Autumn is upon us

As the off season approaches and the evenings draw in to what seems like an approaching winter, it is ultimately time for reflection.  For some riders the season has been a fruitful few months to be celebrated with a few beers, for others the season has been one to forget.  It is easy to do the latter, to think of Belgium as an experience not to be dabbled in again, but a loss doesn’t become a defeat until you refuse to learn from it.  I had a fantastic time, met some great people and now have quite a few stories to tell the grandkids in years to come.  But if I look at it from a purely sporting point of view I cannot consider it an overwhelming success.   I trained a lot, that cannot be questioned but whether it was the right sort of training… I suspect not.  I clocked up more kilometres in those four months then I did in my entire second year as a Junior, but as a crazed Belgian man told me ‘you must have pain in training to not have as much pain in racing’, perhaps some of that is lost in translation but the principal was that for the future a more focused and harder training programme, as opposed to just mileage is needed to ultimately succeed.  So that is my brief if slightly harsh summation of this season.

The off season is never quite the rest period you think it’s going to be, for the very pinnacle of the sport they have their contracts sorted and they can watch the leaves turn brown without having to be constantly checking emails, hopeful that next years team has just come knocking.  For me this is the time of year to sit down, update the palmares and make a list of which teams I hope will offer me a place for next year.  I actually like this part of the year, sometimes I think I should be a writer as opposed to a racer, but journalist stuff can wait where as racing is a young man’s game.  Being a true Brit, I naturally under sell myself, this seems to be a British disease where we are so modest that every achievement was down to good luck or any other reason rather than the fact that we were just great on the day.  Once the C.V is typed it’s time to send it off to half the Pelotons management and hope something decent comes back.  Give it a couple of days and the responses come back, the uninterested teams tell you that you can ride for their team, all you have to do is buy your own kit, make your own way to races and basically act as a free advertising board for them.  The interested teams offer more, free kit, entry fees and if you’re lucky, a bike.  My thanks for the translation of my C.V go entirely to Google translate, a truly wonderful and free service. 

Every year I watch the road season end, mostly I’m mentally worn out from juggling work and late season racing, this year has been slightly different though, I’ve done 38 races but haven’t raced for a month now so my batteries are better charged than previous years.  I get the annual irritation to do cyclo cross, it’s like an itch that I can’t get rid of.  The idea of ‘cross’ is better than the actual racing.  I watch the likes of Sven Nys make it look like poetry on the bike with more bikes than my entire garage at his disposal.  Once I don the knobbly tires it is more like Anne Widdicombes performance of Swan Lake, but like I say the idea of this relights the competitive fires and with Autumn upon us I am hoping to dust off the old bikes and have a bit of a go.  Just a quick congratulations to a couple of guys I used to race with, Luke Rowe and Andrew Fenn who have both just been announced as fully fledged proffesionals in the highest tier, well done lads!     

Hopefully if things go to plan I will start with a couple of cyclo cross races later this month so check back later this month for the thrills…but probably more spills of my first cyclo cross appearance in 4 years!          

Back to life, back to reality

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 16^th 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 12^th, 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, 37^th 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!       

Back in Blighty

I have now been back in England for a week or so.  The first thing that struck me is just how hard riding a bike in Yorkshire really is.  For a start there are the comparatively epic hills to contend with and if I cast my mind back I don’t recall such breezy conditions for this time of year before.  I soon settled in to a routine of midweek chain gangs and weekend café racing, both of which were something I was beginning to miss back in Belgium.  My first day back in full time employment soon came around and for what felt like the first time in months my alarm clock went off to tell me it was time to earn a crust again.  I won’t lie, my first week has been a shock to the system but it’s nice to use cycling as a way of stress relief and fun as opposed to just using the bike as a tool to do a job.  On Wednesday evening I felt the need to race again so with a quick phone call to my friend Rob we had arranged to race at the relatively local Preston arena course in Lancashire the following evening.  It felt strange to have done a full day’s work and still to race in an evening but this is what the rest of the season has in stall for me.  The race was to be just over an hour held in failing light with a gentle breeze and decidedly cool temperatures.  I had a crack off the start line by myself and lasted just a couple of laps out in front.  This was not a serious attack but more of a safe way to warm up by myself and familiarise myself with the course at race speed.  Having been brought back into the bunch I followed a promising little move after half an hour, I did my share of the pace setting but our trio were given a tight leash and were brought back after only 3-4 kilometres out in front.  I sat back sensing a bunch sprint and began to prepare myself for the mental stress of picking my way through the peloton for a last lap effort.  I raced the last lap perfectly following some good wheels, I entered the last corner slightly too fast in my eagerness to go for victory, this was to be my undoing as I just feathered the breaks which ultimately cost me the win.  I crossed the line 4^th, within a bike length of the win but still pretty pleased.  It had been a relatively successful outing for me and Rob who took 5^th in the sprint.  The level was not that of a Belgian race but there were still hard points and some tough racing done that night.  Finally I have had a chance to let the dust settle on my Belgian experience.  On this note I feel as though I should extend my thanks and gratitude to everyone who helped me, although I seemed bitter towards my team manager in my last blog I feel I should give some thanks to him for allowing us to use his accommodation and allowing us the chance to race with a great team.  They truly were some of the best moments of my life and something I will no doubt recall for many years to come.       

