I recently had the privilege of experiencing a professional bike fit with Ross from Proper Cycling & Coffee. Here’s my article published on Sportive.com…
I recently had the privilege of experiencing a professional bike fit with Ross from Proper Cycling & Coffee. Here’s my article published on Sportive.com…
As a self confessed middled aged man in lycra etc I have been riding for about two years and set myself a few challenges as you do and of course living in suffolk where a speed bump classes as a hill I decided to enter the 20127 maratona, and in training for this and browsing the net I found the entry page for the Amstel gold sportive, so as only a “Mamil” with no knowledge of cycling history does I decided that Holland equals flat and a nice run on the flat would be ideal preparation so I entered the 2017 tour version which runs is 60km 120km 200km and 240km routes around Valkenburg (hint the only town in Holland with a ski lift !) I plumped for the 200KM route and together my my long suffering wife decided to make a long weekend in Holland.
We took the overnight ferry from Harwich and drove down to our hotel about 20 mins from the start, we arrived at the registration and I had my first panic attack, the entire town of Valkenberg was basically full of bikes everyone was definitely a Pinarello dogma at least, and my basic Forme axe looked liked a it should have had a basket on the front, I also found the Cauberg the little 13% climb at the 201KM marker, at which i had my second panic attack and convinced my wife I couldn’t do it, I picked up my registration pack and found that there is about 10,000 riders over all the distances over the weekend and they were all in the amstel gold bar consuming bibilical amounts of, well Amstel.
In my state of shock we turned up at our hotel and found the carpark looking like a alladins cave of posh bikes, I was only person in the hotel that left my bike on the car overnight in the hope it would get stolen and put me out of my misery, Only in Europe would you see grown men taking their bikes not to the secure bike lock up, oh no but up to their bedrooms, a little
spocky if you ask me.
We set off the next day for the ride I was planning on an early start, and in common with all the other hotels in the area ours had put on breakfast at 5am purely for the riders. We drove to Valkenburg even though the hotel had little maps showing special routes to get to the start on your bike, plenty of special parking and I rocked up at the start and headed of for my 203KM which was the longest I had done to date. I started at about 6.30am and the rain started at 6.31am for which I was totally unprepared, Its not a closed road route until you come into the final 5km, but frankly with the number of riders and the dutch road priorities it may have well have been, a nice ride warm up though town before the first short little 8% rise, and then into the ride proper, the route in on those narrow cycle lanes/roads and basically I discovered early on the elbows and pushing are part and parcel of passing on such tracks if your are either dutch or belgium, by the end of the first 30KM I had sharpened my elbows unto the continental standard, the rain was easing slightly and I had a long straight road too myself lovely ideal I was enjoying this as the road reached a lovely little castle on a wood, and I relaxed as the road turned right up a nice little 9% climb up cobbles, I was more afraid of something falling off me rather than the bike but got to the top.
The first feed station was reached and mobbed but loud music plenty of drink and food gels etc and we started off again, the route is basically a huge figure of 8 around valkenburg and I headed back into town and started the second 100KM loop, feeling a little better little warmer and confident, thats when it really started raining just like being at home.
The last third of the route joins up with the shorter routes and it was easy to tag onto groups for a tow for a while you think your heading home and things are looking up but as you swing down into valkenburg, you turn away from town and head to the keutenberg climb which is again a steep little hill form about 2km but the big problem is its on all the routes and again on the narrow type lanes, so you turn a corner hit a hill as well as quite a few walking staggering walking overtaking other walkers, its bedlem ! you have people staggering in front of you stopping getting off, its the ultimate obstacle course on two wheels, a few choice words in that universal language helped clear my path and I made it without coming off or being knocked off ! You then run into the final straight down hill into valkenburg and then turn a corner up the Cauberg ! steady little climb but the road is wide and the crowd is huge and I actually found it did help, especially as I could hear my wife shouting out support at the foot of the climb, by now I was running on pure thrill and you hit the 1KM marked and I found I still had 37KMH in my legs, long wet cold and a stunning day, washed down in the party tent with lashings of frites and Beer!
The funniest thing was when we got back to the hotel there was a stream of dirty muddy bikes being taken upstairs in the hotel and on the sunday morning only sparkling clean bikes came down at breakfast, and not a murmer from the hotel staff !
