Outside spin class

Now and then, when I remember to book and I've cleared a space in my diary, I'll do an hour-long spin class in the work gym. Yesterday I had space in my diary, the Kaffenback, and would-ya-believe it, a set of cycling kit.

Time for an experiement. The lunchtime "outside spin class".

It's odd. Lots and lots of people at our fairly sporty office go running at lunchtime. The concept of riding a bike, outside, at lunchtime, is somehow alien. Squeeze into some lycra and join fifteen others in a hot, airless, underground spin studio and people consider you normal. Squeeze into some lycra and put a helmet on people think that you're going home early or simply deranged.

Part of the experiment was to see if the timing was any different. I left my desk at the same time I would for a 12pm class, walked to the gym and got changed there. I tend to get to the classes five minutes early to get a decent position and warm up gently. By the time I'd got outside to my bike, unlocked it, strapped on the Garmin and straddled the saddle it was exactly 12pm. No difference there then.

I rolled down the car park ramp, onto the campus ring road (it's a pretty big site) and accelerated towards the back gate. We have a bus service that takes people to town and as it was lunch on a Friday there were tens of people queuing up. As I passed them I could feel the eyes on me, their owners thinking "slacker, going home early" or "why's he going for a run with a bike?".

Onto the road proper and up towards the castle. The "castle" is an ex-English civil war site, with only the "keep" left standing. It has a stony climb around the back of it, then a mix of tracks and golf-course tarmac to get to a wooded common. More tracks, some monster puddles, some branches to hop and some wildlife to dodge.

I had a really weird feeling as I rode. It took a while to place it... the smell, feel and warmth of winter sunshine. Did I mention the weather? Glorious. Clear sky-blue sky. A fresh breeze. A chill in the air. And sunshine. It's only been a couple of months since I've been riding in the sun but on a January lunchtime, escaping from the office, the impact was amplified. The bare trees, the rolling green hills, the splash of tyre into puddle. This was right, very right.

As I continued (out of the common, onto the road, time-trial mode through the villages, looping back) I started to think of the differences between outdoor and indoor spinning. I even compiled a little list in my head.

Here is is.

Outdoor Advantages

• The view. Trees, bushes, birds, squirels, hillsides and fields outweigh the sight of my own sweaty self in the spin studio mirror.
• The smells. Crisp winter freshness vs sixteen sweaty bodies.
• The workout. My rules. My pace. Forget "press-ups" on a spin bike, this was a real death-or-glory blast, attacking every rise like Philippe Gilbert in a Spring Classic, tucking in for every flat section like David Millar escaping the peleton in a doomed bid to get away in the last 2km of a flat grand tour stage, sweeping through the corners like Matt Goss leading out Cav on a technical finish.
• The time. Everyone knows time runs at half speed in a gym environment, and double speed when you're having fun on a bike.
• The sounds. Nature + tyres vs a bearded nutter shouting at me.

Indoor Advantages

• Ladies bottoms. Although as I tend to sit at the front of a class I miss out on these anyway.

Conclusion? Outside wins. It would even be a whitewash if I could find a willing ladies bottom to ride behind.

25km later, and at 12:56, I got back to the bike sheds. Into the gym at 1pm, shower, back to my desk by ten past.

"Spin class?" they asked me.

"Yeah, something like that".

Well, that was 2011

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

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

I've just done the same for 2011 and it isn't pretty:

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

In my defence my year was somewhat disrupted by breaking my collarbone on the track and the subsequent operation, rehab and recovery. I didn't get on the turbo trainer for five weeks, and it was another six weeks before I actually ventured out... for 45 whole minutes. All in all I reckon I lost close to three months of proper training. So, not a good start.

Still, I just about made my first planned event of the year. The Cotswold Spring Classic has a choice of either 100 km or 100 miles. My plan was to do the 100 km. Jon's plan was for me to do the 100 miles. Jon won. Astoundlingly, I felt good on the ride - being towed along for the first 70 or so miles helped.