out with a whimper rather than a bang

Following on from last weekend’s long treks to races, this weekend had a couple of local outings in store.  Saturday was in Geel…or so I’m told.  Unfortunately me and my team mate made the 40 minute ride to the town only to spend nearly an hour looking for anything from no parking signs to roadside barriers in an attempt to locate where the race could be.  Eventually as the clock struck 3 and the race was about to start we had to concede that we were not going to be in it… and I thought dropping geography at GCSE was a good idea.  Sunday was equally disastrous for me.  I raced about as close to my front door as it’s possible to get with a kermis in Ramsel.  I started aggressively…perhaps too aggressively as after the first corner I was in a group of 3 and pulling away from the bunch.  With me doing the lion’s share of the work we pulled away for a brief spell of around 6-7km.  The peloton soon got cracking however and reeled us in at a particularly tough part of the course.  I got tucked back in but something was definitely wrong with me.  I was almost incapable of upping my speed and the pressure took its toll on me as I was unceremoniously dropped after no more than 15 kilometres of racing…not the way I wanted to leave Belgium but the course was never suited to me anyway.   

The reason my Belgium journey ends here is because I have been evicted from my rented accommodation at the discretion of my team manager.  I was told this last Saturday after one of my best results of the season.  With this in mind training has taken more of a back seat this last week, I took my final opportunity to play the tourist with things like going go-karting and making the most of café stops.  I still feel as though I have unfinished business in Belgium.  The racing here is probably the hardest outside of Italy and the competition is fierce.  If any young rider wanted to make a go of being a professional cyclist I would say Belgium is the place to go.  I hope to come back to Belgium in 2012 with the aim of continuing to improve.  For now I must return to the United Kingdom and to my job with the motivation of saving enough money for my next assault on Belgian racing.  I will still do a few races in England between now and the end of the season.  You can watch me in action at Otley town centre on 22^nd of June and on the following Sunday at the National Championships.  I will continue to keep an updated blog of my exploits and I hope you will all enjoy reading them.

Tot zeins for now x

A treat that nearly required treatment

Following on from last Mondays finish ‘in the money’ I decided to treat myself to a new saddle.  It always gives me a little psychological boost whenever I get a new piece of kit, and seeing as I spend so much of my time out here sitting on a saddle I was happy to fit it on Monday evening.  This was to be the first mistake.  In my eagerness I whipped the old one off without so much as a measurement being taken and before you know it I had roughly put the new one where I thought it should go.  By Tuesday morning I had reached the next town down with hamstring problems and by the time I had finished my ride of all 5 kilometres I was in real pain.  This was my inexperience showing big time.  When you ride a bike for a living every day of the week your muscles become honed and accustomed to one position, train in a different position and as I found out, you will end up straining muscles you didn’t even know you had.  The following day was a complete write off as I was playing a guessing game in the garage with where to adjust my saddle to its new/old position.  After 2 days I was back on the bike properly, it was a short sharp lesson…for next time I will add a tailor’s tape measure to my tool box!

A double race weekend was in store for me this week.  Saturday dawned and a trip to the Walloon region awaited us.  I pre rode the 9 kilometre circuit with my team mates before the race start, there were a couple of hills of note and a dead corner which led onto a cobbled section of 500 metres up a gentle incline.  The sun had blessed the event… a little too well perhaps as the thermometer read 28 degrees and I was melting like the spectators ice creams on the start line.  The race started hilariously… My team mate Mike attacked just half a lap in taking with him a few riders, he was no more than 50 yards up the road when his group carried on at a left turning leaving them chasing the peloton as opposed to escaping it… if only all breaks were that easy to bring back. In fairness to him the marshall on the corner was clearly at fault, probably hampered by several generations of incest he just stood there drooling… a lesson for next time being that you should never attack on the first lap if you don’t know the course!  My race got rather interesting at the half way mark, I had a brief confrontation with a New Zealand rider and came off worse, being pushed off the road and managing to bring my bike to a halt in a local garden hedge.  I remounted, shouted several profanities and began my half lap chase solo across the cobbles to regain the back of the disintegrating peloton.  I dug really deep towards the end as the lead break dangled just off the front of what was left of the peloton.  The lead group of 16 stayed agonisingly clear but I strung the last couple of corners together perfectly to sprint across the finish line in around 25^th place.  This should have been the end of the saga but nothing is that simple in the Walloon region.  I went to collect my winnings and was told by the lead commissaire that he was unable to see the finish line order due to the fact the sun was shining on the numbers each rider has to wear… frankly the worst excuse I’ve ever heard as every rider had a frame number as well.  After a brief but successful argument I was placed 30^th…in the money again with an envelope for a whopping 12 euros. 

