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

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

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

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

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

I spy a team car

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

The service truck

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

Handy.

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

Remember not to steal anything

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

I said, don't steal anything!

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

If only all hotels did this

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

Flecha, Mirko Selvaggi and Matteo

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

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

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

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

Sleep.

Wake.

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

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

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

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

Only Belgians and hardmen like cold, wet and dark.

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

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

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

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

Especially if it's dark, cold and wet.

Escaping the Turbo

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

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

Turbo hell.

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

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

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

I cracked.

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

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

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

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

Big mistake. Huge.

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

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

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

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

Turbo Gods, I'm very very very sorry.

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

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

Hangs head.

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

I am now qualified in beer!

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

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

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

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

The course notes

The one day foundation course covers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's all a bit of a blur.

So, the verdict?

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

Beer is ace.

Peer Pressure

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

Ride minus 5 days, text messages.

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

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

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

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

Ride minus 3 days, more text messages.

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

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

D to Me: Sounds good, will check.

Ride minus 2 days, email exchange.

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

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

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

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

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

D: Mountain Bike!

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

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

[ArseBugger]

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

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

Me to D: What's the plan then?

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

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

[Arrrggggghhhhhhhh]

[Finally, an answer from D]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J to Me: Pah! You?

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

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

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

[Grrrrrr]

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

[Oh well.... I tried]

Ride Day

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

That's mutual peer pressure for you.

Well, that was 2012...

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

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

And for 2011 it got a little worse:

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

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

Well. Wait for it.

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

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

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

So, bike goals for the year.

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

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

Bikes are ace!

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

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

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

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

Badass rain bike

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

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

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

Singlespeed with beer holder

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

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

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

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

Old School

When I started mountain biking I'd mostly go out with friends and just ride local trails. Nothing technical, nothing quick. Nothing that even came close to "training". We got muddy, wet and tired and ate Snickers bars, Haribo and jelly babies.

Somehow that concept morphed into solo road rides, energy bars and gels and a constant watch on the powermeter. They say you can't go back - but clearly, they are wrong.

A few days ago the stars aligned and Darren and I both had a spare morning. It's been so wet recently that most of our local routes are underwater - so Darren suggested a trip up to the Ridgeway. This has been in use since prehistoric times and follows a line of hills just North of where we live. Along the way there are several ancient monuments and our planned route would take us by the Uffington White Horse and Wayland's Smithy. You can't beat a bit of Bronze Age followed by a bit of Neolithic. Two of my favourite periods. Certainly in my top 10. The Ridgeway is wide and open, rutted in places but generally ridable at all times of year.

The Ridgeway has a couple of redeeming features. Firstly, it's pretty high and exposed. There are very few trees up there, which means that any wind and sun can dry the ground. Secondly, they've now banned 4x4s and motorbikes during Autumn and and Winter. Our ride up to it was a test of sloppy ground handling skills, combined with tyre selection skills. I certainly won the second (Mud X vs Racing Ralph) which gave me a slight advantage in the handling. However, once on the top the tyres were less relevant - the track was the closest I've seen to "not underwater" for a while.

Trail goes up, trail goes down. Undulating is the perfect word here, not just because it's fun to say. There were a few slidy sections of chalk and the odd puddle but nothing that led us to walk. We stopped and admired the view, we ate jelly beans (and Torq bars - old habits die hard) and chugged along past the white horse and the smithy. Both were hidden from us, as they require a diversion from the main track to get to them. Believe me though, they were there.

Near the end of our Ridgeway section Darren knew a section of woodland that would give us some variety. I posed for some staged pictures - I think my vacant distant stare is coming along nicely - before we did the last little off-road section.

I almost ride the correct line for the picture

So, 35km off-road done in two and a half hours. Time to hit the road - tarmac all the way home. With a tailwind and a touch of two-up time trialling we doubled our speed. Fifteen minutes later we were in Lambourn, and three minutes after that we were tucking into coffee and bread pudding.

Although Darren felt the need to call his stylist about the mug he'd been given.

That simply left an hour spin along the road to our respective homes. I hosed myself off, I hosed my bike off and did what any casual, social mountain biker would do.

Recovery tights.

Put me back on my bike

It's started. 2013 planning.

After the single minded focus on one event this year (the Haute Route, Alps version) I decided that I'd mix things up more and do lots of different rides. Looking back, having such a narrow range was mentally difficult. I struggled on occasion to motivate myself as the prospect of another lonely five hour training ride using the same routes I've used for many years really, really didn't appeal. It was a shame that my usual training buddies were doing other things - adventure racing, working too hard, being ill...
|
Mixing up events made sense - some more mountain biking, some more social rides, some more idiocy. I could still do a tough multi-day stage event - say, the Haute Route Pyrenees (HRP), but as one of a list of goals. The other items on the list would have more variety and keep things fresh.