Next event was the Tour of We. That was partially enjoyable. I mainly enjoyed the packing up to go home a day early when it was pissing down. Then the Magnificat. I should really have packed up and gone home a day early when it was pissing down for that one... but it was only a one day event. And I was at home to start with any way. Seven and a half hours of constant rain, punctures and an inability to get undressed at the end.

Then came the Pyrenees, pit bitching at TwentyFour12 and a casual appearance at the Torq 12:12, where we went with the intention of only riding for a few hours rather than the full 12, and surprisingly did exactly that. There was the odd 100 miler, a new bike and that was just about it.

What I lacked was real focus - it was always going to be difficult matching the levels of motivation of 2010 (when we did Lands End - John O'Groats) as it was tricky to find something equally challenging and inspiring.

Still, now I've got the Haute Route. I can't imagine why I didn't think of it earlier.

What shall I do with my new Go Pro video camera?

Yesterday was, you know, Christmas. Christmas Day. I ate too much, I drank enough, I went for a minor walk with my mother scoping out new bike trails on the common. She should really stop riding illegally, but I indulge her.

I'm very thankful for all of the wonderful gifts I received - everything this year showed some thought behind it which I far more gratifying than costly things that are pointless. I even had a few unexpected items which hit that "I'd never have bought that for myself, but it's brilliant" sweet spot. Some books, clothing, bike stuff.

And... a Go Pro Hero HD camera. Now, if you've not come across these I'll assume you don't mountain bike, drive fast cars, parachute or run with the wildebeast across the plains of Africa. The Go Pro is one of the main cameras for filming yourself doing something stupid and then putting it on the internet. YouTube is littered with people being attacked by squirels, falling off cliffs or eating three week out of date oysters. So, in a world where most videos have already been done, what should I film with mine?

Firstly, I plan to wear it around the office. That way, when people ask me what I do all day I can just point them to the daily video. Thrill as I order a pastry to go with my coffee. Scream as the revolving doors nearly cut me in half. Sleep while I spend two hours listening to how some start-up is going to change the world of mobile phones FOR EVER! The only drawback of this is that I often come across sensitive information, and the other blokes in the gym changing rooms might get a little uncomfortable.

Secondly, the world needs more videos of long, complicated and frustrating bike maintenance. Most bike maintenance videos show you how to fix things. Mine will show how to break tools, strip threads, slice skin and a new array of British swear words. Two hours trying to remove a stuck bottom bracket with increaing levels of violence will no doubt be an internet hit bigger than a dog being chased by a herd of deer whilst two babies and another dog commentate on the action.

Thirdly... well, I'm open to suggestions. Long boring road bike climbs? Gentle descents at safe and cautious speeds? A six minute bike commute where drivers generally see me and give way where required? I just don't know.

Any ideas?

Training block 1, #HauteRoute

Amazing how the prospect of seven days of suffering focuses the mind, isn't it? About three weeks ago I was bumbling around in a haze of indecision, riding a bit here, running a bit there and generally doing my best to devour the European chocolate mountain. Now with some real mountains looming up next year I'm dedicated, organised, dare I say motivated.

I've finished my first two week block of training - I'm now officialy old according to Training Peaks so I can only cope with two weeks of hard work before needing a recovery week. To be fair to TP, last year I was getting pretty wiped out in the third week of each training block so maybe it has a point.

This has been the first chunk of base training - so a reasonable amount of hours, some leg spinny stuff and the fun of single leg drills. I've also been pretending to be beefcake in the gym, lifting some heavy weights. Well, heavy for me. I'm still using the pink vinyl ones, hopefully I can progress to purple next week. They'll match my face then.

My one moment of gym based glory is the leg press machine - I can now do 3 x 6 reps using ALL the weights, a whole 190 somethings. I've never been able to do this in previous years so either my legs are stronger or I'm less worried about tendons snapping.

