics, logistics, logisticsTravelling with bicycles can be a wonderful thing. When they are in bags, have to get to an airport, on a plane, to a hotel, to another hotel and onto a truck it's less wonderful.<br />
<br />
<u>Logistics Part 1 - Get everything onto the right plane</u><br />
The <a href="http://www.hauteroutepyrenees.org/" target="_blank">Haute Route Pyrenees</a> started in Barcelona. We started in Newbury, England. Thankfully our flight wasn't too early so I was picked up by Darren and Becky at 6.45am. Part one of our logistics relied on two full bike bags, two big luggage bags, two small rucksacks and three people all fitting into one Audi A6 estate. Astonishingly we pulled this trick off with relative ease and we were soon on the road. Check-in went well, the other members of our party all turned up and we even managed to meet a few more HR riders in the departure lounge.<br />
<br />
Part 1: Tick.<br />
<br />
<u>Logistics Part 2 - Get everything to the first night hotel</u><br />
Arriving at strange airports, in strange countries, with six people, six bikes, six big luggage bags and six small rucksacks could have been hell. No taxis, chaotic buses, language issues, stampeding rhinos. None of these happened as we'd <i>actually planned ahead</i>, and booked two giant taxi vans to take us into town. We picked up our bags/bikes/rucksacks, sauntered into arrivals to be met by our drivers. They organised us, stuffed all the bags in one van and all the people in the other and whisked us to the delightful Husa Illa.<br />
<br />
We did fill reception though.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPLvl0xaCyaSRH8cz8R_KSOIbwtvWRs2jhzdeLbo8Y2EUG7GxugJIwTsSiT-BHqLjClkBSvDFUMy4HzUNxS_8zQcryMHdm6cfehAG35SkkeLDEkMu4BAWWZ1o7Mj66szzzN7_itk1FvQ/s1600/IMAG0082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPLvl0xaCyaSRH8cz8R_KSOIbwtvWRs2jhzdeLbo8Y2EUG7GxugJIwTsSiT-BHqLjClkBSvDFUMy4HzUNxS_8zQcryMHdm6cfehAG35SkkeLDEkMu4BAWWZ1o7Mj66szzzN7_itk1FvQ/s400/IMAG0082.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And we noticed that we could have cut down on our luggage lugging by using the hotel bikes.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAkN-n6E9Pmxi7LCogmzax3W3NKS1S6rzaszucpQmQ0fWqxfVIGpkCe7v7BZZDavyaoe_oZic_S1E54PTfPlUgx25rWGa7-ZUTJB3D1O7Poxb_aq4YQjmjv0qwSqPzaueJ-ThScGOTpY/s1600/IMAG0083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAkN-n6E9Pmxi7LCogmzax3W3NKS1S6rzaszucpQmQ0fWqxfVIGpkCe7v7BZZDavyaoe_oZic_S1E54PTfPlUgx25rWGa7-ZUTJB3D1O7Poxb_aq4YQjmjv0qwSqPzaueJ-ThScGOTpY/s400/IMAG0083.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plenty of room for snacks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The rooms were even big enough for bike assembly.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1CiOFrE1A_eJp_scRlKvx5dFh6PcI1vF8BV0wO0vA8HNVvG4FtR6V0lGeIY6RKwbaZCiz3-3kLe42q26G4d8DBYdAyhzagstx7jRxd-zkntCNAH83XKUkOxZHjWQX7W2bjJXnWg5puY/s1600/IMAG0085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1CiOFrE1A_eJp_scRlKvx5dFh6PcI1vF8BV0wO0vA8HNVvG4FtR6V0lGeIY6RKwbaZCiz3-3kLe42q26G4d8DBYdAyhzagstx7jRxd-zkntCNAH83XKUkOxZHjWQX7W2bjJXnWg5puY/s400/IMAG0085.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Darren inflates his frame</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Part 2: Tick<br />
<br />
<u>Logistics Part 3 - Get empty bags, assembled bikes and people across town with the minimum of taxis</u><br />
<br />
The next day we had more of a challenge. We were the other side of town to the event registration and village - about 7km. We had a few things to do.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Get the assembled, working bikes into the bike part of the event village, where they'd be safety checked before being trucked to the start of the first stage.</li>
<li>Get empty bike bags to the event village, where they'd be taken away to be returned at the end of the race.</li>
<li>Get empty luggage to the event village, stuffed into the bike bags.</li>
<li>Get us to the event village.</li>
<li>Register for the event and pick up kit, official luggage, day bags, freebies</li>
<li>Attend the pre-race briefing and paella party</li>
<li>Get back to our hotel with official luggage, day bags and freebies, and pack our stuff into the official luggage.</li>
</ul>
<div>
The movement of us, bikes and empty luggage to the event village was like a version of the chicken/fox/farmer problem. We wanted to use as few taxis as possible and we didn't want to have to arrange any big vans. After some thinking we came up with a plan.</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Send Darren and I, riding our bikes, to the event village.</li>
<li>Get Phill and Jon to book a single taxi, and load all the empty bags onto it... with no people.</li>
<li>Give the taxi driver clear instructions as to the destination, and make sure he isn't paid until he gets there.</li>
<li>Phill and Jon then ride their bikes to the event village.</li>
<li>Darren and I meet the taxi driver and unload the bags, before paying him.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Genius huh? It worked like a charm, with everything ending up at the right location and only one taxi needed!</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Bike bags and empty luggage were handed in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3YMhyhb3WmbN9WkbDOtpwTg0WqqCFFVa-4vT1szulubxFhzesnUybmvdWeEa9KvpyHeU4r_5L9FUpHpUqCy8Rx5AN8JtycPFgLmfOxfAY4rL1aOWlinJRtRZ0Bw4PVX731mdsm7m7KQ/s1600/IMAG0090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3YMhyhb3WmbN9WkbDOtpwTg0WqqCFFVa-4vT1szulubxFhzesnUybmvdWeEa9KvpyHeU4r_5L9FUpHpUqCy8Rx5AN8JtycPFgLmfOxfAY4rL1aOWlinJRtRZ0Bw4PVX731mdsm7m7KQ/s400/IMAG0090.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Bikes were checked and racked for loading onto the Norbert Dentressangle truck.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswBWtFvdHmNPEXjTu92abmk9xzPwAUolwiwAWhTzJArtAB0gZhAsWiP-lUiM2g94PJ39lk_TuTc73NR_WbgwTkdlPFMI8j2Ty8Mp8C_SodAsWW5ulqPeqbOkgE4QeCkUjtTln_aPZMzM/s1600/IMAG0096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswBWtFvdHmNPEXjTu92abmk9xzPwAUolwiwAWhTzJArtAB0gZhAsWiP-lUiM2g94PJ39lk_TuTc73NR_WbgwTkdlPFMI8j2Ty8Mp8C_SodAsWW5ulqPeqbOkgE4QeCkUjtTln_aPZMzM/s400/IMAG0096.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orbea waits with Cervelos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
And after registration we went for the first of several carb-loading beers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNgxuQWYdgwDXeMCMF8wYkXHsLiVRwluLYysM2b06sYsXObHXRrVm6FDivdcIPrZvgNlZTquwr3xXU8JSACYzlRyTD-bsokflyES4F9Q2tiXKCYXMV_83OewBfzORsGVPg2M8m3ymXNU/s1600/IMAG0109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNgxuQWYdgwDXeMCMF8wYkXHsLiVRwluLYysM2b06sYsXObHXRrVm6FDivdcIPrZvgNlZTquwr3xXU8JSACYzlRyTD-bsokflyES4F9Q2tiXKCYXMV_83OewBfzORsGVPg2M8m3ymXNU/s400/IMAG0109.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drink of athletes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Logistics Part 3: Tick.</div>
<br />
<br />
The whole process was exhausting. At least we could spend the next day relaxing, riding bikes up mountains for a few hours.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-75168886297514218382013-08-25T20:36:00.000+01:002013-08-25T20:36:22.420+01:00So here I go again......on my owe-oo-own...<br />
<br />
So sang labradoodle-haired rocker David Coverdale. Except this time, going again on the <a href="http://www.hauteroutepyrenees.org/en/race/course-overview" target="_blank">Haute Route</a>, I'm not on my owe-oo-own. This time I'm going with lots of people.<br />
<br />
There's the <a href="http://www.dislocatedmtb.com/2010/05/lejog-complete.html" target="_blank">LEJOG</a> (Land's End to John O'Groats) crew from 2010. That's Darren, Jon, Phill, Dave and the special additions of Sarah and Andrew. Together we are "Team Tastic"<br />
<br />
Then there's most of Team Infrared from <a href="http://www.dislocatedmtb.com/2012/08/10-days-to-go-panic-ensues.html" target="_blank">last year's Haute Route</a>. That's Tony, John and David (I don't think Bernard is doing this year). They're not special enough for Team Tastic, so they've formed their own team: "Pitpass Chainreaction Cycles Elmer the Elephant". They've also roped in a few more people for a serious assault on the overall team prize.<br />
<br />
Then there will be all the random people who I met last year on the road - hopefully they'll have the same names on their numbers so I can recognise them.<br />
<br />
I'm feeling pretty relaxed about the whole thing, especially compared to last year. Having done it once I'm over a couple of mental barriers - firstly "can I do it", and secondly "I don't want to fail for a random reason". As I ticked the event off last year random failure will be just one of those things, rather than a soul-crushing disappointment.<br />
