The last month has been a major life adjustment. Like George Michael sang, it really has been back to life…back to reality, right, enough of the clichés and on with the story. Fitting back into the endless routine of 6am starts and late afternoon finishes down at the office is harder than any 5 hour day on the bike. The bonus of it all is that with a bit of luck you get paid at the end of the month whereas with the labour of love that is cycling, all you end up with is a token few euro’s at the end of the week. There is a downside to life in an office full of generous people who all like to celebrate good news by bringing in a cake or two. I must have gorged my way through half a bakeries worth of cream buns by now…none of which were good for my cycling! I am trying to cut out this most unathletic problem by listening to the wise words of my sister “nothing tastes as good as winning”… this may take some time folks!
I’ve had a crack at three races since my last blog entry. I’l start from the top then. Thursday 16th June was to be a relatively straightforward race over in Preston, Lancashire. The race was largely me and a couple of other lads versus a strong wheelbase team who seemed determined to prove their strength in the smallest of mid-week criteriums. I was aggressive as always but my early gamble of fine weather proved to be my undoing. I had gone into the race on tyres suited to dry courses and with a fierce downpour just 20 minutes from the finish I was left to complete the course as if I was riding a 50p coin. I came home 12th, soaked to the skin and in need of a hot chocolate rather than a protein shake. If there was a lesson to be learned it would be…don’t wear white socks if there is a cloud in the sky and perhaps a better warm-up than riding 50 yards from the car to the start line.
Next up was the big one, my personal favourite race of the year, Otley town centre Criterium. I have had a love of this beautiful race ever since I rode the under 16 race as a child. The way the race gets progressively harder, the way the hill seems to slap you in the face with a seemingly briefer lull each lap of the race. I think part of it’s charm is the fine balance between bunch sprint and break away, this always reminds me of the famous scene of the lion chasing the gazelle, the pure power of the lion seems the bookies favourite every time but the finesse of the gazelle always seems to hold onto the slimmest of odds. I started the race with some concerns over my fitness but with some much appreciated local support and about a weeks’ worth of caffeine I got stuck in. With a couple of laps to go a pile up on the hardest part of the course cost me a decent position in the speeding peloton but this is preferable to going down in a crash anyday. The finale of the race played out like a dream for the crowds of 4,000 or so. The peleton chased hard but the supreme effort of the riders in the break ment the race was decided by just 6 riders, the local hero Scott Thwaites taking a very popular win and no doubt casting his name in Yorkshire cycling legend. I crossed the line mid bunch, 37th place was not particularly worth a big mention but I always enjoy riding this supremely well organised event in front of a distinctly partisan crowd.
Just 4 days after Otley, the National championships were upon me. I had entered many weeks earlier when my race programme had been of a decidedly harder nature than the criteriums I was turning up to back in England. The course was set to be run over 122 miles of rolling Newcastle countryside. I had previously ridden well so far north so my expectations were that I could finish the course on what turned out to be a glorious day. I had significantly underestimated the power of a certain Sky pro cycling team however. The race started ridiculously slow for the first 10 miles, the bunch was clearly waiting for a brave rider to light the touch paper and attempt to crack sky’s stranglehold on the race. The race kicked off literally with a bang…Mark Cavendish’s rear tire blew out on the descent towards the hardest hill of the day. For the sky riders this was there alarm to clock on and begin the days work. They put 6 guys on the front on the run into the Ryals, with it’s slopes of 33% I was already hurting by the time I reached the bottom . I crawled up over the top clinging to the rear of the bunch and encouraged by a couple of over enthusiastic fans giving me a welcomed push. As the peleton reformed over the ensuing miles the sky car overtook the peloton, delivering a hammer blow to the chasing teams. Sky had put 6 riders in a lead break of 12… the race was as good as over. I suffered for a further 2 hours on two more ascents of the Ryals, the pain over this point of the course was only briefly interrupted by the moron who decided to blast his airhorn in my ears going over the top. I was briefly tailed off on the last ascent, My attempts at regaining the Peloton were going well, with Roger Hammond using his vast power and me encouraging him we were in the convoy and in sight of the bunch. Just a couple of miles short of the finishing laps I had a decidedly unpleasant moment when what I’m guessing was a bee…yes a bumble bee flew into my mouth and stung me right inside my mouth…before being promptly swallowed. This knocked me for six, suddenly I was struggling to take in full breaths and I immediately decided to knock the hard effort on the head. I wheeled my way round to the finish disappointed but still shocked at the way in which I left the race. The race was won in truly crushing fashion by Bradley Wiggins. It will be good to see the national champions jersey contesting the worlds biggest race next week at the Tour de France. I will always enjoy the idea of riding with the worlds best riders much more than I enjoy actually riding with them…the last bit hurts…a lot!
