Reset

Since I ended up being completely useless last year, there will be no new blog for 2011, this one will have to continue.

Last years unmet targets will become this years targets, with a couple added/changed for good measure.

It has been 4 months (and more) since my last blog entry, and I will have to concentrate on making the time and not letting real life get in the way. The final holiday updates (for my benefit so I can actually remember it in my dotage) will be on the way soon, but first a review of 2010.

"Could do better". I remember seeing that on more than a few school report, and it rings true now.
9:00 on the Etape du Dales - Fail. Reset for 2011
Time trial targets - not attempted, but the Tour de Mercredi will be trialling this year
LeJoG - Success. Lets NOT do that again this year
Climb Alpe D'Huez in 90 minutes. Been there, done that. Lets try it again but in 75 minutes this time.
5000 miles. Fail. Only did 4500. Going for 5000 again this year.
Weight loss. Ahem. Well. Yes. Lets try again in 2011, shall we?
Added targets - 25 commutes to & from work. Doesn't sound much, but it is 40 miles each way.

So, New Year, New(ish) Targets. I am currently just ahead of the curve 48 miles in 3 days including my first real road ride for weeks today. Feeling better already. Next ride the Poor Student Audax on Saturday. 206km then should put me well on schedule.

Onwards and, most probably, upwards.

Going downhill.....fast(ish)

There was no time to stop on the time trial to take photographs, so here's a photo-panorama created from 5 photos taken between bends 9 and 8 on a subsequent ascent of Alpe D'Huez) of which more later)

Hopefully this gives some idea of what this climb is like overall, but there really is no substitute for being there.

The descent starts immediately you crest the small hill in Vieil Huez, and freewheel out of town, on a lane dedicated entirely to bikes. Cars have to take a one way system and emerge lower down. Despite the fact that I descended on the hoods all the way down, the stretch to the first bend still saw 60+kmh despite braking often and early. My descending is still hesitant, and although I remembered the 'advice' and reading about how to handle the hairpins, it wasn't until lower down the mountain that I started to feel remotely confident. There is a big difference between Etape descending, and descending on open roads where you have to share with cars coming up.

The first thing you notice going down is that even between the hairpins, this road is far from straight. Even kinks in the road can throw you over the centre line when reaching speeds of over 70kmh. My record on this descent, despite deliberately being careful, was 71.6kmh between bends 17 and 18. In fact, the gradient steepens about 100 metres before 18, and I almost overcooked it both times I descended this mountain. not really advisable on a hairpin bend with only a 2 foot wall separating the road from 500 feet of fresh air.

Secondly, it becomes painfully obvious that a climb that can take 85 minutes to get up, is over in just 19 minutes going the other way. This was a source of constant surprise all week, particularly as our campsite was in the bottom of the valley, and all rides started off going pretty much uphill.

30 years in the waiting

"La Montee Mythique." That's how Alpe D'Huez is billed around Bourg D'Oisans, "the mythical climb". Whether a stage that has featured in Le Tour on less than 30 occasions can be called 'mythical' may be debatable, but once you're onto the mountain the burden of your own expectations weighs heavy upon your shoulders. It feels even heavier given that the first four hairpins are the steepest section, and the granny gear has been in operation since the first 200 metres of the climb.

In my first teenage exposure to the Tour de France on, I believe, a weekly catch-up 30 minute slot on Saturday afternoon (I recall not whether it was Grandstand or World of Sport) I was astonished, not only by the speed with which riders ascended these monstrous mountains, but also by the fervour of the gathered supporters and the epic nature of the landscape. Standing out amongst these was the tangle of tarmac spaghetti up L'Alpe D'Huez with its 21 numbered hairpins. And it always seemed to be won by Dutchmen, Joop Zoetemelk in 1976, and Hennie Kuiper the following 2 years. It's still referred to in some circles as 'the dutch mountain' and rumoured that the local population in the summer months is 60% dutch. I can't vouch for the numbers, but I suspect there may be some truth in them.