Recommend Yes doing again yes doing the 240Km in 2018 hopefully if I can overcome my appalling bike envy.
The Story of the Day…
TACTICAL BROMANCE BLOSSOMS ON THE BOX HILL ORIGINAL
Flickr Photo Gallery
The story of the day…
TOUR DE NORFOLK REPORT: DAVE STEAMS THROUGH THE FLATLANDS
Flickr Photo Gallery
Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…
Having completed a few centuries now, and with a previous ‘best distance’ of some 130 miles already bagged, I was going to have to come up with something decent as my next challenge. But planning isn’t really my strong point, and all my ideas for long rides seemed to lose credibility when closely examined. Mainly because I like to “fly solo”, as no-one I know has both the time AND the inclination to hit such big distances whilst being happy to slow their pace down to accommodate mine.
The problems though, are almost all logistical. I simply cannot (or at least prefer not to) carry all that I’ll require on the bike or in my pockets from the start. I also like to ride quiet rural routes which, as many of you will no doubt have experienced, means shops and cafes are pretty thin on the ground at the best of times. Creeping home through the darkness inevitably means that any shops in villages on the route will be closed by the time I pass them. So it’s a balancing act to carry enough to cater for the gaps between planned stops or larger towns.
Fast forward, then, to Friday 1st September 2017. I’ve come up (just the previous evening, in fact) with some harebrained scheme to ride from Farnborough to Bournemouth and back in a day. I broach the subject with my wife, announcing the plan with “tell me if you think this is a stupid idea”. Not a great start. The look on her face says it all. But bless her, she plays along and gives me permission to stay out past my bedtime if necessary. I’ve consulted Strava already, and the Route Planner feature has come up with a 152 mile route to follow.
The plan is to start early. 0730 hours at the latest, just as soon as get home from dropping my wife at work. This is a good plan, because it gives me a ‘fudge factor’ on top of the 12 hours that Strava’s route is forecast to take me. Sadly, the thing with plans is that I’ve never seen a plan that could survive first contact with the enemy. And so it was with this plan.
Admin, not an alien concept to me as an ex soldier, seemed to have deserted me. I couldn’t find stuff. Basic stuff. Where is it? I’m sure it was here yesterday. Who’s moved my slap-wrap reflective bands? Where are the charged spare batteries from the cupboard? Who’s eaten all my bleedin’ cereal bars? Where are those bottles I put down not more than five minutes ago? Arrrrrrrgh!!
Sit down. Breathe. Make more coffee…
There now! Isn’t that a whole lot better? One thing at a time. Bike OK? A quick pump of the tyres, and give everything a shake. Yup. That’s all good. Now lights. We’ll be back after dark, so the usual lights were charged last night and fitted. Extra lights from the household cycling “community chest” are found, filled with freshly charged batteries, and fitted. A quick tot-up reveals four front, and four rear, plus some ‘dire emergency’ lights too. We don’t want a repeat of the Combe Gibbet debacle after all. Eventually the slap-wraps and velcro reflective arm bands are located too. Two 710ml bottles are filled and added to the cages and the Garmin secured in the mount with rubber bands (it’s broken – don’t ask!) The bike is ready! Woohoo!
But what about me? Lycra needed. No phone box available so it’s back upstairs to change in normal time. Then the ceremony of the filling of the pockets can begin. Nutrition isn’t something I worry too much about. I don’t use gels or proprietary energy bars, so it’s off to the kitchen. The ‘pump sock’ goes in first. Vital that, CO2, pump, patches, multi tool, all wrapped conveniently in an old grey ‘trainer sock’. Next the little jacket, some cereal bars, a couple of peanut butter sandwiches, phone, ID, cash, camera, spare batteries…
All that in three jersey pockets? Nope! Not going to happen. Jacket out, and dangled off the back of the saddle. Jiggle some bits about, push hard on the peanut butter sandwich, and Hey Presto! It’s all in, after a fashion.