<br />
Of course this year the route is different. I've made some handy cut-out-and-stick notes on each stage.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0s8ABHNBJ1sbjgpRw-4-C-l-Drmuu8L_6Ed_3INWWUvjeUiRDki1F0rCMDdTBg8oDttEwpmFyOhGGkLuWk1nkY4DXzWlVbGEN5Oje8fn8JgSmQqU28cbZzmUwbWgATfIObMXoAQi9Y80/s1600/IMAG0058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0s8ABHNBJ1sbjgpRw-4-C-l-Drmuu8L_6Ed_3INWWUvjeUiRDki1F0rCMDdTBg8oDttEwpmFyOhGGkLuWk1nkY4DXzWlVbGEN5Oje8fn8JgSmQqU28cbZzmUwbWgATfIObMXoAQi9Y80/s400/IMAG0058.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountains</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You get the idea. I'm also about the same fitness as last year but this time I'm almost 8lbs lighter. I clearly find it easier to not eat than I do to train harder. I've no idea if it'll make much difference but it can't hurt - plus it'll make my face-stuffing challenge after the race far more exciting.<br />
<br />
On the subject of training, good ol' Training Peaks tells me that so far this year I've done<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>6456 km on the road bikes, in 250 hours.</li>
<li>878 km on the mountain bikes, in 57 hours.</li>
<li>1 hour 16 minutes in the gym. Poor effort there.</li>
</ul>
<br />
So it's a week to go, all the work has been done and I just need to finish packing. I've started though.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwsnL2sKJ0AD-FKMjpdab6evu46X3xBlcEQLMjWfF7KYOu19ZKwzy5jWXusLiblQOWrlcSkAAewLLkitJKCe3eAYLYrc9HXR8JEphb0mEO578xoFQTufW3sClQ8QcRY_mR8OLoMV7JS8I/s1600/IMAG0077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwsnL2sKJ0AD-FKMjpdab6evu46X3xBlcEQLMjWfF7KYOu19ZKwzy5jWXusLiblQOWrlcSkAAewLLkitJKCe3eAYLYrc9HXR8JEphb0mEO578xoFQTufW3sClQ8QcRY_mR8OLoMV7JS8I/s400/IMAG0077.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And here's the full shot of the energy products - mainly Torq bars (Organic Mango, Pineapple and Ginger), Torq gels (Raspberry Ripple, Banoffee Pie with Guarana), Powerbar Rides (Peanut and Caramel), Torq Recovery (Chocolate Orange), Torq Energy (Orange) and For Goodness Shakes recovery (various flavours, for use on waking up, pre-breakfast).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMBEy0HhY0p0BtDx17GyN3wHrj_uU5FDGCD84JWlgktkppOac4W_Hcj20nYF38YYpEtapBKW9To60hcsf-dql-mPCjzQCt8-kZL5Ppc4vNoompVCy_CGk-XLBJSgL92dJT88l7LNEEhqo/s1600/IMAG0078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMBEy0HhY0p0BtDx17GyN3wHrj_uU5FDGCD84JWlgktkppOac4W_Hcj20nYF38YYpEtapBKW9To60hcsf-dql-mPCjzQCt8-kZL5Ppc4vNoompVCy_CGk-XLBJSgL92dJT88l7LNEEhqo/s400/IMAG0078.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugary goodness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I just hope I can resist eating them all before the actual race.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-64179475374933748612013-08-18T22:55:00.001+01:002013-08-18T22:55:09.451+01:00Cor, it's been a bit quiet on hereWow, that was a bit of a break. For some reason the urge to write has been missing, and to tell you the truth I'm not really sure it's back. I've still been doing the same things but I don't feel the need to tell the world about them.<br />
<br />
So, time to tell the world.<br />
<br />
My last post was back in June, when I did a longest day ride. Since then I've done a few things that in previous years I'd have written about.<br />
<ul>
<li>A long weekend training in the Pyrenees, with 42C heat, a couple of H.C. climbs, fabulous food, swimming in cycling shorts, the world's worst cheese and ham toastie, a kitten, a minor bonk riding up a climb that almost had me rolling over the edge whilst trying to eat a gel, an astonishing thunderstorm, discovering the secret tunnel in Heathrow terminal 5 and learning that my new bike shoes don't cause me immense pain whilst riding in hot weather. Which is nice.</li>
<li>Buying a new frame at a massive discount and turning it into a very posh "winter" road bike that's probably lighter than my summer road bike.</li>
<li>Doing some gentle early morning rides with a group from work, including a few newbies.</li>
<li>Nearly, nearly dropping Jon on a short climb. Except I didn't.</li>
<li>Training, lots and lots and lots of training.</li>
</ul>
<div>
So rather than writing, here are some images.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZzhYt_dQd7lYkJomvNjdsmR_9FZn3mnVZu1pCktWcTvySpV8IigjfzBjCVz-x4qIWZtIpSW3Tu6sqIyKHbixHkekZyrry3Knm8wUkugHuhDMKF7EwtwuSa8ppqomDByU-urt7JPrfuM/s1600/IMAG0035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZzhYt_dQd7lYkJomvNjdsmR_9FZn3mnVZu1pCktWcTvySpV8IigjfzBjCVz-x4qIWZtIpSW3Tu6sqIyKHbixHkekZyrry3Knm8wUkugHuhDMKF7EwtwuSa8ppqomDByU-urt7JPrfuM/s400/IMAG0035.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bespoked, our hosts in France.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvdXXbs0iKkTj9-mBHi9tFh0yan3ulAUqK04l1zl4W4QPx6R9Gqi6ZZ-GGauDqvpAOBJmlWMWOUfO-r4EpPl-LIlgMZ6yi7DN3Pu9XLBFtcSxjBQ7JWimm42g7C9ZlYv1Ni3buLqHviI/s1600/IMAG0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvdXXbs0iKkTj9-mBHi9tFh0yan3ulAUqK04l1zl4W4QPx6R9Gqi6ZZ-GGauDqvpAOBJmlWMWOUfO-r4EpPl-LIlgMZ6yi7DN3Pu9XLBFtcSxjBQ7JWimm42g7C9ZlYv1Ni3buLqHviI/s400/IMAG0034.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikes, poised.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYTYvZyhhaJUstLiY1j85gwPSAI3dtmH3Fha-lIdGXJbEieNiU4xgvhKCFlJbYrlwA37DAmIwZnuRZGdKLG4sySSEOSGeDRaSS7rSabg5oD8-hjeXfMKsJRU2JSmGilSF_luke1Gk2jo/s1600/IMAG0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYTYvZyhhaJUstLiY1j85gwPSAI3dtmH3Fha-lIdGXJbEieNiU4xgvhKCFlJbYrlwA37DAmIwZnuRZGdKLG4sySSEOSGeDRaSS7rSabg5oD8-hjeXfMKsJRU2JSmGilSF_luke1Gk2jo/s400/IMAG0046.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frame, naked.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwaEpSRfeETrXaquyv5ULtLZzloDs3RBuKG2HhxnBdmfcxdtESFRLwPvYcfWiDPjIkgpgSpxb9zfhXFjT8DKIc25kO2e4e6De-mOxEHNBZOgIktvlWpa8VmFRnwXBRYIRC4QbD-c7hIA/s1600/IMAG0054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwaEpSRfeETrXaquyv5ULtLZzloDs3RBuKG2HhxnBdmfcxdtESFRLwPvYcfWiDPjIkgpgSpxb9zfhXFjT8DKIc25kO2e4e6De-mOxEHNBZOgIktvlWpa8VmFRnwXBRYIRC4QbD-c7hIA/s400/IMAG0054.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cake, unpurchased,</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDG71lo1QHf8D8jaM8Vb_b2Xz308MLkP-CwNuN5XNYOtIxGJ5Aj2FEisc4OdCqy9BJLWWC5GmJEGxNTC4cDhBtAtMZooGSxw0kQgUqXnDfZa88t1bOvBWdnJiKUEH-qfWC768w8j2dbLU/s1600/IMAG0033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDG71lo1QHf8D8jaM8Vb_b2Xz308MLkP-CwNuN5XNYOtIxGJ5Aj2FEisc4OdCqy9BJLWWC5GmJEGxNTC4cDhBtAtMZooGSxw0kQgUqXnDfZa88t1bOvBWdnJiKUEH-qfWC768w8j2dbLU/s400/IMAG0033.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dangerous Dave, our Pyrenees guide.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIlDeYoc579rTRh34pv1qYgMUyEfOUT0l9eHRlOiSioCZ1Er3itaPJAlkzjnKPKf1lqEHThH9Q_LTqFyaDCPRRCtRXMJela0EtOAcypF_O9QnErQ2cr9_yJYsV-tyauHpms_gfeC6WUg/s1600/IMAG0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIlDeYoc579rTRh34pv1qYgMUyEfOUT0l9eHRlOiSioCZ1Er3itaPJAlkzjnKPKf1lqEHThH9Q_LTqFyaDCPRRCtRXMJela0EtOAcypF_O9QnErQ2cr9_yJYsV-tyauHpms_gfeC6WUg/s400/IMAG0026.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lola the kitten, who turned out to be a boy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh, I mentioned training. Two weeks to go until stage 1 of the <a href="http://www.hauteroutepyrenees.org/en/race/course-overview" target="_blank">Haute Route Pyrenees</a>. Gulp.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-70130610455350031952013-06-22T19:52:00.003+01:002013-06-22T19:53:45.959+01:00The Longest Day = Do something sillyFor several years I've had a hankering to do a "Longest Day" ride on June 21st, the Summer Solstice. I normally remember this around June 22nd so it's never actually happened. This year I somehow thought of it a good four days before the day so I had a fair chance of the ride taking place.<br />
<br />
In my imagination I wanted a clear, warm sunny evening, an off-road ride where I'd be somewhere high up as the sun set. I could start after work - maybe about 6pm - and ride through sunset to do some real Summer night riding. There would be clear skies and a bright moon and that long lustrous twilight that you only get as a golden sun dips below the horizon.<br />
<br />
Wow. Poetic. I'd also need another idiot to join me.<br />
<br />
"Hey Darren, fancy a long ride after work on Friday? Oh, you're flying back from San Francisco that afternoon? Ah. OK, sure".<br />
<br />
That was a yes then. The plan was set. All that needed to happen was good weather, flights to be on time and both of us still having the motivation to ride for four hours after long tiring days. Of course, the weather was the main risk - we've not been blessed with summer the past few years so the chances of that were slim.<br />