To add to the mystique, each of the 21 'virages' has a plate containing the bend number, current altitude, and the name of past winners up the Alpe. Even the very first bend piles on the expectation. There it is, the name of the first Alpe D'Huez winner (earlier than I had known) Fausto Coppi in 1952. Of course, when the tour had been up the mountain more than 21 times, they had to start doubling up from the bottom, so Mr Coppi is joined by the name of the 2001 winner, one Lance Armstrong. These are still the only Alpe D'Huez winners to claim the yellow jersey whilst winning on the Alpe, and keep it all the way to Paris. Their names peer out from behind the branches partly covering the plaque on the first bend as if to say "What have you got, then?" No pressure.

20, 19 and 18 come quickly, Mayo, Armstrong (again) and Schleck joining the Dutch on these bends. After a sharp kick to 17, La Garde is reached at 16 and a turn off to a truly stunning road, the D211a to Les Balcons D'Auris, but more of that later. From 16 to 13 the gradient slackens slightly, but kicks up again to the tight bend at 12. Legs already tired are now starting to feel worryingly empty, but at least the early morning rain has subsided and sunshine is threatened.

For the first time after 12, glimpses of the road both higher and lower can be seen, and the valley floor and Bourg D'Oisans can be seen, ever smaller. Rushing water punctuates the silent suffering, though the falls are often heard and seldom seen, save for the river of water running headlong downhill in the gutter to your right. Barriers lean outward, little to support them from disappearing down the mountain. And then the church at Huez appears, and the ravines and rocks are replaced by gentler slopes and meadows. The apartments of Alpe D'Huez tower above, perched on the very edge of the top of the slope. Can we really still have to go up there?

7 becomes 6, "Gianni Bugno" on both corners. Griffephotos are taking pictures of human suffering at 5, and still the gradient continues. This mountain is unusual. Over its 13km of climb, there is not one bit of downhill, save for the last few metres in Vieil Huez itself. The left hand bend at 4 disappears and after a brief drag, so does most of the gradient. Changing UP for the first time since the bottom, confusion reigns as cyclists are 'advised' to turn right. We are not, we are to follow the 'classic tour de france' ascent. 3 and 2 pass as Marco Pantani appears for the first time on the corners. More photographers assault any remaining dignity at bend 2.

From Bend 1, the road to Alpe D'Huez climbs dead straight into the town. No sprint can be mustered, the cycle computer is playing up and time and distance are by now unreliable. Suddenly, there is no more uphill. Stand on the pedals, 'sprint' and be directed right to the 'finish'. Only after returning the chip do I notice the finish banner, the timing car, and the already successful participants. I am up the Alpe in 1:24:55, ahead of my target time, fragile physically and already in bits mentally. Apparently grown men regularly burst into floods of tears at this point. I didn't.....................but it was close, real close.

LeJoG - The Aftermath

As we were leaving the hostel, about two dozen keen young things both male and female were decamping for John O'Groats, and a 12 day ride to Lands End. I hadn't the heart to tell them that the tailwind we had would be a headwind for them, though I guess that by the end of the first three days, they would have known.

Gale force winds blew from the South and South West, and torrential rain hit Scotland over the next few days. My parents-in-law did a week long trip round the North Coast, and were treated to just 3 hours of sunshine.

Despite the meticulous planning, and this event needs such an up-front commitment, the best laid plans are still subject to the vagaries of the British weather, particularly in the more northerly climes. We got lucky. Without such luck, I cannot say whether we would have finished, though I suspect we would have made it, but in far worse condition.

Even 4 weeks after the event, two of the five points of the Human-Bicycle-Interface have not recovered, my hands are still numb. As the main point of contact becomes worse, increasing pressure is put on the hands and feet to be able to continue, leaving those suffering too by the end.

Would I do it again? Yes, but not in the sub-5 day timetable, I would want to repeat over 14 days, to take the time to enjoy and photograph the diversity of the British Countryside, and to visit some of the fascinating places and people en-route, to converse with fellow riders, to take the time to enjoy the feed stops, and to relax each evening in the knowledge of a ride well ridden.

Sub 5 is a test. A test I am glad to say I rose to. In the end, the legs were great, they gave me no trouble and got stronger each day (perhaps excluding Day 3). The biggest problem on such a ride is keeping going when your body has had enough, particularly late at night. I read in a marathon/triathlon publication "Being Fit is Easy. It's being Hard that's hard". Never a truer word was spoken. Most failures on something like LeJoG will happen in people's minds long before their bodies let them down. We were much too stubborn for that.