By now it’s very nearly 1000 hours. Two and a half hours later than planned. With some stops, if I keep to the Strava plan’s schedule I’m looking at a midnight finish. Lucky I got those lights together then. It’s OK. No-one really knows the plan, so if needs be, I can bail out in the New Forest, turn for home and call it a round century, and no-one will know any better. The preparation has been stressful. Very much last minute and a bit manic. I roll out down the driveway and begin to relax. Get to the start of the Strava route, “Course Found”! Reach up to clear something from the corner of me eye. Noooooooo! Glasses? Where are my shades? I can’t ride without them. Retreat, recover glasses (two pairs, clear and dark tint) and off again. Obviously the first 30 miles or so are quite familiar, but even so I go “Off Course” compared with the planned route. But I know better than Strava/Garmin, so I’ll cut back onto the route via this quieter, better detour, instead of that horrible ‘A’ road. I’m enjoying myself now. Getting into a rhythm, appreciating the beautiful weather and the scenery.
Villages come and go. Odiham, Upton Grey, Weston Patrick, Herriard. A long gap to the Candovers. A shop stop in Preston Candover when I spot a sign pointing to the village shop just back out of sight of the road. Fluids only as there’s not much food in the fridge. A bottle of Oasis isn’t going to get me far, but I’ve realised I’ve put a big dent in what I brought with me already. The rest of Preston Candover, Chilton Candover, and Brown Candover are dispatched quickly, mostly downhill after my climb to what my GPS trace suggests was the highest point of the route. This is most definitely NOT a “climbing day”. Northington is next, heading South before turning right through Itchen Abbas, over the M3 motorway into Abbots Worthy. The Worthys? There’s surely a joke in there somewhere. But before we hit Kings Worthy and Headbourne Worthy the Garmin Edge 500 curse strikes! You see, I’m following a ‘breadcrumb trail’ with no base maps, and about 50% of the time it gets to the route screen and simply refuses to draw the route for me. I guess, and guess wrong, heading onto the A33 Winchester Bypass. Thankfully though, I realise my error before it becomes a fully-fledged four-lane dual carriageway. Bail out onto the shared use cycle path, roll to a crossing point, and head back up to the correct turning. Plain sailing into Winchester city proper now, a slight downhill until the turn to climb up Romsey Road from the Great Hall. Up and up we go, passing the Hospital and the Prison. This is where I pass Keith (more on him later) as he breaks for lunch in a cafe at The Rifles Museum. Now it’s opening up. Pitt, Standon, Hursley, past Nan Trodd’s Hill, Ampfield, skirt the northern edge of Romsey. We’re off the Downs, and into the Test Valley. Old Salisbury Lane to Shootash, and on to the A36.
Well this turns out to be a mistake. Getting across the A36 is harder than it sounds. It’s still holiday season, and the road is very busy. I need to get over a right/left dog-leg into the New Forest National Park. It takes patience, and a few precious minutes, but I manage to make a small gap work for me. This is it! Cover me, I’m going in! (To the New Forest, that is).
I’ve been covering new ground since The Candovers, and this is another first for me. I’ve never cycled in The New Forest before, and I’m in full tourist mode. A photo by the National Park sign just after the cattle grid? Yup, that’ll be me. At the crossroads with Furzely Road there is a sign for a place called ‘Nomansland’, and a trio of Donkeys milling about in the middle of the junction. Another photo stop. Donkeys, interesting place names, all cool subjects for poor photos (I have a very cheap camera for bike trips). It’s warming up nicely now, so before I get too hot I take off my long-sleeved base layer. This is where Keith (remember him from Winchester?) passes me on the road. I head off behind some gorse bushes for a ‘comfort break’, having chomped through half of my squashed sandwiches. As I wander back to the road I spot some free food. Foraging! Hooray! A big old handful of fresh picked blackberries later and I’m under way again, but not for long. I get to the far edge of Bramshaw and there’s a cyclist sitting on the grass. A slow to check all is well, he raises a hand in reply, and I roll on past. But something nags at me to stop. I turn around, and it dawns upon me that this chap is wearing a Farnborough & Camberley Cycling Club jersey. I stop to say hello, and this, it turns out, is Keith. We are properly introduced, as I’m surprised to spot a ‘home’ jersey at an ‘away match’. Turns out we’ve left from barely two miles apart, and are heading to exactly the same place. He’s loaded with bike luggage for an overnight stay, but our planned routes turn out to be identical. What are the chances, right? Anyway, we sort of fall into plodding along on the bikes again, chatting.