<br />
Thursday, I checked the forecast. Warmish, maybe showers, maybe sun, maybe cloud. These weathermen like to hedge their bets. The one promising sign was the wind - from the West. My planned route took us out due East before looping back. A tailwind blowing us home would be most excellent.<br />
<br />
Friday, I checked my email. Something had arrived overnight from Darren in the USA. He was just boarding the plane and still up for the ride. Every better news was the forecast had clarified, and clarified in a good way. 18C, mainly sunny with a magical tailwind.<br />
<br />
Friday, 2pm. Darren was off the plane, and still keen to ride. Jet lag? Where we were going, we don't need jet lag.<br />
<br />
Friday, 6pm. "Is Darren coming out to play?"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEKLgWsGXkzPQ2nb60glcZsNHoY9UvUjQCl8EWjElI0XOcCG6Kbo1iWrTLz_7ldzS8J5Oi_FFHIcREb5lwpn_HfQWGgBqor-ioHaJQ8FiSXdR6rsnqVhPmb_bz481Eykw-8tprMpp1dI/s1600/IMG_0176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEKLgWsGXkzPQ2nb60glcZsNHoY9UvUjQCl8EWjElI0XOcCG6Kbo1iWrTLz_7ldzS8J5Oi_FFHIcREb5lwpn_HfQWGgBqor-ioHaJQ8FiSXdR6rsnqVhPmb_bz481Eykw-8tprMpp1dI/s400/IMG_0176.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Of course, Darren was still doing work calls. There was twenty minutes of getting changed, filling bottles, fitting lights and generalised faffing and finally we were off.</div>
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The first half of the ride was only memorable in that it seemed to go on for ages. Riding mountain bikes on the road into a headwind for 35km doesn't excite me. At least Darren let me go in front for most of it, he's told me that the person riding in the wind gets extra oxygen and therefore it's easier for them. Thanks Darren!</div>
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After 90 minutes or so we reached the turn - the junction with the <a href="http://www.nationaltrail.co.uk/ridgeway/index.asp?PageId=1" target="_blank">Ridgeway</a>. Known as "Britains oldest road" it's been in use for over 5000 years. Hopefully it would hold out for another three hours. At the trail we started on the photos. I took one of Darren...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIKADOfScjfeEQDTnpiincw6bWZtTXGblY2SRLM5RQL2gzql2CsAXm5fItO7nQisL49a2dhN23-3jgmNYEywBTkNlb6NR4QlDdvqhDc8Ck4YL7Bf5i6LasI27GOY-_U9GhlLTCM1UiAI/s1600/IMG_0182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIKADOfScjfeEQDTnpiincw6bWZtTXGblY2SRLM5RQL2gzql2CsAXm5fItO7nQisL49a2dhN23-3jgmNYEywBTkNlb6NR4QlDdvqhDc8Ck4YL7Bf5i6LasI27GOY-_U9GhlLTCM1UiAI/s400/IMG_0182.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
...as he took one of me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEErs-V0BKigwTZzl0G9Yu9mv9lqR3q2IHYIdRUZRlNjk5sgfh463VjxE1KBuG36wbFlLWmNeNv513FTyg5nN3-x3O2p4sRKrMF4XY4aYtbQ-lbfGta_NI22T-zKiTsGuMRBmoTx-dn-Q/s1600/1048617_10151745224513689_1636280446_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEErs-V0BKigwTZzl0G9Yu9mv9lqR3q2IHYIdRUZRlNjk5sgfh463VjxE1KBuG36wbFlLWmNeNv513FTyg5nN3-x3O2p4sRKrMF4XY4aYtbQ-lbfGta_NI22T-zKiTsGuMRBmoTx-dn-Q/s400/1048617_10151745224513689_1636280446_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
It was that kind of evening. We started riding and soon discovered that the ground was bone dry, and as it is chalk based, it was like riding on concrete. The wind caught us and we were rolling along at an easy 18 mph. Uphill. We stopped for pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWq-2vn6eUNiIf_7oCJWlnj1qgQFjbRyT-i-MDZmfVKWKit898aNT03Bi07Ru5vYkW1GczAlNpWBdSKknIKDvq0q3ryCUb-oy-eHdkJX68gNA31UI9y3VsTnWKz7HJ9DRmXgU_GJunqso/s1600/1048171_10151745224648689_48421677_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWq-2vn6eUNiIf_7oCJWlnj1qgQFjbRyT-i-MDZmfVKWKit898aNT03Bi07Ru5vYkW1GczAlNpWBdSKknIKDvq0q3ryCUb-oy-eHdkJX68gNA31UI9y3VsTnWKz7HJ9DRmXgU_GJunqso/s400/1048171_10151745224648689_48421677_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And sometimes didn't stop for pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59JTK7dEy1aEv9j3ilHjrXjUoXmMVQaFuH5XapcOXK4J1UKKLmpMM9ZJQC9uhbFOeLeoEqOrqFw4SxsfqUCC9mMpuHP3IHA1LXqLPbuzAP5jRONc1avWH-tb5bPct3puxk3A_He0S17c/s1600/IMG_0193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59JTK7dEy1aEv9j3ilHjrXjUoXmMVQaFuH5XapcOXK4J1UKKLmpMM9ZJQC9uhbFOeLeoEqOrqFw4SxsfqUCC9mMpuHP3IHA1LXqLPbuzAP5jRONc1avWH-tb5bPct3puxk3A_He0S17c/s400/IMG_0193.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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We stopped for snacks, and kept one eye on the sun.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDBtleFulY8vKMqQpHpTJ2t-7N6n7_4aSLsO_fsLNb9G6lm_1itp4YKF6kTfq0fDtC3VbvVbdEqa9No1PAH6qE1gCxzR-C_3Ld8Lj53PC7w9Ft5kF-3bNjIssEv1GrtFZ1qUQf8s6IU4/s1600/IMG_0194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDBtleFulY8vKMqQpHpTJ2t-7N6n7_4aSLsO_fsLNb9G6lm_1itp4YKF6kTfq0fDtC3VbvVbdEqa9No1PAH6qE1gCxzR-C_3Ld8Lj53PC7w9Ft5kF-3bNjIssEv1GrtFZ1qUQf8s6IU4/s400/IMG_0194.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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By 9.15pm we were 60km into the ride and there were distinct signs of orange around. Time for more pictures.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-uDHTQNyVQsk4OjQEdmiBVnWeyR0GOAB6HemlEgsHq8GIFTagBPGOohVgCp1QmcS6FbeabNj0LDeE_DLVIPG1LwZIZo6FJuu2NtWjWBwhTR5jpC4aLAFfnx844zXu1agPqpuLu4M5AA/s1600/IMG_0196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-uDHTQNyVQsk4OjQEdmiBVnWeyR0GOAB6HemlEgsHq8GIFTagBPGOohVgCp1QmcS6FbeabNj0LDeE_DLVIPG1LwZIZo6FJuu2NtWjWBwhTR5jpC4aLAFfnx844zXu1agPqpuLu4M5AA/s400/IMG_0196.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping bike</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDpCL5N8-2zzZTHX0zYldhvV0mmvFiBvu8jfeaPTFXCaNofH_2kjziDhAq8DEu35rYpktOve4-u9P2rnRp4PmRQcDNXMjkLhwDltl-u5dSBBbg17e6nj8xrO5I4IQltyJq7E_BPHuuExE/s1600/1040516_10151745225448689_1916212119_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDpCL5N8-2zzZTHX0zYldhvV0mmvFiBvu8jfeaPTFXCaNofH_2kjziDhAq8DEu35rYpktOve4-u9P2rnRp4PmRQcDNXMjkLhwDltl-u5dSBBbg17e6nj8xrO5I4IQltyJq7E_BPHuuExE/s400/1040516_10151745225448689_1916212119_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magazine cover star</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLzzrQjJuBG3rmVXP4gSyDnEy8vDSGtUKEj3vfVYUidK9Qjk6pZb1asErvzeoxWuOHXtYcEI7_bw0nlV8ygoCEtcPkaDwAIJbIp1OQ7MVJqwJi_IcnNxa12vvBt-4SYEV4NukARFDOBg/s1600/IMG_0207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLzzrQjJuBG3rmVXP4gSyDnEy8vDSGtUKEj3vfVYUidK9Qjk6pZb1asErvzeoxWuOHXtYcEI7_bw0nlV8ygoCEtcPkaDwAIJbIp1OQ7MVJqwJi_IcnNxa12vvBt-4SYEV4NukARFDOBg/s400/IMG_0207.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Purple grass</td></tr>
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We were even being followed by the shadow bikers. Always a good sign.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaRT5kdTL7z7F2hgOgl2gN0Q0_Ft9tLXV_g7lgOYkQTy8Usk4UgRDMOhYjTTNTg5QiPma_-1reJ4J6YXuMNvhxn2IVJETF6q1VWkiEWqaS4q6D0ynbQY9TLIqC3HEs_c_dCn5jPUgT7A/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaRT5kdTL7z7F2hgOgl2gN0Q0_Ft9tLXV_g7lgOYkQTy8Usk4UgRDMOhYjTTNTg5QiPma_-1reJ4J6YXuMNvhxn2IVJETF6q1VWkiEWqaS4q6D0ynbQY9TLIqC3HEs_c_dCn5jPUgT7A/s400/IMG_0200.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right hand one looks cool.</td></tr>
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Right, pictures done. 20km to go, and probably an hour of riding. Time to get going again. We hammered along as fast as our tired legs could take us, losing height as we dropped off the ridge.The trail turned from wide and open to narrow, overgrown and rutted. Concentrate, concentrate was our mantra as we balanced speed against the need to stay on target, in the eight inch wide channel. Now the sun was down we fired up the lights as we entered the trees, roots casting shadows like pythons, dips in the trail deepening in the gloom. By now, Darren was feeling the effects of being awake for 30 hours or so and was starting to bounce off the sides of the track. Not far now... only a few more kms.<br />
<br />
Glorious road. Rear lights on, we could relax slightly. Talk turned to recovery drinks. Cider in particular.<br />
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10.30pm. Back at Darren's house. Four hours including stops, 80km.<br />
<br />
Cider.<br />
<br />
Sleepy.<br />