So have I had enough of cycling yet? Hell no, we're off to the French Alps tomorrow for a 'family holiday' and given that our bikes are part of the family, they're coming too. There's the little matter of the Alpe D'Huez Time Trial on Thursday. Watch out for that Twitter feed!

LeJoG Day 5 - Proof

If proof were needed, the photgraphs below show us at the finish. Contrast these with the day 0 photos to get some idea of what this ride will do to you. We haven't really aged 10 years in just 6 day, honest!

Victorious!

But

totally

shattered

Definitely

elderly

The last

of the

good

weather!

LeJoG Day 5 - The Race Against The Race Against Time

There are few things better than a comfy bed at 2:30 a.m., and few things worse when you have to get out of it 6 hours later. Nevertheless, we made it up and out, sparing the breakfast diners the aroma of long distance cyclist, instead stopping in the shadow of the Kessock Bridge for roadside Bacon Butties and Tattie Scones. Overnight Ray had been visited by the puncture fairy, but with that and my chain deshipping on a climb the previous night, these were the only true mechanicals we suffered on the whole ride.

Suitably carbed-up, we headed over the bridge and onto Black Isle. Up and up the cycle path dragged until we rejoined the A9 at Tore. At the top of the next climb, a huge Red Kite wheeled overhead, waiting to feast upon the remains of fallen cyclist. I reckon it was big enough to carry Ray off whole. Our avian appreciation was interrupted by a rhythmic beeping from behind, and a support van emblazoned with "Caution Cyclists" came past. They stopped a bit further on, decamped hurriedly, and offered us any support we required. At this point, we declined politely and carried on.

Down the hill, over the Firth and approaching the A9 roundabout, it was all we could do to avoid being blown across the road. We could see the trees on the shore being bent well over by the wind, and as we turned at the roundabout it was as if someone was just giving us a mighty push. The impromptu food stop near Alness (8km further on) was reached at an average of 29kmh in little effort. Once going again,the 30kmh speed was maintained along the coast road, until 'the plastic bag' appeared. I could see a carrier bag (from a well known supermarket) making good progress in the 20+mph winds, and kept an eye as I overtook it. As the road edged upwards, I took advantage of the following wind, and wound up the effort, fairly flying up the gradient. I looked over my shoulder at the top to give Ray a grin.........but there was no Ray. I pulled over and waited. No Ray. I waited more. Still no Ray until, finally, a small figure going balls-out rounded the corner and came flying up the drag. "Did you see that plastic bag?" he exclaimed. "The bloody thing blew across the road and wrapped itself into my rear mech and cassette!"

Once we got going again, the support van reappeared, and this time we stopped and took them up on their kind offer of water and cake. It turns out that they were the Bishop Simeon Fund Race Against Time, who had set off from Lands End on the previous Saturday on a 6.5 day timetable. All their riders were wearing the same kit, and they had taken the A38 through Somerset & Gloucestershire. We had, it seemed, caught up with the 'opposition' we had been told about on the first two days. And very nice people they were too. It wasn't just them and us on the road either, LeJoGers were out in force, strung along the A9 at varying intervals.

Just before our next stop at Durnoch, a solidly built rider shot past with a shout of "Keep going, we're nearly there". Closer inspection of his bike revealed a solitary water bottle, and a saddlebag the size of a mouse's scrotum. Clearly they had the benefit of being supported. His first mate shot past in hot pursuit and the third rider, with whom Ray had been talking, ground past telling me "You're bloody barmy!" Apparently, they were on a two week, supported LeJoG. A bit different to our own, 'nearly there' meant Helmsdale, they weren't even going all the way to John O'Groats that night. By the time we arrived in Helmsdale it was 14:40 and we were only an hour and a half down on time. Nonetheless, the sun was much hotter than we expected at those latitudes, and a 45 minute rest was taken. This was, in part, due to the fact that I knew what was coming.