We’ve not worked out that our routes are identical just yet, but two junctions later, when we’ve prepared to wave one another farewell, we realise that we’re on the same mission. At this point I’m struggling, too. Mentally, rather than physically, but I’m struggling to keep my rhythm and maintain a decent pace. Keith is a hero here, and really rises to the occasion. We are by turns riding side-by-side, and with me dropping in behind him to grab his wheel when there are cars trying to pass. I feel bad for leaching off a chap already laden with luggage but Keith seems cool with it. We’re fairly motoring too. Just north of the M27/A31 and heading south west through Fritham, Linwood, and Poulner, into Ringwood itself. From here I have the advantage of a little local knowledge, as Bournemouth is my wife’s home town.
Keith’s route wants to drag him down Matchams Lane. Not too bad in a car, but pretty grim for a cyclist. It’s just too narrow, and too busy. He decides to give my plan a whirl,so we drop south along the B3347 through Sopley and on to Christchurch. It’s not the prettiest road in the area by a long way, but there’s width and it’s not too twisty, so cars can pass OK without squeezing us to the verge. Somehow I’ve regained my Mojo, and I know that I owe Keith a favour. I lead us out, and stay in the wind all the way to the A35 roundabout. It’s a good workout. Keith is more comfortable ‘on my wheel’ than I was behind him, so I feel like I’m being pushed along by him. I nearly lost him on one small hill (he’s lugging 17 kg of kit with him remember) but i’m aware enough to rein it in and get him back on. We return a pretty decent joint 177/714 on the 7.1 mile “ringwood-christchurch” Strava segment at a shade over 20 mph average.
Nearly there, we relax a little, follow the cycle path along the A35, through the underpass, and on to Tuckton Bridge. As we reach the roundabout, and begin the climb up Belle Vue Road, we need our wits about us. To celebrate our arrival in town, the good people of Bournemouth have arranged for an air display by none other than The Red Arrows! Obviously this means that all eyes are cast skyward, with drivers craning their necks for a glimpse. We survive the climb, and the inattentive drivers, to arrive on Southbourne Overcliff Drive in time to catch a pretty decent chunk of the display.
Then the Red Arrows are over, as is my time riding with Keith. A proper gentleman, and an absolute pleasure to ride with, but we say our goodbyes as he heads toward Boscombe Pier, and I retreat toward Hengistbury Head in search of something to eat. A wander around some cafes turns up nothing promising. One is too busy, and I’ve not brought a lock, the other is dead quiet (the Air festival has killed trade inland this afternoon) and has stopped serving hot food. In the end I settle on ‘Simon’s Traditional Fish & Chip Shop’ on Broadway. Pie and chips and a drink, a little seating area fenced off to the side of the shop, so somewhere safe for the bike, and best of all the chips are close to perfect. Worth waiting 15 minutes for it to open in the end, but so annoying when you can see the lights on and the food going into the glass cabinet. I even catch a glimpse of the WWII B-17 bomber “Sally B” as she turns to land at Hurn while I’m waiting. Perhaps I should have stayed longer at the air show?
No. Not really. I’m behind schedule as it is. I’m riding faster than the ‘virtual partner’ in my Garmin is, but that’s just creating a buffer for my food and photo stops. No time to let my food settle, I’m going to have to crack on if I’m to get back on the same day I left the house. Yikes! Realisation is dawning. Best get cracking then.
I head off, same route back to Sopley. I turn too early for Bransgore (Garmin won’t draw the route again, so I’m guessing at times). No matter, I’m parallel with the palnned route and can get back on it easily at the next village. Sorted. But it turns out I’d have been better sticking to my incorrect route – correcting it has added some distance, and I’d have ended up in the same place anyway. Another Garmin refusal to give me a clue means another wrong turn. Quickly corrected but it’s all time penalties added on. Into Burley and another wrong turn. Damn you, Garmin! But this time it isn’t the Garmin’s fault. Damn you, Strava! It’s only gone and put me on an off-road section between Burley and Newton. To Hell with it, it’s not a massive issue. I’m still short on fluids, and there are signs for Lyndhurst. I’ll follow those to shops, I know Lyndhurst has shops. But this means a trip along the busy A35 in the growing darkness. Not the most pleasant route through the New Forest, but it all goes OK. Stop at ‘Forage’ to find that it’s a bit errrm? “Wholefoody”. There are no bottled soft drinks aside from locally produced touristy presses and sparkling juices. I tell the chap what I want, and he points me next door. A Budgens! Yay! Lifesaver. I order a coffee in Forage, they let me stash my bike in the garden out the back, and nip next door for still Lucozade, 1.5 litres thereof. Back to sup my coffee, use the toilet and wash my hands, and redistribute the stuff in my pockets. There’s great live music on too, but I can’t stay. I wait for The Real Raj to finish his track, give him some applause and a thumb-up, and I’m off again. Happy now that both bottles are full and I still have that squashed sandwich to keep me going.