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End.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-43791996242064883842013-05-23T20:02:00.002+01:002013-05-23T20:02:29.956+01:00My first rubber glove<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Fkvxa5MbF8ulUHXMcQKSihG9XF7hV-plFD4qik9uusMRqRf0pE796ajsQJCJHul4Q7TJPOHBwcoQfeqhFWhOwedAShWupNBKALnjxvl5VdCOjBJGNZ70t7RUUNtBi_zREJoFzKhol_w/s1600/Tweet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Fkvxa5MbF8ulUHXMcQKSihG9XF7hV-plFD4qik9uusMRqRf0pE796ajsQJCJHul4Q7TJPOHBwcoQfeqhFWhOwedAShWupNBKALnjxvl5VdCOjBJGNZ70t7RUUNtBi_zREJoFzKhol_w/s400/Tweet1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_jd3UPe4mPbVxnXYBw9ZBTBdarY5Oj3lAlnOgej9gaRSh3-FjQeoPfLr-6Zpg2uR7_i8Cu4rA7WJGNUiVahiXblUkM2UrdgodOF3rsefX2fB4viQ1KzxADhmmiKkhgUdar8KTZiIQSk/s1600/Tweet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="58" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_jd3UPe4mPbVxnXYBw9ZBTBdarY5Oj3lAlnOgej9gaRSh3-FjQeoPfLr-6Zpg2uR7_i8Cu4rA7WJGNUiVahiXblUkM2UrdgodOF3rsefX2fB4viQ1KzxADhmmiKkhgUdar8KTZiIQSk/s400/Tweet2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Oh, gee, thanks. That's a challenge. What could I say? I'd get a free training video and all I'd have to give in return was my dignity, a large puddle of sweat and the ability to talk for a few hours.<br />
<br />
You see, an FTP (Functional Threshold Power) test really means "pedal as hard as you can for 20 minutes, or until you fall off the turbo trainer". I've never done one indoors - they are notoriously difficult to do without some kind of external motivation, be it someone to chase, a man in a car throwing conkers at you or an angry hippo after your energy bars. Outside I generally fail to warm up properly, go off too hard and then run out of road after 18 minutes.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I needed to do one.<br />
<br />
Once you know your FTP you can calculate your training zones and train more effectively. That's the theory anyway - it doesn't actually make the training any easier. It's also a great measure of progress; if your FTP is going up over time, things are going well.<br />
<br />
I replied to the evil geniuses behind <a href="http://www.thesufferfest.com/video-sufferfests/rubberglove/" target="_blank">The Sufferfest</a> and they sarcastically sent me a code for a free download. I don't know how a simple download voucher code can murmur "mwa-ha-ha-ha-haaa" but this one did. After an hour I now had the video - The Rubber Glove. All that remained was to set up the pain cave.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6khOXryuGPKbSPKPxHuWeOCVOTevBxwmVZLXemcX7Y6PGuB3bu6Lo6quqkZvwapGV3pB4Edz2tDzjmMksfxPYiaS2CQfTU2Tr9seMan91Z8B6AFSnf_s7QwE8RBQyIxmZbk-ZrBo5X0/s1600/20130522_170306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6khOXryuGPKbSPKPxHuWeOCVOTevBxwmVZLXemcX7Y6PGuB3bu6Lo6quqkZvwapGV3pB4Edz2tDzjmMksfxPYiaS2CQfTU2Tr9seMan91Z8B6AFSnf_s7QwE8RBQyIxmZbk-ZrBo5X0/s400/20130522_170306.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Orca in an unfamiliar position</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was one for the good bike - I needed everything to feel right and more importantly I needed a powermeter.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQG_E7xpz9XXUKj0qqLd1fafBv5A4juVSJF9Tz30PRqAJFFM-7bbAAjfDCl1O8Eu3a3iySYZv-P04SKq9t9uKBvjyufIWxY6VLcMjqnijD_CyZtGKzeZvYt0s3b_1StfILJ1l1K-ebZaU/s1600/20130522_170242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQG_E7xpz9XXUKj0qqLd1fafBv5A4juVSJF9Tz30PRqAJFFM-7bbAAjfDCl1O8Eu3a3iySYZv-P04SKq9t9uKBvjyufIWxY6VLcMjqnijD_CyZtGKzeZvYt0s3b_1StfILJ1l1K-ebZaU/s400/20130522_170242.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Powertap. This tells me how weak I am.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sure I could have moved the powermeter wheel to my normal turbo bike, but I needed to save all the energy I could. Talking of energy, time to wake up.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fMlpTmD-ojLJB9JIUVyplom-GKWUH6puKvea-liJ2jhhTdx9Q-IpkmW2miX5zk-70MeppPWXGFv3a7TSW9LpmRSTBbSafNgMbIjsMLBwpzZ8C1wf08XxT50j0braLkg91NqsxunaOq8/s1600/20130522_170335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fMlpTmD-ojLJB9JIUVyplom-GKWUH6puKvea-liJ2jhhTdx9Q-IpkmW2miX5zk-70MeppPWXGFv3a7TSW9LpmRSTBbSafNgMbIjsMLBwpzZ8C1wf08XxT50j0braLkg91NqsxunaOq8/s400/20130522_170335.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yum.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'd had a coffee shortly before (triple ristretto, obviously) so no need for extra caffeine. Time to mount up and start the video. There was a frustrating ten minutes while I figured out how to play it - Windows Media Player didn't like it for some reason, and I had to download Quicktime - but that just added to the warm up.<br />
<br />
The first part of the video explained what was going to happen, like detail driven dentist would before breaking out the big drill. The video had three main parts.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>An initial warm up of slowing increasing intensity. This would be fine.</li>
<li>A series of low resistance, high leg-speed intervals. This would also be fine.</li>
<li>The test. This would not be fine.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I mentioned previously that I always, always fail to warm up adequately for tests. This time I was taken through a well designed, well-guided set of intervals as I gradually started to divert blood from my stomach, brain and eyes into my legs. Gotta divert that eye blood. Makes all the difference. The music was upbeat and joyful and the scenes of the early stages of a Belgian Classic race (Dwars Van Vlaanderen? Or something like that?) helped me get in the mood. Hey, this was fun! Easy riding, watching cycling videos, rhubarb and custard gel swimming around inside me... what could go wrong?<br />
<br />
Then there was a rest period, intercut with some footage of Spartacus (<a href="http://www.corbisimages.com/stock-photo/rights-managed/42-23994514/cycling-team-saxo-bank-trainingcamp-20092010" target="_blank">who's on the wall of my downstairs bathroom</a>) winning some race or other. I won't say much about the other footage used in this section, only that she should turn the heat up. This was the part with the high-cadence (leg speed) intervals - the hummingbird section.<br />
<br />
Then... the test. There were some tips - ride hard but not too hard for the first 5 minutes, then harder for the next ten, then even harder for the final five. There was a countdown. There was a noise. The noise may have been me.<br />
<br />
Start. Change up a gear, another, another. Cadence steady, 95 or so. Glance at the Garmin. Hmm, that's quite a high power figure. I'd love to keep that going. Breathing getting heavy now, hope the neighbours are listening. I like to entertain.<br />
<br />
Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow. You know that high power figure? You know how you always go off too fast? Yeah that. Ease back a tad. Let the snot dribble, you can wipe it off later. Look at the video. People riding! They look... unhappy. There's some music, I think. I can't really hear it over that bloke having an asthma attack through a megaphone. Weird, I thought I was the only one in here. Close eyes. Open eyes. Look at the clock.<br />
<br />
4 minutes gone.<br />
<br />
4 minutes.<br />
<br />
Arse.<br />
<br />
So that's.... 16 left. You can ride for 16 minutes! Come on, one more minute and that's a quarter done, another quarter and that... um, half? Brain fading. Need more leg blood. Some of it seems to be in my mouth, at least that's what it tastes like. The gel was nicer.<br />
<br />
10 down. Into the rhythm now. Come on, it's only a 20 minute interval - just like the ones you did in the winter whilst listening to Rammstein. Admittedly they weren't quite this hard and this music isn't Rammstein (note to self - play more Rammstein for next test).<br />
<br />
5 left. Go harder? How the hell am I supposed to... oh, OK. Pedal faster. That works.<br />
<br />
4.<br />
3.<br />
2.<br />
1.<br />
0.<br />
<br />
Sweep the gears to minimum. Try and keep the legs moving, even slightly. Breathe. Don't forget to breathe. Recover. Look around, impressive sweat puddle on the floor. Spin. Focus. Done.<br />
<br />
I wandered back upstairs, out of the cave and into the light. My girlfriend was asleep on the sofa. She opened an eye, shook her head disparagingly, and went back to sleep.<br />
<br />
I hosed myself off in the garden, dried myself with sackcloth and plugged in the Garmin to look at the numbers. The result of my Functional Threshold Power test?<br />
<br />
Not enough. You can never have enough.<br />
<br />
<u>The verdict</u><br />
The Rubber Glove is a bad, bad thing. You won't like it, but you will appreciate it - like a good vomit after a heavy night or getting your genitals waxed. I was surprised how much more it was than just "ride hard for 20 minutes" and how well it managed to motivate me through the test.<br />
<br />