The climb out of Helmsdale is a belter, almost 7km of varying gradient, all uphill. In another ride, I must find the opportunity to descend this excellent piece of new tarmac. After this climb, there is a bimble along the top of the hills and then a terrifying plummet into Berriedale Braes. This is one where the gradient exceeds my bottle, and I was on the brakes much of the way down, still managing to top 60kmh. What goes down at 17% also goes up at the same gradient, and with a 7kg Carradice and over 1300km in the legs is a real test. A test I passed, crawling up in the granny gear to rejoin Ray near the Llama farm at the top. Llamas in Scotland, whatever next? Latheronwheel and Latheron are both in possession of further hills but after that the climbing petered out towards Wick, where we arrived at 18:20, some 17 miles behind our original timetable.

The sun was still blisteringly hot even at this point of the day. I use the term 'blisteringly' since a look at my front tyre revealed an ominous bulge in the tyrewall, and a rock hard tyre. Evidently the sun was warming them thoroughly because I hadn't taken a pump near them in the last 1400km. I hadn't the energy to replace the tyre with the spare I carry for such emergencies, instead just letting some air out and continuing carefully.

North of Wick, there isn't much, and the last 17 miles were largely quiet and isolated. The support van rocketed past up the final climb before JoG, indicating we weren't far in front of the Race Against Time riders. Cresting the top, further land could be seen, when all we expected was sea. As we reached the true hilltop, this could be seen to be Stroma and the rest of the Orkneys, which I hadn't realised were so close to the mainland. We freewheeled the last 3 km down into John O'Groats, arriving at 19:59, just before the souvenir shop closed, thus providing us with proof of finishing.

The Race Against Time guys came over and congratulated us, though I fear I was not as welcoming or attentive of their congratulation as I should have been. By this point, my brain was already shutting down, having decided we had finished. And so we had. Whilst at Garstang, I had phoned my brother-in-law and he had agreed to pick us up and drive us to our overnight stop in Thurso, thus obviating the need for a 30km ride after the 'finish'. Whilst the scenery is stunning, I think that to have to have cycled it in those circumstances would have been purgatory. Some 20 minutes after we finished, the RAT guys arrived, line abreast, to take their well deserved applause, ours included.

Once in Thurso, at the welcoming, if basic, Sandra's Backpackers Hostel, we quickly showered, changed and went out in search of beer and whisky. This was found in a local Hotel, who surprised us by calling last orders half way through the second pint. We were shocked to see that it was nearly 11p.m. despite the fact it was still light outside. A well-hot Kung Po Chicken followed before the last of energy left us. Ray informs me that I set a new record in his experience. 30 seconds between upright and conversational to horizontal and snoring. Result. We were both fast asleep for 9 hours. Perhaps we might have been just a bit tired?

Day 5 - 202km with 2308 metres of climb in 13 hours and 5 minutes.

Overall Stats -
1415km ridden
18024 metres of climbing
67 hours on the bike (moving average 21.2kmh)
25 hours holed up in Hotels
15 hours feeding our faces and hiding from the sun.
2 hours waiting for traffic lights and at junctions
1 shredded Human-Bicycle-Interface

Final elapsed time 4 days, 13 hours and 47 minutes.

LeJoG Day 4 - Lumps and Bumps

Peering out of the hotel window, two things were immediately apparent. Firstly that we would have a tailwind again, second that it was monsoon season in Edinburgh. We got kitted up for adverse weather, and escaped the hotel at 9:00, getting properly on the road twenty minutes later after the obligatory garage sandwich breakfast.

It has to be said that the first few miles through the outskirts of Edinburgh were remarkable for two reasons. The traffic was better behaved than I expected, and the road surfaces were the worst we would encounter all week. GPS again performed admirably, finding the cyclepath to take us traffic-free most of the way out of the city toward the Forth Bridges at South Queensferry. And very impressive they are too! The rail bridge is HUGE. You just don't get an impression of its true size from TV or photos.