I've kept to my plan pretty well - TP turns the workouts on its calendar green if you complete them (or get close) - and I reckon I'm 85% green. I also did a threshold test - riding as hard as I could for 30 minutes after a decent warm up. I'm at about the 260w mark, so not bad but some room for improvement. 272w would put me at 4w per kilo of bodyweight (I'm 68kg at the moment). I'd like to get to around 280w+ at 65ish kg, 4.3w/kg. That's still nowhere near Jon in good condition (5w/kg!) but at least I'll be close enough to him up the hills that'll I'll see which way he goes at the top of the climb and don't have to spend the night in the woods with the wolves again.

I apologise. That was a bit geeky. Don't worry, normal service will be resumed next time.

Call NASA, the MOD, CERN, the Pentagon and Dr Hawking. I've invented invisibility.

It's astonishing. I couldn't believe it. My bike and I have somehow developed an aura of invisibility. A "cloaking device". A magic ethereal cape.

You scoff, I know. How can a lowly biker come up with such an incredible invention? You are right to ask. Quite frankly, I don't know.

I was first alerted whilst riding to work on Monday when I saw a silver BMW on a side street to my right. The mid-thirties female driver looked towards me, yet in some way looked through me. Like I wasn't there. It was curious. I thought that my day-glo yellow jacket plastered with reflectives was fairly obvious. And that the 240 lumens of flashing Exposure Joystick with wide angle diffuser would have been seen by the dullest of half qualified drivers. However, this wasn't the case as she pulled out on me forcing a violent brake, swerve and shouted expletive.

Ho-hum. This happens occasionally.

Tuesday, mini-roundabout at the end of the road. Van driver (50's, male) shoots past, failing to give way.

Like I wasn't there.

Wednesday, another mini-roundabout. A blue Seat I think. I was ready this time, trackstanding on the painted white circle as the driver breezed past, oblivious to me.

Wednesday evening, a car comes alongside, ahead then brakes sharply to a halt. Why would they do that if they saw the retina searing Exposure Flare? The various reflectors, the Altura Night Vision jacket, the pedal reflectors bobbing up and down 80 times per minute?

Then it hit me. Invisibility. It's either being projected by me (unlikely), the jacket (less likely) or the lights. I can only imagine that the lights are combining to cancel not only each other out, but all the light reflected by the bike and me.

Now, there must be skeptics amongst you readers so I thought I'd video my bike at rest, just so you can see the effect - and how difficult it must have been to see me this week.

Brace yourselves.

Wow. Nobel prize anyone?

I've gone and done something silly

Right, enough of all the rambling on about old bikes and new bikes. When it comes down to it, it's not about having, it's about doing.

Last year we did Land's End to John O'Groats. That was a challenge - seven months of planning and training, team bonding sportives, charity fundraising, outfit buying and finally the eight days of riding themselves. It was, to me, epic.

This year has been indifferent - a crash and eight weeks off the bike, a couple of sportives, my first big mountain road riding - nothing that really inspired me to knuckle down and concentrate, to get up an hour early through the winter and ride the long way to work, to drag my ass over to the big hills every week and spend every Saturday afternoon prone on the sofa wearing leg squeezing tights. I didn't even shave my legs.

Next year will be different. I've entered something silly. The Haute Route.

Columbiere. Madeleine. Glandon. Alpe D'Huez. Alpe D'Huez again. Izoard. Cime de la Bonette. And a few others.

Seven stages. Distances of 120km, 105km, 136km, 14km (up the Alpe), 136km, 98km, 171km. Ascents of 2700m, 2700m, 4700m(!), 1000m (in 14km, up the Alpe), 3700m, 3200m, 2900m.

I think that counts as epic. I have three goals for this.

1. To get to the finish, i.e. be riding on the last day
2. To complete every stage within whatever time limits are set
3. To have a final position in the top half of my category. This is probably a bit of a "stretch" goal.

Preparation so far has consisted of picking out three other training events, booking a week in the Dolomites, putting together a high level plan and buying some new climbing wheels.