Everyone should get probed now and then.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-8123300465469037692013-05-15T21:48:00.000+01:002013-05-15T21:54:38.435+01:00Sardinia Part 2 - holidays with random peopleYou 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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b>It felt like a holiday, with just enough cycling to stop me getting restless.</b><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1SWCvQKBjUJY0Wf1FE1YGcZrtljIFihoXv6dj8KU1bhIXIvE70pPI3rRkznT03Y1SwDQTx4PuNw7s9gXkvxjAr1ni5_Awgfy_9lPIcfd362UCqENTFXgcxR5zbUxhR0jL9Z-7D55ZIQ/s1600/IMG_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1SWCvQKBjUJY0Wf1FE1YGcZrtljIFihoXv6dj8KU1bhIXIvE70pPI3rRkznT03Y1SwDQTx4PuNw7s9gXkvxjAr1ni5_Awgfy_9lPIcfd362UCqENTFXgcxR5zbUxhR0jL9Z-7D55ZIQ/s400/IMG_0051.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Use for Buff No 17.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I could walk for a bit:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvsVLzxWTR_6lXSguVYiQlfl4_FIH8LCe4Bx5wefze2VUMgOxOONNntsTjKIIBQqZbp_UFFe8kItX9dMWv-mJDhL9ZkrHMelqUoAstP2x4_C7xowiCOvOXs_8ux-upk5tT0JFJRLj5tU/s1600/P1000667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvsVLzxWTR_6lXSguVYiQlfl4_FIH8LCe4Bx5wefze2VUMgOxOONNntsTjKIIBQqZbp_UFFe8kItX9dMWv-mJDhL9ZkrHMelqUoAstP2x4_C7xowiCOvOXs_8ux-upk5tT0JFJRLj5tU/s400/P1000667.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sardinian Jungle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I could even ride for a bit:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Xy4ERjRI-0lT3XXZLERHUay2W6gP8wsnq_fCkVchykUpF-RHOJu5UqySVImjeH4-NKnfk2kShXSS-kxoV0HVUdbYdFzK_aiiR9S7uMrRuQKcdT8aw825c159fO2ns0fa1OCzmrobT-8/s1600/P1000690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Xy4ERjRI-0lT3XXZLERHUay2W6gP8wsnq_fCkVchykUpF-RHOJu5UqySVImjeH4-NKnfk2kShXSS-kxoV0HVUdbYdFzK_aiiR9S7uMrRuQKcdT8aw825c159fO2ns0fa1OCzmrobT-8/s400/P1000690.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No pictures of me riding exist, so here's Sir Shagalot, a very friendly puppy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>There was food. Lots of food. And drink too.</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1uaZfoOT0nCEhxRa4jt10xmm-Mus3TsvP58N5ITpywFWAv7k3EzdIJb0PMqIUgk0UWANRyqdh0bXXfQtezMY6GatPNIgMAUBsp3gmNs068FcEJdDCqhFO1AXN7Fa5QdPL3gt8xla6fU/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1uaZfoOT0nCEhxRa4jt10xmm-Mus3TsvP58N5ITpywFWAv7k3EzdIJb0PMqIUgk0UWANRyqdh0bXXfQtezMY6GatPNIgMAUBsp3gmNs068FcEJdDCqhFO1AXN7Fa5QdPL3gt8xla6fU/s400/IMG_0082.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gelato</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs418-B0IFbyz0V60dZLxsV8xsdy6ildZes6OrpA-A1tXUdxU3UkhqrRrF7vYJ1myP2K8YL6_mwxLT6uGjbhJXxm1HmieqHH0WPvDgwdcOqnFuDW7yqbwt0u-lwPNW_g7Z7LXT_bCX4lQ/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs418-B0IFbyz0V60dZLxsV8xsdy6ildZes6OrpA-A1tXUdxU3UkhqrRrF7vYJ1myP2K8YL6_mwxLT6uGjbhJXxm1HmieqHH0WPvDgwdcOqnFuDW7yqbwt0u-lwPNW_g7Z7LXT_bCX4lQ/s400/IMG_0145.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunchie-munchies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkvvT8IX9pien1IZAw62KdRYiBKGd1LvGFs7g6gfwuS2zVfj9nda85Ux5saxIXmVv4PMsPf5x549HYEIehxYXrIbuOOgm3u1zdW42O8YVy8HwYhr5xR3kFSGzoGCJMJXmRHdCN8rT6ws/s1600/20130501_192938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkvvT8IX9pien1IZAw62KdRYiBKGd1LvGFs7g6gfwuS2zVfj9nda85Ux5saxIXmVv4PMsPf5x549HYEIehxYXrIbuOOgm3u1zdW42O8YVy8HwYhr5xR3kFSGzoGCJMJXmRHdCN8rT6ws/s400/20130501_192938.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 10% of one night's antipasti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qa18s4P5ZnHwTe0ghux2o8YRxfXscUlHa9IlXCE9sngABHTvMYysbKp36XQSQIiPZQMNpWNlg_gpbjj5KfmOJSkxXqjF4TqNUzHgL_FF8rc0Bw4wbzfaN7DQBO73Y1bff7bNCRGszTA/s1600/IMG_0171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qa18s4P5ZnHwTe0ghux2o8YRxfXscUlHa9IlXCE9sngABHTvMYysbKp36XQSQIiPZQMNpWNlg_gpbjj5KfmOJSkxXqjF4TqNUzHgL_FF8rc0Bw4wbzfaN7DQBO73Y1bff7bNCRGszTA/s400/IMG_0171.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some beer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Meeting strangers</b><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The scenery (shamelessly stolen photos from Jenny!)</b><br />
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.<br />
<br />
There were green forested hills<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJ8p3i7PNM-uQsLVu9L25OPfkL1SZ2o2Bt2d25FBaFCW436_vDOzQCouXwy1fguXRggTMPyv2KnUm2V-9DQL4Bdhyphenhyphenea65sDhyphenhyphenXWmlpbyWGsFYItjLhLRdqINZAiZAiXaTvzEQKBs7iP0/s1600/P1000636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJ8p3i7PNM-uQsLVu9L25OPfkL1SZ2o2Bt2d25FBaFCW436_vDOzQCouXwy1fguXRggTMPyv2KnUm2V-9DQL4Bdhyphenhyphenea65sDhyphenhyphenXWmlpbyWGsFYItjLhLRdqINZAiZAiXaTvzEQKBs7iP0/s400/P1000636.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Pretty flowers<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHI2OfvE-b7UNLjbQ1Go-V3XNR4dknxN8tka0xP82Bu3Ta4Pd3QcoFDSVEVNUP9HiUiQqAbSiUivNTu_vKNWbReptPObYsPnceAg8uzZ3EzEeOMXGt9mBdPzjlBVB0CYyw1vYz6jtwBXI/s1600/P1000653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHI2OfvE-b7UNLjbQ1Go-V3XNR4dknxN8tka0xP82Bu3Ta4Pd3QcoFDSVEVNUP9HiUiQqAbSiUivNTu_vKNWbReptPObYsPnceAg8uzZ3EzEeOMXGt9mBdPzjlBVB0CYyw1vYz6jtwBXI/s400/P1000653.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And the odd waterfall too.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnUR_mQh9vJ7O22evH6OG9rRifHGJUPpVtCa76_kIFRceE-1hVQo6r-7fqw6ThnJVEoU2rOZXy_uU0ehu8coAzW4OJSvR0neQ5OTIIBg7IsAaNeT58C0ljCh50WjRjguUdnDwyy53Ghg/s1600/20130430_173155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnUR_mQh9vJ7O22evH6OG9rRifHGJUPpVtCa76_kIFRceE-1hVQo6r-7fqw6ThnJVEoU2rOZXy_uU0ehu8coAzW4OJSvR0neQ5OTIIBg7IsAaNeT58C0ljCh50WjRjguUdnDwyy53Ghg/s400/20130430_173155.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
And.... well, you get the idea. Everything was stunning.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The guides, the routes, the accommodation</b><br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Finally, baby animals</b><br />
We met baby dogs, pigs, sheep, goats, horses, cows, donkeys, wild boar, lizards (probably) and were even presented with a one-day old kitten.<br />
<br />
This is the internet - of course I have to finish with a kitten picture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_PvWfmvIKvdUMVUHDGcycrXtPgkhZuXedUlaXgl_oVr7QO7v_9nyw3F-mdObwKEoDwgrDjqEgew-0sJ7GgphGd3kcwh0B6bcvJYQ4DW_mfwzR05wI9XC-ieqDHXSTXzm793galqlEiQc/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_PvWfmvIKvdUMVUHDGcycrXtPgkhZuXedUlaXgl_oVr7QO7v_9nyw3F-mdObwKEoDwgrDjqEgew-0sJ7GgphGd3kcwh0B6bcvJYQ4DW_mfwzR05wI9XC-ieqDHXSTXzm793galqlEiQc/s400/IMG_0072.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At first, we thought it was a rat...</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-80254295341367853722013-05-12T09:10:00.001+01:002013-05-12T09:10:05.796+01:00Sardinia Coast to CoastI'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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The whole idea of Sardinia was to do a bike trip that was actually (whisper it...) <i>a holiday.</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="https://www.skedaddle.co.uk/biking/holiday/Biking_Adventures/Italy_-_Sardinia_-_Coast_to_Coast_-_Guided_Mountain_Bike_Holiday/10/view.rails" target="_blank">Saddle Skedaddle Sardinia Coast to Coast</a>.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<u>Ride Day 1</u><br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIzkTa5aYnuun927lb8muwcawGEjGRcdiJ4HUDZ1-9P0gkt7NkGn8wf_8DY5eKwbo5wQ0eIGfE9iM8c0UXOTTLvQhtF7P3WxrcVbYKZoDl7w5tU7AjEArGhp0Q8Tdcit67XJYjb5XkpU/s1600/20130427_123957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIzkTa5aYnuun927lb8muwcawGEjGRcdiJ4HUDZ1-9P0gkt7NkGn8wf_8DY5eKwbo5wQ0eIGfE9iM8c0UXOTTLvQhtF7P3WxrcVbYKZoDl7w5tU7AjEArGhp0Q8Tdcit67XJYjb5XkpU/s400/20130427_123957.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So big they don't even look like dunes</td></tr>
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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.<br />
<br />
Bring on the beers. And the cured ham, salami, cheeses...<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-62441234812475242362013-04-10T22:46:00.002+01:002013-04-10T22:46:24.155+01:00Paris Roubaix Part 2: The magic passRace day dawned bright and sunny. We were up at a reasonable hour - a 7am alarm is nothing compared to the 0515s of the <a href="http://www.dislocatedmtb.com/2012/08/haute-route-ride-rinse-repeat.html" target="_blank">Haute Route</a>. 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARooE4t1xCIkml_0eiXmqcJkR_kIGASaLJIVj_a_jbQGSUennYo7N6RWKUSEYBCxt3teD6wx7Er3c7IQnrWhgiPy-gSK1iz3EMajucYkmmc_2W3hAJnRQVMbgTDsXL26l9xG1gWQC8Lo/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARooE4t1xCIkml_0eiXmqcJkR_kIGASaLJIVj_a_jbQGSUennYo7N6RWKUSEYBCxt3teD6wx7Er3c7IQnrWhgiPy-gSK1iz3EMajucYkmmc_2W3hAJnRQVMbgTDsXL26l9xG1gWQC8Lo/s400/Paris+Roubaix+030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow that truck!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bn1LzPmvT6b5mdsvT8G4Q3PfVikcy-Khhgt0tVAZ1F8PAqEbabaGOzoQAcTEhz5SW9Wxv3y0iW7LOE5doeT9k0WOdKeH0jMJWXmjxmKA-NtjkFd21X6IGU53xmCdjrl2i7cDrC66EpA/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bn1LzPmvT6b5mdsvT8G4Q3PfVikcy-Khhgt0tVAZ1F8PAqEbabaGOzoQAcTEhz5SW9Wxv3y0iW7LOE5doeT9k0WOdKeH0jMJWXmjxmKA-NtjkFd21X6IGU53xmCdjrl2i7cDrC66EpA/s400/Paris+Roubaix+036.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was even an Android!</td></tr>