North now, heading for Bartley, via a missed turn off the A337. Garmin playing the fool again. Another missed turn! Pah! This is not helping at all. Ower. Past Paulton’s Park. Bad news. This road looks familiar. A3090 dual carriageway, in the dark, up hill, heading into Romsey. I’m now wondering what other surprises await, I should really have checked the route before saving it. Over the River Test, passing Broadlands, out of Romsey to Crampmoor and Ampfield. This is where I get back on the route i came out on. Easy-peasy now, surely?
Through Hursley, through Standon. Into Winchester, down that nasty hill you climbed earlier, but now without the hazard of traffic. Through the one-way system OK, and on to The Worthys. I clear Kings Worthy at 2100 hours. It’s been well and truly dark for some time now, so a stop to check lights are still lit, and that batteries are still providing power is in order. All is good.
Over the M3 again, and on to Itchen Abbas. I miss my left turn. The Garmin is in melt-down, telling me to go up into a housing estate. I know it’s wrong, as there’s a “No Through Road” sign. Up the road, turn left, still off course. Reverse the route. No use. The Garmin is now dead. Low battery warnings have been a regular thing this last half hour, but I had hoped it was just being pessimistic.
Ah well. I’m guessing now. Up the road, turn left, then right. It won’t be the road I planned, but the end result should be the same. Restart the Garmin. It lives! Albeit briefly. Come on Garmin! Give me more than 45 seconds at a time! All I need is for it to get me to the Candovers and I know the way home from there. So I battle on that ten miles or so, repeatedly restarting the Garmin hoping to keep the GPS trace alive. It’s costing me speed, but “if it isn’t on Strava…” – I need this damned thing to keep going for just another hour and a half. Northington comes and goes. I finally hit The Candovers. I’m still repeatedly restarting the GPS unit. Every time it comes back to life, records a little stretch, then promptly dies again. It’s also massively under-recording my mileage now. Only tallying up the parts where it’s actually on. It knocks my mental maths right out when it comes to how far I have left to ride, but it’s OK, because Strava will sort it out when I get back.
The Candovers. Southrope. Herriard. And still the Garmin comes back to life in short bursts. Maybe I’ll get ALL of this data back after all? Weston Patrick, Upton Grey, Odiham. All is quiet save for some Friday night drinkers at pubs in the town, and the Kebab van at the roundabout. It’s 2300 hours. Not far now, we’ve got this one cracked! Then it finally happens. The battery in the Garmin is so low that it cannot get beyond the initial start-up screen. Scarily it’s just looping round between blank, and the initial screen. I’m just short of Winchfield at this point, only 8 miles short of home. I’m also thinking that I’ve pushed my luck too far, and all the ride data will be gone too.
Ho-hum. That’s not what this is all about really. It’s been a really nice day out on the bike, I’ve ridden 148 miles with no mechanicals, no punctures, no cramps, nor any aches or pains. This truly has been a good day. So with no more tech to worry about, I set about putting the hammer down a little, and just enjoyed the silence of the night. Until Fleet, anyway. I dodged the town centre, with it’s associated drunks and crazy taxi drivers, and set a course for home. A few minutes later, and having passed the temptation of yet another Kebab van (Marmaris Kebabs at the Fleet Road roundabout – they’re really rather good) I arrived home without further drama.
I’ve got to say that I’ve felt a lot worse after shorter rides than this. I certainly felt that I could have tacked another 50 miles onto this one if I’d left myself enough time by leaving earlier. The weather was pretty much perfect too, and I’d dressed just right for it. I’d put my base layer back on in Lyndhurst, switched to full finger gloves, and resorted to a windproof packable jacket a little later, but only at the very end was I feeling a little chilly. I even had a few cereal bars and half of a very squashed peanut butter sandwich left, along with a full bottle.