Oh, and the three days after I entered I got up an hour early and rode the long way into work.

Hell, I might even shave my legs again.

New bike, new bike!

Well, I've finally sold my track bike. A combination of the difficulty in getting to the track combined with a hunk of metal and ten screws in my collarbone convinced me to let it go.

Still,  you can't go through life with only six bikes, so I had to order another one. For a while I've been thinking about something to ride on the road in the winter. In the past I've used a combination of the Allez with Crud Road Racer guards, or the Scandal with slick tyres for when it got really messy and a bit more grip and disc brakes felt that little bit safer. I've also been thinking about a "bimble bike" - something that looks pretty and I don't mind riding slowly on. I always feel a bit odd doing gentle recovery rides on a carbon race bike.

Fate intervened and I was sent an email from Planet X, which included a build of their steel cross-ish frame, with disc brakes. Clearance for 32mm tyres, mudguard and rack mounts, plus it looks pleasingly retro. It's called a Kaffenback, because you can use it for going to the caf(e) and back.

Like this.

It's a kind of metallic tan colour, bronze maybe? Contrast gold panels with white logos. Black bits. To me, it just looked right.



Tonight was the first ride (I'm not counting going up and down the road on the day it arrived to get the position right). It's been foul all day - windy, rainy, thunderstorms. The roads are covered in puddles, leaves, mud and general autumn crap. Ideal then.

I couldn't believe how smooth it is. I'm sure it's 99% down to the tyres but in my head I'll attribute it to it being steel and designed by master craftsmen in Yorkshire. Or somewhere like that. I was confident on the messy roads, the brakes worked, the mudguards guarded (...and rattled, but that's sorted now) and you know what? I felt great riding it at full on bimble pace.

Finally, I have a "recovery ride" bike. Now that's niche.

I'm not in love with my Orca any more

I still love it, of course, a deep seated affection established over more than 8500kms. It's still beautiful, still excites me when I ride it, still does all the jobs I need it to do.

But no longer do I find myself staring at it lustfully whenever I see it. No longer am I obsessive about washing it down after every ride, lubing and polishing it. No longer do I get buterflies when I walk into its room and see it lounging against the wall.

Our relationship has developed now. I've spotted the occasional blemish, heard the occasional nagging creak, felt the slight movement in the cranks when before there was none. I've applied varnish to a stone chip, changed the brake lever reach, replaced the odd worn part. We've grown together over the past couple of years - I'm a better rider and able to take the Orca to places I couldn't have done before, handled it more deftly and brought it to the top of more exciting peaks with astonishing rewards.

And all this without falling off once.

So, I love it, but I'm not in love with it.

Time to start a new affair?

A Magical Discovery

I learnt something yesterday. Something magical, brilliant, useful and unexpected. However, telling you now would only be half the story, so you can either read on or cheat and skip to the end.

Where does the story start? In Afan Argoed? On the drive down there? In Cirencester the night before? No, it starts several months ago when Jon suggested a trip to the Afan trail centre (in South Wales, for non-UK readers). We'd been there a few years ago as part of a Welsh road-trip and it seemed as if Jon's stellar performance in the Twentyfour12 had re-ignited his mountain biking fire. Needless to say I was mildly ambivalent due to not having done much MTB this year and an underlying nervousness about crashing and breaking. Still, after a Jon repeatedly suggesting dates and me repeatedly avoiding the issue Jon finally came up with a day that I had no valid reason to decline. It was nearly scuppered at the last minute due to various work-y things but kidnapping his manager and locking him in my cellar suddenly solved the issue.

The night before I travelled down to Jon's in Cirencester. He lives half an hour nearer to Afan than I do, so it made sense to get everything sorted at his the night before and leave early in the morning. The evening was spent eating pasta, drinking beer and wine and playing with small children. There was also some toenail cutting but I don't really want to expand on that.