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Saxo bank were one of the first to arrive. 3 or 4 team cars and the usual bus.<div>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXdBdDZa8VfngonQUmW-23z7oAVhPZl8qa7RY2QBObvm_S7kANws-QuEFTb6YKuAZ-rcY2fXTAG24OevxVNOZCv0PBcC7kHHZ_CRfeEDJB5S2x9t_A7l4hJ_bR_DbSaivtOfYMrtOZTc/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXdBdDZa8VfngonQUmW-23z7oAVhPZl8qa7RY2QBObvm_S7kANws-QuEFTb6YKuAZ-rcY2fXTAG24OevxVNOZCv0PBcC7kHHZ_CRfeEDJB5S2x9t_A7l4hJ_bR_DbSaivtOfYMrtOZTc/s400/Paris+Roubaix+038.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Saxo bank caravan.</td></tr>
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<div>
They were closely followed by the Death Star itself.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnj7tZzHx2eowniwp9VGRscNR1hpWDg-X1ZVUwl5Uev3QjlzMIVELd9k5gCLhJ0D6Lo3gq6U3DhJFxV3hFEbw2FetddqIA6b7sj3kc3QB1yJHb4-tjblMZeouG-oSKLNd3HfiKxL69gY/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnj7tZzHx2eowniwp9VGRscNR1hpWDg-X1ZVUwl5Uev3QjlzMIVELd9k5gCLhJ0D6Lo3gq6U3DhJFxV3hFEbw2FetddqIA6b7sj3kc3QB1yJHb4-tjblMZeouG-oSKLNd3HfiKxL69gY/s400/Paris+Roubaix+047.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dum dum dum, dum der dum, dum der dum...</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0JZ0T3-QypNuS2TlOQPTmF4a_Xcy8D4sBTyyxfiQBfeYN5BILZJJpPqv6GzMk88sHYaNz1EIwl0A3DYNeUC1TjiU6fuNqt19ukF2yr2FYy9auSCKDhJzMkeozsL6ftQGQr_man854Ho/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0JZ0T3-QypNuS2TlOQPTmF4a_Xcy8D4sBTyyxfiQBfeYN5BILZJJpPqv6GzMk88sHYaNz1EIwl0A3DYNeUC1TjiU6fuNqt19ukF2yr2FYy9auSCKDhJzMkeozsL6ftQGQr_man854Ho/s400/Paris+Roubaix+066.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian Stannard's bike - note FMB tubulars</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi97Lmx9yNBQlvrfutIk35FPzLkPOcRqC2jfxdsOCtxeVO5RP5LobvNoSSgBnjx6EY_CbtglQXE-0pdYSVFT4z0JZRS-FAc3Dh43F0YvbVchIhLpJvxUtuCh-CaoPKQXoblpWUCNcDDn9o/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi97Lmx9yNBQlvrfutIk35FPzLkPOcRqC2jfxdsOCtxeVO5RP5LobvNoSSgBnjx6EY_CbtglQXE-0pdYSVFT4z0JZRS-FAc3Dh43F0YvbVchIhLpJvxUtuCh-CaoPKQXoblpWUCNcDDn9o/s400/Paris+Roubaix+074.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave Brailsford looking shifty</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHS4g7GKN-RIiVk6xDhtYILQaSfbSxKKX6BymdadJOCZOW6buVjAsgghTPG5EQV09CC1cOzb7hnn3OPOyp2hSuCc5NjI0bL9XaKNRufxe604hpFLld8DXIS5plSN-LXuw_XLJX1oW2nwI/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHS4g7GKN-RIiVk6xDhtYILQaSfbSxKKX6BymdadJOCZOW6buVjAsgghTPG5EQV09CC1cOzb7hnn3OPOyp2hSuCc5NjI0bL9XaKNRufxe604hpFLld8DXIS5plSN-LXuw_XLJX1oW2nwI/s400/Paris+Roubaix+094.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eddie Boss with the youngest assistant sportif in pro-cycling</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vJTaxBpakpUE6tqdO-QiyAyzTjS83brlFHENDI0qMiJja7_Op6n7_onsgl2w9EE1Yq2xZNxH-TriLZ_D0yT8YlXZmouMR7CiWwEEp2TEDY7dUJ-5Q5_vYDVDwNQjR3NiMB30K7I9n-o/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vJTaxBpakpUE6tqdO-QiyAyzTjS83brlFHENDI0qMiJja7_Op6n7_onsgl2w9EE1Yq2xZNxH-TriLZ_D0yT8YlXZmouMR7CiWwEEp2TEDY7dUJ-5Q5_vYDVDwNQjR3NiMB30K7I9n-o/s400/Paris+Roubaix+096.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geraint Thomas having sunglasses issues</td></tr>
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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.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMREe0ZXsZAwkXow1hz0WMEmnpHahv_iuerLDwKXMaAaIxgx1GK4UbgFMS9i3wjrN2KErM5u_LCQ5Go2g6AZkmRI_wQc1tiZ3quU_FGLa0DXce5kuaEnHTMFtiQbamJ5aJTAMh5HE_4CE/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMREe0ZXsZAwkXow1hz0WMEmnpHahv_iuerLDwKXMaAaIxgx1GK4UbgFMS9i3wjrN2KErM5u_LCQ5Go2g6AZkmRI_wQc1tiZ3quU_FGLa0DXce5kuaEnHTMFtiQbamJ5aJTAMh5HE_4CE/s400/Paris+Roubaix+073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You'd think they'd be more tidy.</td></tr>
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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.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iDluATdnpK3hpGMYrZ64_tCBYrLlj20oJ5zOwOH1yFG-81xpz1oZMc07EGscobrewZZV2d-3b_Xhd79i4jMEtsfliI_BnM_qRy-XZCTiqN1M1PfmRaj_7q_vG9VZht0u_66cfDAtmsA/s1600/20130407_094527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iDluATdnpK3hpGMYrZ64_tCBYrLlj20oJ5zOwOH1yFG-81xpz1oZMc07EGscobrewZZV2d-3b_Xhd79i4jMEtsfliI_BnM_qRy-XZCTiqN1M1PfmRaj_7q_vG9VZht0u_66cfDAtmsA/s400/20130407_094527.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">VIP start, VIP finish, all PR spaces, Press Room and finishing line...</td></tr>
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Let's just skip over the "non-transmissible" part shall we?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
I was slightly excited.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh683wUb9tHYjK2-RJf7CZFBt7WOrbYuOGeInfbO1Lv1G3Ukc8eKhkEI_zzGmCR8Gw6z0GfDxunllVZ32KRZ3KfP4XGbbEf_o5lqBibios-ZvREbPVW_3xCVgy1neYNlZMFw0WgeA5TW4/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh683wUb9tHYjK2-RJf7CZFBt7WOrbYuOGeInfbO1Lv1G3Ukc8eKhkEI_zzGmCR8Gw6z0GfDxunllVZ32KRZ3KfP4XGbbEf_o5lqBibios-ZvREbPVW_3xCVgy1neYNlZMFw0WgeA5TW4/s400/Paris+Roubaix+112.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matteo catches up with old mates</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAHpXVRQzA04Zt2vhTj9GfvKuQEW8Pngkmtg4TQVEp3ytnl4dYHJqznKChlPTdt-STZAUwI4Fe-3nZ6864p_enl4cMKQiSTsuHBvPWSvL9OPZZxNIB4vLcvUg13JQiRHDAHUCgZ0WRAg/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAHpXVRQzA04Zt2vhTj9GfvKuQEW8Pngkmtg4TQVEp3ytnl4dYHJqznKChlPTdt-STZAUwI4Fe-3nZ6864p_enl4cMKQiSTsuHBvPWSvL9OPZZxNIB4vLcvUg13JQiRHDAHUCgZ0WRAg/s400/Paris+Roubaix+104.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little wave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1jEOxS17vDSRp129JA1aCNEexwj6VK1UjLSCO0-zi8Ojc1KApigYiV5ULrPEg5lRfrX8F1ptZJ8Kobomsshx8KQIktOyrIG2E8K8mMcHVTuLswtYm7VVvCwhXHhXKQ6Uh_Rx-qowgHo/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1jEOxS17vDSRp129JA1aCNEexwj6VK1UjLSCO0-zi8Ojc1KApigYiV5ULrPEg5lRfrX8F1ptZJ8Kobomsshx8KQIktOyrIG2E8K8mMcHVTuLswtYm7VVvCwhXHhXKQ6Uh_Rx-qowgHo/s400/Paris+Roubaix+120.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rider's eye view of the start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lnBqopH4XVWPqUpcrKOGb-sB73D3z_fmHIbJkZJR2WihyphenhyphenDT0j7Ct9I-89MRWePWwglYi7_cVe5ghbtLRNPI_Zt6BARIiHQIBWPS37Ive2ffXXcISxzygDlieo0ALqoEjgG6_ka1-RVY/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lnBqopH4XVWPqUpcrKOGb-sB73D3z_fmHIbJkZJR2WihyphenhyphenDT0j7Ct9I-89MRWePWwglYi7_cVe5ghbtLRNPI_Zt6BARIiHQIBWPS37Ive2ffXXcISxzygDlieo0ALqoEjgG6_ka1-RVY/s400/Paris+Roubaix+119.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course I'm meant to be here...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
At Arenberg we followed tradition and enjoyed sausages and beer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJQwTtpsU-8B6gd_OjVby28xp-ZPe-k1vguYYKRTxpj1g8alKnVK38muo0GYiE6qT_Y8bxEvet5NcqXF6BkQhrUSXjKW4NKixsvSEuw6N94KcpfCaT-Xx0iQp94cY7i3rM7MHZ0SAf1k/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJQwTtpsU-8B6gd_OjVby28xp-ZPe-k1vguYYKRTxpj1g8alKnVK38muo0GYiE6qT_Y8bxEvet5NcqXF6BkQhrUSXjKW4NKixsvSEuw6N94KcpfCaT-Xx0iQp94cY7i3rM7MHZ0SAf1k/s400/Paris+Roubaix+134.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x5ezQDq1BiAlP1FIygd5fBnkbnHMJmNa1A_fQjlLoR_q1Im9CfVkvf7U08EwaNH8kk9oQ0A_uPw_QsHz5tPvvm2DMNcnecwZGGv_tDLG3iCzv13NO9fYy1ec8L0RBJ8E37JAiX6U1sE/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x5ezQDq1BiAlP1FIygd5fBnkbnHMJmNa1A_fQjlLoR_q1Im9CfVkvf7U08EwaNH8kk9oQ0A_uPw_QsHz5tPvvm2DMNcnecwZGGv_tDLG3iCzv13NO9fYy1ec8L0RBJ8E37JAiX6U1sE/s400/Paris+Roubaix+177.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The break, breaking</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Occasionally a rider came past much more slowly than the rest.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3OG_tjtG7izbmTIIVwip29imyAu-QeK-q4DGYSNtIJdfhE4d238hV-4tXS6-YkdbhP4B69PXwvOeFzMXPm-DVPWHpq5yha5lBsvRWrWl2D-COGQgQIMuU8BR_XaLWcZtxHNIzKZuZYQ/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3OG_tjtG7izbmTIIVwip29imyAu-QeK-q4DGYSNtIJdfhE4d238hV-4tXS6-YkdbhP4B69PXwvOeFzMXPm-DVPWHpq5yha5lBsvRWrWl2D-COGQgQIMuU8BR_XaLWcZtxHNIzKZuZYQ/s400/Paris+Roubaix+205.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Zipp wheel shape</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Unless... you have a magic pass for your minibus. Which we did.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOioVDVrEpTG0JZ70f9mo9I4F9Hj3QwYg69GjFMb8cDndJdGmROk-J0N34kHOx4Cj5agEjTGyzrR_aaR8bhx7aCdMofsdFuVIF9E2qoY0S6NR9Uiq8Z-nDkeXtVR0tDyAZQzwgiaRl2w/s1600/20130409_190729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOioVDVrEpTG0JZ70f9mo9I4F9Hj3QwYg69GjFMb8cDndJdGmROk-J0N34kHOx4Cj5agEjTGyzrR_aaR8bhx7aCdMofsdFuVIF9E2qoY0S6NR9Uiq8Z-nDkeXtVR0tDyAZQzwgiaRl2w/s400/20130409_190729.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Equipe = Team</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