Not bad at all for a long old ride that had only been conceived as an idea a little over 24 hours earlier. Proper planning and preparation? Phooey! Just get on your bike and ride…
The story of the day…
LA MARMOTTE PYRÉNÉES: DAVE BATTLES THE TOURMALET…TWICE
|Spin back to town||19.7||31.7||1:16:05||1,711||521||685|
Flickr Photo Gallery
The story of the day…
RIDELONDON CALLING… CAN THE CYCLING CENTURION BEAT LAST YEAR’S TIME?
This ride is organised by Open Cycling who advertise this event as “a stunning 150 mile road ride from the mountainous Western Lake District, through the Yorkshire Dales, across the flat Vale of York and finally the Northern Valleys of the North York Moors, finishing by the sea in Whitby. What better way to tick off this iconic cycle than by doing it in one day?”
From when Alan first mentioned this ride to me in early 2016 I really wanted to “tick it off”! It’s a popular ride and books up early, so as soon as 2017 registration opened Alan said he would register us both. He went a step further; “I’ve registered a 16-man team! I’m sure between the Fat Bellies and Nomads we can fill the places”. It was in my calendar!
Alan’s also done the Tour of Wessex before and was keen to do it again, so we booked that as well. The Tour of Wessex is the biggest multi stage cyclosportive in the UK. The challenge of riding 324 miles in 3 days back to back was another challenge I was well up for.
Approaching the end of 2016 I started thinking of personal challenges for 2017. I decided I wanted to ride at least one century ride in every month of 2017. I didn’t realise until close to the C2C event what fantastic preparation the century rides and ToW would prove to be.
The C2C is advertised as 150 miles with 4,500 metres (14,763 feet) climbing. My Garmin actually finished the day on 148.3 miles, 11,693 feet. Anyway, my longest ride ever and most climbing as well in a single ride. It just trumped the Dragon Ride, which I’ve done twice. That ride clocked 142.3 miles, 11,631 feet. C2C is tougher because the climbs are steeper.
We set off from Ditchling Village Hall about 10am Friday morning; one mini-bus full of Fat Bellies & Nomads and one van full of bikes. I knew the journey would be long but nine hours was longer than I imagined. We really didn’t need the van driver to lock the keys in the ignition at Warwick services. Thankfully the AA were close-by and the van was back on the road in no time.
We arrived, registered, shoved down some pasta bolognaise and headed for the nearby pub for a couple of much needed pints. We stayed at Wasdale YHA, 14 guys in one dormitory, with a generous three feet between bunk beds. It was the worst night’s sleep of my life before the longest ride of my life!
Early next morning, we ate porridge and toast at the church hall courtesy of the Women’s Institute and then made our way to the start, which was literally on the beach! This is June, this is the Lake District…..it was freezing!
We discussed the four groups we were going to ride in with myself, Ian and Yuriy forming Group two. We were the first through the start after Brian, so we immediately cracked on.
The first 12 miles were relatively flat and we had a good pace on. The Group one boys caught us after a couple of miles but we managed to hang with these guys more or less to the ferry at Windermere. This was at 29 miles.
What happened between miles 12 and 29 was brutal… HARDKNOCK PASS & WRYNOSE PASS… arguably the hardest two cycle climbs in the land. Corners and switchbacks at 25% and 30%, if you can get up Hardknock, you can get up anything. I didn’t! Gutted, I got so close but got off for twenty yards before getting on again. As consolation, I was fifth quickest up there in our group of 15. The descent is tough as well, ridiculously steep, I was on the brakes the whole way down.
You barely get your breath back when you get to Wrynose and at 2.5km, 278m height gain, it is comparative to Hardknock, but a little easier with maximum gradient of only 25%!
From the ferry, at 29 miles, to Hardraw Feed Station two at 64 miles there were four more significant climbs after Wrynose. The temperature had also dropped, it was cold and drizzly. The soup was very welcome but with a lot of climbing in the legs already we were still facing a tough five to six hours ahead.
Hardraw 64 miles Elapsed time: 3:34hrs.