Regrettably, we weren't impressed for long as we had to concentrate over South Queensferry's Paris-Roubaix style rain soaked cobbles. Once these were safely negotiated, we crossed the Forth and ground our way up into Inverkeithing in increasing rain. At the top of the hill we passed a bike shop where Ray recognised the name above the door. "Sandy Wallace's. I think they have one of Graham Obree's jerseys on the wall". We went to look. He was wrong, no Graham Obree jersey, but they did have:
1. Robert Millars 1984 KOTM PolkaDot
2. A Tom Boonen Green Jersey
3. An Eddy Merckx TdF jersey
4. Nicole Cooke's World Champion Jersey
all signed and mounted on the wall.
Our stop was all too short and, touched by greatness, we ground off into the greyness that only a true Scottish morning can provide.

Cowdenbeath was hilly, Kinross and Loch Leven pleasant and the eventual descent into Glen Farg an absolute ripper. We reached Bridge of Earn in need of food, and found the first of the day's two bakery stops. I'm now developing withdrawal symptoms from Bridies, a pastry, pasty-type concoction that is just what the tired cyclist needs. Keeping the stop short, we passed through Perth, past Scone and the Meikleour Beech Hedge to Blairgowrie, for the first official stop 97km into the day. By now it was 2:50, we were still 3 hours late, with mountains in front and a distinct sense of discomfort beneath.

The first section of the next leg was almost universally uphill as we headed up and over Glen Shee then downhill for Braemar. I was left by Ray on the climb, telling him to meet me at the top. When I got there, there was no Ray. On the basis that is was howling with wind, and really cold, I judged he'd carried on but, 4km down the climb there was still no sign of him. His phone went unanswered, and I eventually resorted to stopping one of the rare cars on this road, who confirmed he was further down. Reunited, we rolled into Braemar at 18:05 having made up over half an hour on the hilly section.

Cue fabulous Scottish hospitality. Once the lady in charge of the Hungry Highlander learned what we were up to, no protestations of ours would shift her view. We were having a full fish supper, and on the house! "We have the best fish in Scotland" said she. I'm no fish eater, but I finished mine, and if it wasn't the best in Scotland, then the best must be very good indeed. 45 minutes later, to the days first rays of sunshine, we were on our way again, heading towards the Cairngorm Snow Roads. The locals were mighty amused by this, giving us knowing smiles.

And did they ever know. When we turned for Tomintoul in Balmoral, the climbing began. And kept going. I made it up the first 20% ramp, and the hill that followed. As we crested the very top of this hill we were joined by two motorbikes on the descent who sat behind us as we descended, topping 48mph on the way down. Both riders popped their visors at the bottom and gave us a big thumbs up for leaving the brakes alone as much as possible. It was largely possible due to the improved road surface. I wonder if the fact that it was part of the (Crown owned) Glenlivet estate had anything to do with that?

Passing Corgarff Castle standing alone and isolated on the moor, we arrived at Cock Bridge to be presented with a wall of tarmac known as the Lecht. Seeing the 20% sign and the road snaking upward out of sight, I had a sense of humour failure and got off to walk. I did eventually remount, and we got to the top in time to enjoy the descent in the almost-daylight. Even after the Lecht, the climbing seemed never ending, and it was 21:45 before we arrived in Grantown on Spey, having clawed back another 54 minutes. At this point we found out that the Travelodge was overbooked, and we had been bumped into another Inverness Hotel which we then had to find in the wee small hours.

Given the propensity for the pride of Grantown's youth to be out on the street on a Thursday night, we didn't hang about long and were soon 'enjoying' the pitch black descents towards Nairn and Inverness. Midnight came, so did the customary energy failure. This was probably the worst I felt all ride. No energy and no chance of eating, the stomach wouldn't allow it. Still, at 1:40 we arrived in Inverness, but had no idea where the road we were looking for was. Then, the moment of genius. It was 1:30 on Friday morning. The clubs (if there were any) would be chucking out soon. There were bound to be taxis. There were, and a kind gentleman pointed us on our way.

We found our Hotel, the Beaufort on Culduthel Street shortly after, and were met by a gentleman who had stayed up especially to welcome us. The service we got here was brilliant. Bikes were safely stored out of the way, and we were shown up to our 3 star room. Excellent. A pity we weren't in a better state to enjoy it. One more day. 202km to go. If the suffering Human-Bicycle-Interface could take it, we were going to make it.

Day 4 - 280km with 4,325 metres of climbing in 16 hours and 50 minutes. Average speed from Lands End 21.6kmh.