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Inside we found ourselves trackside with a big screen to watch.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5A2jBJCTyQkdNyGO8ZEfAKR6IUMsDd9Khg6mqNWT_EwAP9TRyhpz545jM5mJ9tMHG09Dtx0lPqlUJbiiS9YbBwUwGidUGyDvGNKrLj-LnzXVPOf6Ca8ePVVHHz0W_KdpOuCFk4vmi6bM/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5A2jBJCTyQkdNyGO8ZEfAKR6IUMsDd9Khg6mqNWT_EwAP9TRyhpz545jM5mJ9tMHG09Dtx0lPqlUJbiiS9YbBwUwGidUGyDvGNKrLj-LnzXVPOf6Ca8ePVVHHz0W_KdpOuCFk4vmi6bM/s400/Paris+Roubaix+223.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizJlyLGk_c727lZCdW1PKd8VC-qZmcCrgU_p-T0I5GRpGxeYH0spM66e8lvlnhz5wiCu57qgTcN8bpUI5uBJol2lw2suxln2A8tF3QbWxlobGn5Q2lAr2tPw680w-v8dN7yt_VFPAaxE/s1600/20130407_150915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizJlyLGk_c727lZCdW1PKd8VC-qZmcCrgU_p-T0I5GRpGxeYH0spM66e8lvlnhz5wiCu57qgTcN8bpUI5uBJol2lw2suxln2A8tF3QbWxlobGn5Q2lAr2tPw680w-v8dN7yt_VFPAaxE/s400/20130407_150915.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSmkEk8IPdb3kno-Fh3avtRQHGZb-5oufzmnqxl4hl-Ep_4cOKHSHNB0jgeEqVx_zoiWcduGwzDxzAVVBeImncN7RM_pXQn2RpGuwFrASiJa4bWstP3Ipk7cFScVlql-VTo6CWbD8g2I/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSmkEk8IPdb3kno-Fh3avtRQHGZb-5oufzmnqxl4hl-Ep_4cOKHSHNB0jgeEqVx_zoiWcduGwzDxzAVVBeImncN7RM_pXQn2RpGuwFrASiJa4bWstP3Ipk7cFScVlql-VTo6CWbD8g2I/s400/Paris+Roubaix+248.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheers!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
More riders arrived, looking shattered. There was much milling around, a presentation, more arrivals, more milling around.<br />
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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.<br />
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My final photo - looks like they'll need another stone for Fabian.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ajm5DRUBsb06HKkbA62xbzkTf5jzzbtpgsP5AQRK4JUKXRJRTe3hzu9r4IZGvXs03ZOrEYS0P8w4jt84i3DxhxlL-3ZQekp4L6SD_hMrKNzQPR4QO8v6hew14h_B_stEAUzGpCSDIIY/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ajm5DRUBsb06HKkbA62xbzkTf5jzzbtpgsP5AQRK4JUKXRJRTe3hzu9r4IZGvXs03ZOrEYS0P8w4jt84i3DxhxlL-3ZQekp4L6SD_hMrKNzQPR4QO8v6hew14h_B_stEAUzGpCSDIIY/s400/Paris+Roubaix+269.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-55836148818343495062013-04-09T20:21:00.000+01:002013-04-09T20:28:39.489+01:00It 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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Roll forward a week and I was on my way to London. The trip was organised by <a href="http://www.cadenceperformance.com/" target="_blank">Cadence Performance</a> , a bike shop/training venue/cafe kind of place. They were using the contacts of their in-house recently-ex-pro, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matteo_Carrara" target="_blank">Matteo Carrara</a>, 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.<br />
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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.
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQP2nhzxk4I0tieSzrbrG_dnQC3AkGYENyNwFahMHc__G0k9GaAnLERHyL5zN_Cxq7z3UI9rrqw5x7hbAovHuPSqiM_UoIS_PqteFWNu9PhWlTyAx33l0MbrMExzlkuGSFaD6Y5u_ff28/s1600/20130406_162510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQP2nhzxk4I0tieSzrbrG_dnQC3AkGYENyNwFahMHc__G0k9GaAnLERHyL5zN_Cxq7z3UI9rrqw5x7hbAovHuPSqiM_UoIS_PqteFWNu9PhWlTyAx33l0MbrMExzlkuGSFaD6Y5u_ff28/s400/20130406_162510.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spy a team car</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
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 <a href="https://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=Compi%C3%A8gne+hotel&hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=49.408397,2.774316&spn=0.003616,0.00942&sll=49.380864,3.334866&sspn=0.031012,0.075359&t=h&hq=hotel&hnear=Compi%C3%A8gne,+Oise,+Picardy,+France&fll=49.408397,2.774316&fspn=0.003616,0.00942&z=17" target="_blank">an estate just by the ring road</a>. We knew we were in the right place when we pulled into the car park.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4gM3Cxs4va55aVmT2XNGy_wF2bSdALIFv9vUFCpDvvg5drxYN3b0QNx7OYOjHC9FqLjsKkfbOcCP8D9tfSoa8Yx99gdfb6nLbjU9gOCb3BxEeUjY26Et5a6uk4Zab1m4BNw_D8o9LEI/s1600/20130406_182648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4gM3Cxs4va55aVmT2XNGy_wF2bSdALIFv9vUFCpDvvg5drxYN3b0QNx7OYOjHC9FqLjsKkfbOcCP8D9tfSoa8Yx99gdfb6nLbjU9gOCb3BxEeUjY26Et5a6uk4Zab1m4BNw_D8o9LEI/s400/20130406_182648.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The service truck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Matteo leapt out to greet his old mates and we took a nosey round. The truck had washing machines.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNlIWQwyskhbaq0XA2kTKw54o-iZrRKZYBtx9riMCco0m4RugloPicvh8Y1GM2SSJDmK9WJCVDVM-bBeL_b37G8Id1SH1IOw_wTkSwbl3RRu8spdqcssXhfuruWB1Gjx613ObjM6OlOQ/s1600/20130406_182604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNlIWQwyskhbaq0XA2kTKw54o-iZrRKZYBtx9riMCco0m4RugloPicvh8Y1GM2SSJDmK9WJCVDVM-bBeL_b37G8Id1SH1IOw_wTkSwbl3RRu8spdqcssXhfuruWB1Gjx613ObjM6OlOQ/s400/20130406_182604.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And was full of maybe £300K worth of bikes, wheels and bits.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiQuRKjzEWlapWxVgOgSXByTCcNXhR7GGhsSBgY97scDrk5TBqLSE_hxbodbohbZbNA7zZq15QQv65MlLAcyoDZfNoJez_SJkORqdYDrIBqk7mL5JAfMaF3r3mL481VbbPhFYdLvQTrQ/s1600/20130406_182528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiQuRKjzEWlapWxVgOgSXByTCcNXhR7GGhsSBgY97scDrk5TBqLSE_hxbodbohbZbNA7zZq15QQv65MlLAcyoDZfNoJez_SJkORqdYDrIBqk7mL5JAfMaF3r3mL481VbbPhFYdLvQTrQ/s400/20130406_182528.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember not to steal anything</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I even got into the truck without being wrestled to the ground by an angry Dutch mechanic. Clearly we were in for special treatment.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9M_iUbR-P2SWh1PTLYE2-HYdKRIQWT-pl6n9We2pUToxJNihF6DL6L6XnyfxvC2AHdwun99jHenH5PHuviK4seeojcvMDp2Azic9UKdiKWXy4r3KfajRJ5skW-RLxwol09pq9BDzJdQ/s1600/Paris+Roubaix+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9M_iUbR-P2SWh1PTLYE2-HYdKRIQWT-pl6n9We2pUToxJNihF6DL6L6XnyfxvC2AHdwun99jHenH5PHuviK4seeojcvMDp2Azic9UKdiKWXy4r3KfajRJ5skW-RLxwol09pq9BDzJdQ/s400/Paris+Roubaix+020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I said, don't steal anything!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJBF1hRAQYJXOvZeAhkJYMh-OuX-u1d023IFMxlyZ8WKxDrKgfkG_-ulpKuwAHxg72p0cDaPhSOkBA53KI0bzuV5TuUCcJK3s6lYLVhLxxcin8LPcSEtz26Uqn7-jKroUazTWTqiUsBw/s1600/20130406_191205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJBF1hRAQYJXOvZeAhkJYMh-OuX-u1d023IFMxlyZ8WKxDrKgfkG_-ulpKuwAHxg72p0cDaPhSOkBA53KI0bzuV5TuUCcJK3s6lYLVhLxxcin8LPcSEtz26Uqn7-jKroUazTWTqiUsBw/s400/20130406_191205.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only all hotels did this</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Although in the end, we were saved any hunting by the simple tactic of waiting for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan_Antonio_Flecha" target="_blank">Juan Antonio Flecha</a>, 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!").<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRC7Ge5fuLY1XviG7Q1COFySnbE5tp-PVDSIsy_rFoSQkq4ugXFNzJ_Uu89NxFf26TiALwz7JFeOmE13kF2Jjzza3yasDHv-cz4b7IYQu6AAMRvBJF8-F3IxSBpeB5lwJ18_i7KBisyY/s1600/20130406_190516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRC7Ge5fuLY1XviG7Q1COFySnbE5tp-PVDSIsy_rFoSQkq4ugXFNzJ_Uu89NxFf26TiALwz7JFeOmE13kF2Jjzza3yasDHv-cz4b7IYQu6AAMRvBJF8-F3IxSBpeB5lwJ18_i7KBisyY/s400/20130406_190516.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flecha, Mirko Selvaggi and Matteo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
Coming soon, part two: Race day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-74053752314540078032013-03-12T21:18:00.001+00:002013-03-12T21:18:27.138+00:00Light, 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.<br />
<br />
Read the weather forecast. 3C, wind, drizzle. Ignore it. Set the alarm for half an hour earlier than normal.<br />