After what had preceded, the next 25 miles to feed station three were relatively flat and we managed to work well as a team. Our average speed between feed stations two and three was 19.6mph. It was at Tunstall when I began to run low on electrolyte drink and gels. Although the feed stations were well stocked with different foods at each station, there were no gels, energy drinks or energy bars.
Thankfully Clive, who was driving the mini-bus, had managed to navigate round Lake Windermere and was parked up and at Tunstall to meet us. He grabbed some energy drink powder for me and I was very thankful for that.
Tunstall 89 miles Elapsed time: 5:14hrs
The temperature had warmed up, our legs had recovered after the early climbs and I said to Ian at 90 miles that I felt better than I had at Hardraw (64 miles).
Queue Yuriy time. The terrain remained fairly flat again, until Feedstation 3 at 122 miles, and Yuriy turned into a machine spending most of the time on the front. Our average between feed stations three and four was 18.2mph.
The Feedstation was great; full fat Coke, coffee, quiche and pork pie. We were there for ages! This cost us a lot of chip time but it was worth it!
Ingleby Greenhow 122 miles Elapsed Time: 7:18hrs.
I felt good, recharged and ready for the climbing across the North Yorkshire Moors. We knew this would be tough and certainly not flat. There were six significant climbs in the last 28 miles, none to compare with Hardknott; much shorter but still with some ridiculously sharp gradients.
We’d been warned about a very steep, but relatively short climb (0.26 miles) at Glaisdale, which I came to learn is Limber Hill. I was ready for it and ignoring the 33% gradient road sign, already in the lowest gear, decided “to smash it” to the top which I pretty much did. I like this screenshot although Jason was probably in the big chainring smoking a cigar!
The last four miles into Whitby were all flat or downhill, so this was Ian time, leading the sprint to the finish on the sea front. The sun was out now and there were lots of people cheering us in. Passing the finish line was a great feeling!
The Finish 148.3 miles, 11,693 feet, average speed 17.4mph, moving time 8:32:14, elapsed time 10:08:19.
A great ride and if you haven’t done it then sign up now for 2018.
What if this trip was thought of in stages of “what if?”?
What if the bike van was able to be unlocked when the key was deadlocked inside half way to Seascale?
What if I had had 5 pints of beer instead of 4 the night before?
What if we’d all had more than 3 hours sleep?
What if I’d had porridge instead of that bacon roll for breakfast?
What if I’d actually started the same time as everyone else?
What if I’d taken the KOM on Fobbles?
What if I had remembered to set the auto-pause on my Garmin?
What if I’d known when Hardknott Pass finished and waited for the others instead of carrying on to the Windermere Ferry?
What if Ross had his split time recorded at the ferry to get his bonus time taken off?
What if I’d managed to have a quick Tom Domoulin before the ferry crossing instead of waiting till Whitby?
What if I’d had just 5 ham baguettes at Kendal instead of 6?
What if we had a nutrition plan other than eat everything you can as often as possible?
What if Ross’ heartrate didn’t drop between the first 2 feed stations?
What if I hadn’t forced Ross to eat a banana?
What if the all the feed stations hadn’t cut all the bananas in half?
What if the second feed station wasn’t so busy?
What if I hadn’t ramped up the pace to the third feed station?
What if I’d continued to eat 6 baguettes at each feed stop instead of 2?
What if Ross hadn’t eaten fistfuls of everything?
What if Kev didn’t start singing?
What if Gary hadn’t taken 2 successive turns on the front of the group?
What if Gary didn’t get covered in lube?
What if the fourth feed stop didn’t have lemon squash?
What if Kev didn’t give me extra squash?
What if I didn’t eat 20 millionaire shortbreads at the fourth feed stop?
What if Ross hadn’t stolen the uncut bananas?
What if Ross hadn’t started to pull away towards the end?
What if I hadn’t double-bluffed on the antepenultimate climb and sprinted 5 yards to distance Ross?
What if Gary had told us about Limber Hill?
What if I hadn’t been able to keep the margin till the end?
What if I hadn’t been caught in traffic?
What if I hadn’t almost been run over 400 metres from the finish?
What if we hadn’t been talked into starting it all in the first place?
What if this was just one of the best experiences with great friends?