Of course, there was another way to keep motivated for training. Another way to ensure I'd have training buddies for a big, major goal.

Get them to enter too.

People, it looks like we've got the band back together. Specifically, the BADAJAPADLEJOG band. Darren, Jon, Phill and Dave are all joining me for the highs, lows and mediocrities of the HRP. We've even added to the band as Dave's partner, Sarah, is also coming along.

Include the Dulwich crew from this year - David, John, Christoph, and maybe some others - and I won't be short of people to wheel suck.

What this should mean is more group training rides. Motivation will be better, routes will be more varied, chat will be with real humans rather than imaginary ones. I won't need to talk to the roadkill either.

Other events
In the spirit of mixing things up:

• I really want to do 24/12 next year. Mountain bike races are much more fun that road riding. Maybe a 12 hour solo again?
• An "easy" mountain bike holiday to somewhere that's about the people and destination rather than being a physical stretch. Costa Rica? Ecuador? Cuba? Mongolia?
• Something on the cross bike
• The odd sportive - I've already entered the Cheshire Cat.
• Some social mountain bike rides, with pubs.

I think that's enough to be going on with.

The Great Post-Haute Route Celebration Pub Cafe Bike Crawl

Every big achievement needs to be celebrated - to draw a line, to allow you to move on. Some may think that an official end-of-event party followed by a frenzy of stolen wine, cheese and ice cream is the way. They are wrong. There is only one way to celebrate a seven day bike flagellation across the Alps, and that's with The Great Post-Haute Route Cafe Hill-Climb Cafe Pub Pub Cafe Pub Curry Pub Pub cycle ride.

It started at a cafe, somewhere in South London, at about 9am. A crisp autumnal day, blue sky and fluffy clouds above.

That's a cappuccino and a pain au raisin. And a David. Note the funky HR shorts, and if you look carefully the HR Finisher jersey. This ride had a dress code. To right of shot were John, Keith and Christoph, also HR finishers.

The plan was to ride 80km or so, taking in the Dulwich Paragon club hill climb event and a couple of cafes, pubs, whatever. As John said, this ride wasn't about choice of cake, it was about selection of cakes. An "and" ride, not an "or" ride.

A moderate pace took us out of the city, into the lanes of Kent. Lots of people out, some of them heading our way. The hill climb was attracting a crowd. At the top of the course we chatted and joked, and when the man asked "who's competing?" we were first in the queue. We had no plans to do well, but if you've turned up at a hill climb you might as well take part.

I was slow. My rear wheel was rubbing, but not enough to make a difference. Sprinting the first 15 seconds probably wasn't the best plan. David was quick, though he'd done it faster before. Those extra end-of-year kilos (and being on a cross-bike) made a difference.

John elected to do the climb on foot. At least, that's what the photo shows.

Haute Route experts will note that he's not got the finishers' jersey on, just the normal one. He claimed it was somewhere in the USA, but can you trust a man who does a hill climb on foot? We were careful to ensure the timekeeper noted "no bike" against his time.

"No bike penalty, plus 5 minutes"

At this point we'd cycled for 25km, tasted blood from the hill effort and displayed our funky shorts to the world. Time for cafe number 2.

For the cake spotters, there's an apricot and almond, a lemon-lime drizzle, a scone with cream and jam and my magnificent selection - coffee and walnut.

Good cake.

Next, pub. To be accurate, next ride up the big hill, get caught in a shower, then pub. The beer was merely adequate so I refrained from photos. So that's two cafes, one pub.

From the pub we went to the pub. This one had much better food on offer:

It's easier to photograph the specials board than to try and remember it

It also had much better beer.

That's sunlight glinting through an Adnams Ghost Ship. We had soups, mains and a couple of pints. We held off dessert, as there was a highly recommended tea shop fifty metres away. In a tea shop, you drink pots of tea and have very English cakes. I remember there was a ginger cake, and I had a chocolate cake, but I think my mind was starting to get over saturated with calories. I even forgot to have tea, ordering coffee instead.

Teapots!

It was starting to get late now so we headed back - interrupted by my first ever road bike fall. Having your back wheel pop out while climbing a 25% incline generally leads to more annoyance than injury, thankfully.

Back in London and we were down to to three for the evening - David, John and me. The bikes were left at David's (where we also showered and changed into normal person clothes). A pub, a curry, another pub, a taxi for John and another pub.

The Haute Route had lots of numbers - hours on the bike, distance cycled, metres climbed. The GPHRCPCBC had numbers too.

• 1 pastry
• 2 cappuccinos
• 2 slices of cake
• 1 americano
• 8 beers
• 1 red pepper soup
• 1 beef stroganoff
• 1 mixed curry selection, side dishes, naans, popadoms
• 3 cafes
• 5 pubs
• 0 energy bars
• 0 energy gels

Why aren't more road rides like this?