Sunday was a complete change, the wind had picked up, the temperature was cooler and the circuit was a pan flat 4 kilometre course.  We picked up a young Kiwi lad by the name of Jason Christie on the way to the race.  It was a nice change from just talking to the same English riders all the time.  I set off knowing the race would be shredded after just a few laps by the 50 kmp/h cross winds.  About 7 laps into the 28 lap race I joined a pretty select group at the front with the race splitting badly on one section in the fierce cross winds.  I was joined there by my team mate Mike and our fellow car passenger Jason.  The pace in this group was amazingly high, In the crosswinds we were riding at 55km per hour with me pulling a variety of faces on the back of the group trying to stick with the pace.  At one stage the gap grew to 1 minute 20 seconds but the break was just slightly too big and with too many riders sat on it was eventually brought back at the half way mark.  At this point I had more than shot my bolt and as the counter attack rolled up the road driven by Jason I could only watch.  I finished alone in a futile chase to be given 44^th place.  Up ahead the race had been killed off by an attack by our new kiwi friend Jason who soloed to victory 20 kilometres out to win by 2 clear minutes.  All that was left was to dine in style to celebrate Jason’s win at the Century Restaurant in Aarschott.  This was to be an interesting experience, not least because we were joined by respected cycling author and Journalist William Fotheringham.  I have always enjoyed writing so hopefully meeting people like this will give me more opportunities in the world of cycle journalism.  Some of you may know that I have had to censor this latest blog owing to my difficult situation with my team manager and the fact that I live with him, if you use the term loosely.  Anyway I promise to break this relative silence in my next blog which I will publish from my own home without fear of being evicted earlier then what has already been agreed.  Sorry to end on such a confusing note but I will produce a full story of the last few weeks in next week’s blog.         

Now where did I leave my motivation?

Following on from my last race the previous Sunday, I had the joys of a trip home to look forward to the next day.  This was to be a hectic 3 days of haircuts, horticulture and home cooking.  But first my trip to the dentist, I will spare the details but I can now happily report that after nearly 3 years of teeth only a hill-billy would be proud of, my teeth are now fixed, courtesy of Mr Chan.  A quick trip to Hair at Higgins sorted me out with a tennis ball haircut in preparation for the upcoming summer.  I’m glad I didn’t attempt to ride whilst I was at home, the weather was decidedly dodgy which allowed me a welcome 4 days off the bike.  No sooner had I got home and it was time to leave again, I met up with my room mate back at Liverpool airport with Mike acting as a translator between me and the local patois.  A big thanks to Ben for putting himself out and collecting us from Brussels.  It took a couple of days of 3 hour rides to break myself back into the habit of riding again with the aim of racing on the third day back. 