<br />
Sleep.<br />
<br />
Wake.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Only Belgians and hardmen like cold, wet and dark.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Especially if it's dark, cold and wet.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-34472509294386557272013-02-09T18:44:00.000+00:002013-02-09T18:44:07.966+00:00Escaping the TurboYou 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.<br />
<br />
A tiny window of your world changes. The rest, static. Time slooooooooooows.<br />
<br />
Turbo hell.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I cracked.<br />
<br />
The conditions weren't ideal. Cold, wet, windy, dark, My lights may not have been fully charged. My tyres, unchecked. I didn't care.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Big mistake. Huge.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Turbo Gods, I'm very very very sorry.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"Um, hello? I'm fine... but I could use a lift".<br />
<br />
Hangs head.<br />
<br />
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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-53564913387894589022013-01-27T20:14:00.002+00:002013-01-27T20:14:39.283+00:00I 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Off to the internet to find The Beer Academy<a href="http://www.beeracademy.org/" target="_blank">http://www.beeracademy.org/</a>. 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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKsr5ZFiWN0PPudMxOqzhJaOz9dJqvO9TbwBltijNIZOx3twVqc3gFjSKq-z555BbN3c8NmQjKsyHQT1Tdm_EMDj4TlPdAL3IcptM51WR-yUeTtrdEqqsdnucNszoIyuCjBcWYNA5XtOM/s1600/20130126_135637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKsr5ZFiWN0PPudMxOqzhJaOz9dJqvO9TbwBltijNIZOx3twVqc3gFjSKq-z555BbN3c8NmQjKsyHQT1Tdm_EMDj4TlPdAL3IcptM51WR-yUeTtrdEqqsdnucNszoIyuCjBcWYNA5XtOM/s400/20130126_135637.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The course notes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The one day foundation course covers<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>The history of beer</li>
<li>Ingredients</li>
<li>The brewing process</li>
<li>How to taste beer</li>
<li>Practicing tasting beer</li>
<li>Lunch, with a little more practice</li>
<li>Different styles of beer</li>
<li>More tasting practice</li>
<li>Matching beer with food</li>
<li>Food and beer tasting practice</li>
<li>Some other things, I forget</li>
<li>Was there an exam? I have a vague recollection there may have been an exam.</li>
<li>Extending the course into the evening for some more practicing.</li>
</ul>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
By this time we were all dying for a pint. Or at least, several quarter pints.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://www.williamsbrosbrew.com/beerboard/bottles/fraoch-heather-ale" target="_blank">Fraoch</a>, an old Scottish ale that uses heather and bogmyrtle but no hops. <a href="http://www.greenekingipa.co.uk/our_ale/" target="_blank">Greene King IPA</a> (which isn't an IPA), <a href="http://www.fullers.co.uk/rte.asp?id=48" target="_blank">ESB</a>, bottled Guinness... and that was before lunch.<br />
<br />
Lunch was unexciting, apart from we got to drink more beer - this time brewed on site at the venue, <a href="http://www.londonbrewing.com/" target="_blank">The Bull in Highgate</a>.<br />
<br />
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, <a href="http://www.ratebeer.com/beer/marstons-owd-rodger/11211/" target="_blank">Marstons Owd Rodger</a>. Duvel. Another lager. Another Belgian.<br />
<br />
It's all a bit of a blur.<br />
<br />
So, the verdict?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Beer is ace.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-12655009174170094842013-01-15T21:32:00.001+00:002013-01-15T21:32:26.636+00:00Peer PressureMost of the messages here are paraphrased to protect terrible spelling and grammar. The sentiment behind the messages remains. My inner thoughts <i>[are written like this].</i><br />
<br />
<u>Ride minus 5 days, text messages.</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
Me to J: Hey, fancy a ride soon? It's been ages!<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<i>[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]</i><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
J to Me: Should be OK to do an early ride Saturday. Will confirm later.<br />
<br />
<u>Ride minus 3 days, more text messages.</u><br />
<br />
<i>[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.]</i><br />
<br />
Me to D: Might be doing a ride with J on Saturday, early. Leave here 8am, ride 9-1pm, 100km or so?<br />
<br />
D to Me: Sounds good, will check.<br />
<br />
<u>Ride minus 2 days, email exchange.</u><br />
<br />
<i>[The weather has turned cold and the forecast isn't promising. I'll float the thought of not going out]</i><br />
<br />
Me to D & J: Link to weather forecast. 1C and moderate rain/snow. I don't fancy 4 hours in that.<br />
<br />
J: Me neither, but I'll be out doing something. It'll be fine once we're out.<br />
<br />
<i>[Bugger, he's not gone for it. Arse. Better put on a brave face]</i><br />
<br />
Me: Are you trying to out badass me? OK, take a view tomorrow.<br />
<br />
D: Mountain Bike!<br />
<br />
<i>[Oh no, he's still interested and has made a sensible suggestion. I really am going to get injured.]</i><br />
<br />
J: Cool, lots of stuff we can do that drains OK. See you 9am.<br />
<br />
<i>[ArseBugger]</i><br />
<br />
<u>Ride minus 1 day, text messages and an actual phone call</u><br />
<br />
<i>[The weather forecast hasn't got any better. Let's see if D is still interested...]</i><br />
<br />
Me to D: What's the plan then?<br />
<br />
<i>[No response, maybe he's thinking better of it]</i><br />
<br />
Call from J: Still coming then? I'll be great, we've got proper clothing, stop being such a big wuss.<br />
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...<br />
J: Yeah, brilliant, 4 hours or so of hard MTB, fantastic, brutal, Belgian!<br />
<br />
<i>[Arrrggggghhhhhhhh]</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[Finally, an answer from D]</i><br />
<br />
D to Me: Hmm, not sure. Bit scared :-)<br />
<br />
<i>[Hurrah! I might be able to build on this excuse. I don't want to appear weak though]</i><br />
<br />
Me to D: It was your idea to mountain bike! Are you wimping out? Told J not to make it too technical.<br />
<br />
<i>[Hang on, am I trying to talk him into coming?]</i><br />
<br />
D to Me: Not sure, have you seen the weather forecast?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<i>[Although I may use it as an excuse not to go as well!]</i><br />
<br />
Me to J: We may have a D wimping out situation...<br />
<br />
J to Me: Pah! You?<br />
<br />
<i>[Can't wimp out before D, but better leave myself an excuse hanging]</i><br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
J to Me: No way, just gotta crack on! Will be fun.<br />
<br />
<i>[Grrrrrr]</i><br />
<br />
D to Me: OK, I'll come. See you in the morning.<br />
<br />
<i>[Oh well.... I tried]</i><br />
<br />
<u>Ride Day</u><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
That's mutual peer pressure for you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149243586871108089.post-20769021343164936392013-01-03T21:26:00.000+00:002013-01-03T21:26:18.134+00:00Well, that was 2012...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of 2010 I totted up all of my exercise:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Road bike, 321 hours, 9840 km</li>
<li>Mountain bike, 104 hours, 1448 km</li>
<li>Gym, 47 hours</li>
<li>Run, 8 hours</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And for 2011 it got a little worse:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Road bike, 293 hours, 6850 km</li>
<li>Mountain bike, 34 hours, 561 km</li>
<li>Gym, 25 hours</li>
<li>Run, 7 hours</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well. Wait for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Road bike, 363 hours, 8926 km</li>
<li>Mountain bike, 26 hours, 446 km</li>
<li>Gym, 21 hours</li>
<li>Run, 2 hours. Go me!</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, bike goals for the year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Ride at least 10,000km</li>
<li>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!</li>
<li>Haute Route again, complete within the time limit and finish
top 40%</li>
<li>Do a minimum of three (3) rides that I'd consider stupid and
worth blogging about.</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There we go. Fingers
crossed that the rain stops sometime this year.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06620007563797738992noreply@blogger.com0