We were up at seven (06:20 for Jon, using the toddler alarm), coffee, toast, arse-lard, bike clothes and into the car by 07:30. Little traffic, more coffee and bacon roll at the services (Jon: "I don't think I've been to these services before". Me: "We stayed here for the Dragon Ride") and in the Afan car park for 10:00. Some minor faffing and we were riding by 10:15.

"Skyline" is the big long trail at Afan and the only one I've not done before. It starts with the same climb as "White's Level", which I have done, but then heads off into the slightly-more-wilderness than the other trails. At 47km it's also a good 3-4 hour ride (4-7 according to the trail guide...ha!). The climb is sort of interesting, in that there a various rocky sections - loose, steppy, nadgery - that kind of thing. It's not particularly steep though, so more of an exercise in power management for the technical bits than an outright lung-burster. I do find these trails tediously repetative - hey, we've built a rocky feature on the climb, let's do it every 20 metres! I think that's at the heart of my dislike of trail centres, and what distinguishes them from natural routes.

So, where were we? Ah, yes, getting lost on Skyline. I say lost - we knew we were on the trail at all times but somehow managed to miss a 25km loop, suddenly finding ourselves at the final descent. Another exercise in repetition - roll down a bit, rocky feature, roll down a bit, rocky feature - times twenty-five.

After the aborted attempt at Skyline we did "The Wall" (much more natural feeling - definitely my thing), rode back to the Glyncorrwg centre for lasagne, chips and Coke and tried to fix my brakes. Did I mention my back brake lever was squishing to the bars before biting? That really helped my crash induced nervousness. I fact, most of the descents involved Jon zipping off into the distance and me being much more cautious - merely terror rather than hysteria. It's all relative though - I was still going quicker than previous visits.

We decided that we were both a little tired by now so we were never going to attempt Skyline. White's Level it was. My fixed brake became unfixed, we rode up the same initial climb and bimbled round.

On the spin back to the car we discussed how battered we were feeling - four and a half hours of rocky trails uses very different muscles to six hours of road riding. I could feel my core, my hamstrings, my calves were burning from all the standing and my shoulders were stiff from all bar control. Either we need to do more MTBing or stick to being wimpy roadies.

Once in the car I really started to feel the ride. The seats were hard, my glutes (=arse) ached, my legs ached... it wasn't comfortable. Thankfully all the traffic and accidents were going the other way so we had a clear run back to Cirencester. We transferred my stuff to my car and I started the drive home.

I then made my magical discovery.

When you are tired, battered, aching and stiff: Heated seats are awesome. It's like taking a long, hot bath whilst having a nagging feeling that you've wee'd yourself.

Now, that was worth the read wasn't it?

Catching Flies

As predicted, the weather yesterday was blistering. It was the first of October, and it was my first minimum-clothing-full-length-zip-unzipped ride of the year (excluding foreign lands). And no, this isn't the Southern hemisphere.

I had one of those magic legs days too -the days when you glance down at the computer and can't believe the power you're maintaining. I even overtook someone. Admittedly he was shirtless, on a loaded tourer and looked like he'd been riding non-stop for six days, but hey, an overtake is an overtake. I broke my record for the ride to my Mum's, and then broke it again on the way back. I'm surprised Team Sky haven't been round.

I celebrated this achievement with a stretch and a Cornetto, though not in that order. It was more important to get the recovery ice-cream down quickly. Proper sports nutrition is vital for an athlete like me.

Then I went for a shower. That was where I discovered that not only had I been dragging my own sorry carcass up the hills, but the carcasses of twelve flies. Twelve. At least - there were a few mushy black dots that could have once been flies but it was hard to tell. I only counted the dots that had a clear, visible leg or wing.

There are definitely a lot of flies about at the moment. In the evenings, when the sun is low, you can see clouds of them and feel the bigger ones slamming into your glasses. Are they as confused as I am by the weather? Do they think it's Spring and have all hatched six months early? Any entomologists care to comment?

Still, there are definitely twelve fewer than there would have been had I not been out yesterday. No need to thank me. All part of the service.