Monday started badly, dark clouds and showers seemed set in for the day, but with no other races until the following weekend it really was all or nothing.  I reluctantly began packing my kit bag with a deepening sense of inevitability that I was going to come home either soaked or with my tail between my legs.  I searched all over for my motivation to race but to no avail.  Never the less I had committed so by 3:15pm and under a heavy shower  I was greeted by Ben on his doorstep, all three of us asking ‘what the hell are we doing’.   The three of us briefly became part of a school project as we were collectively filmed by a local girl who insisted we repeat things like putting on our shoes and helmets three and four times…who knows, maybe a you tube career awaits me! Anyway the girl would have no problems filming the race, 15 laps beckoned with the only incline of mention being a curb…yes a genuine curb stone that was to be jumped by the near 100 rider field every lap… have Health and safety discovered Belgium yet?  A couple of cobbled sections per lap threatened a crash each time around but the only incident of note was caused by my team mate who tested out a couple of Belgians bike handling skills… in doing so reducing the peloton by a handful of riders.  The race was an under 23 race, my first ever experience of this category.  As I looked around on the start line I was already judging the competition.  I call the back markers the ‘Jedwards’, these are normally the guys with the best bikes, the best kit and frankly the worst legs in the bunch…call them the ‘all the gear, no idea’ if you will.  These are the guys who will probably be shelled as the bunch begins to thin out.  The claxon sounded and the bunch tore off up the road under dry skies.  I chanced my hand with an attack twice in the opening skirmishes, but never did I have more than 50 yards over the bunch.  My team mate Mike had told me about the ‘one arm chicken dance’ before the race.  This is just something we invented to describe what happens when a rider is put under too much pressure in a race.  When the pace becomes too much they flick their elbow out as a sign to the guy behind that they have had enough, shot their bolt.  I made a big attack just 3 laps in, dragging a pretty average bunch of riders with me, I turned round asking for someone to share the pace, only to see the ‘one armed chicken’ back in fashion amongst my fellow break away companions.  The break slipped away on the flowing back roads but never gained more than 40 seconds, I gave a couple of long pulls on the front just to keep the spirits up in the bunch.  With just 5 laps to go, I began to feel as though I could give a last throw of the dice.  Unfortunately I was becoming a marked man so I had to be contented with dragging a stream of riders in my wake.  On the penultimate lap a Belgian rider ‘Tosh Van der Sande’ winner of the under 23 Liege-Bastogne-Liege made a last gasp bid for victory.  A rider like Tosh could easily have won had the race been hillier but ‘horses for courses’ and the flat run in was a great equaliser.  I stayed up the front and took 27^th across the cobbled finish line, around 10^th in the bunch sprint.  My fourth envelope of the year awaited me, 10 euros for my efforts…promptly paid to our chauffeur for the night Ben, its nice to break even for once!  Not much else to cover this week apart from to offer my congratulations to Scott Thwaites for his victory in last weeks Lincoln Grand Prix.  Finally I must also give my personal sentiments about Wouter Weylandt who died tragically this week following a fatal crash in the Giro d’ Italia.  It’s never nice to read about a cyclist killed, the news has been greeted with great sadness here in Belgium, Rest in Peace. 

There’s no time for an ice cream

Having raced twice already in the last week, my motivation was slightly lower than it should have been for Sundays 116.5 kilometre kermise just south of the city of Leuven.  I have come across the line ‘put a number on my back and I become a different person’ a number of times in my cycling magazines.  I’d love to say I was the same but getting up on a 27 degree day and beginning the routine of getting ready for a race when really I wanted a barbeque and an ice cream was perhaps a sign that I was in for a mediocre day.  My pre-race routine is almost a carbon copy every time, breakfast of cereal and toast, followed by a leisurely packing of my kit and then ‘3 hour pasta’, basically plain spaghetti 3 hours before I am due to take the start.  We arrived in plenty of time, kermises out in Belgium all have a similar feel to them.  The finishing straight is lined with barriers, there is always a loud speaker stuck to a lamp post beating out a collection of horrendous Eurovision tracks.  As you roll down to the sign on to ‘Katrina and the waves’ in the background there is always a strong whiff of embrocation from the riders changing rooms mixed with the rather more enticing smell of hotdogs and burgers from the obligatory grill.  Summer seems to be a better time for kermises than the misery of February races.  As I ride back to the car, race number already pinned on I have a brief chance to glimpse at the good looking women who line the side of the road.  To be honest I probably should be paying attention to the competition but living in a small village does have its draw backs in this department! With about 15 minutes to go every rider is busy doing smaller and smaller runs up and down the finishing straight, just waiting for the first rider to line up for the start before the rest of the field copy him, if you’re lucky you can be fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time and grab a space close to the front.  If you’re not….well let’s just say I have been 30 rows back before in a 280 rider field and it’s not pretty seeing the lead rider rounding the first corner 500 metres up the road before you’ve even clicked your feet in!  

On to the racing then.  The course was not too bad, a couple of drags to break up the field on an otherwise pretty routine 7.2 kilometre circuit.  The heat was the main problem for me, 27 degrees and a head in need of a trip to my local barbers meant I was going to struggle to stay cool and hydrated, but it’s the same for everyone.  I kept myself up to the front early on to go with any attacks.  I bridged a gap after maybe 40 kilometres, more as a test of my legs than a serious attempt at a break away, the results were not good, I was going to have to race defensively as my legs were abit sore from the week’s exertions.  The break went at the half way mark, 28 riders split off, I would have to accept I was not going to be up for the win.  I treated the rest of the race more as training, attacking a couple of times and doing a few long turns on the front of the peloton.  The break stayed away, knowing that I was already out of the money I decided not to sprint and ultimately rolled across the line in around 60^th.  For the next week I will be having 3 days off the bike, a trip back home and the joys of the dentist await me, but come Friday and I will be back out to Belgium.