2015: What now?
2015 has drawn to a close and has provided plenty of memorable moments to enjoy, savour and celebrate. Perhaps the most notable has been yet another cracking year for Brit riders in the pro peloton, as Chris Froome won a deserved second Grand Tour, the first Brit to win two Tours de France. And Geraint Thomas has come of age in a sparkling year, topping his sterling support for Froomey in the Tour with wins of his own in E3 Harelbeke and the Volta ao Algarve. With Lizzie Armitstead winning the UCI World Championship race and the UCI World Cup series, there as been plenty to cheer.
On a personal note my cycling has been varied through 2015 with plenty to look back on - trips to the Pyrenees and Dolomites with my Pyractif friends, a week in Mallorca in the April sunshine with Helen and some hire bikes, and another week in central France with our bikes, a tent and a few cheeky beers.
And lots more besides, but no spoilers!
So, here is the 2015 story. Read on and see how the year unfolded below.
December 31st 2015: It's a wrap
Well, what a dramatic finale to the year as storms have ravaged the northern part of the UK with devastating effect. Cumbria has suffered particularly with three episodes coming in quick succession. I have to say, cycling takes a back seat when faced with the sort of hardships that many have been subjected to this Christmas. Despite this there were opportunities to ride and in the end I found myself creeping ever closer to last year's record distance to the point that on Christmas Day itself, Helen and I were out trying out her new bike, and I ticked over that previous best and set a new record (for me). I confess that in comparison to Steven Abraham's efforts my cycling is thorougly modest, but satisfying all the same. Once again, the Strava anorak in me meant that I managed to complete every month's Gran Fondo challenge, another moment of personal satisfaction. Say what you will about Strava and its impact on the cycling community, but it does encourage people to get out and ride and that has to be a good thing.
For Helen, this has also been a record-breaking year as she too has clocked up more kilometers than ever, and she even now has almost as many bikes as me! Our ride from Newcastle to Edinburgh is a real standout as she was definitely challenged by the distances and time spent in the saddle over the three days. And the week in Mallorca was a real highlight with some great weather, great scenery and, not least, good cake! Yeah, all in all it hasn't been a bad year on the bikes.
Totals for December
Distance ridden: 761km
Total ascent: 6856m
Total Figures for 2015
Distance ridden: 12,476km
Total ascent: 139,087m
Best rides: From a personal perspective I have to say the most satisfying rides of 2015 have been the Cheshire Cycleway epic in September, a truly memorable and challenging day on my bike which also netted a sizeable amount of sponsorship for a national vision charity, together with the ride through the night with Paul from Cumbria to Edinburgh, another 200km+ epic battling some weather and trying conditions. And from the purely pleasuable point of view riding the Coast and Castles route to Edinburgh with Helen back in May was a truly splendid experience for both of us.
December 26th 2015: Christmas cheer
Christmas has come to pass, we have some time off work and the rains keep coming. I know it's been a familiar moan over the last few weeks (or should that be months?) but surely, surely we must see an end to this rain sometime soon. As news hits of terrible floods across Lancahsire and Yorkshire following hot on the heels of flooding here in Cumbria for the third time in less than a month, a canoe might be more useful than a bike at the moment. Unable to get out of our road as floodwater stands across the adjacent main road in both directions, we are left thinking about what 2016 might bring.
It's not all been bad. Santa brought Helen a new bike for Christmas and, despite everything, we did manage to get out for a couple of hours on Christmas Day before the rains arrived, much to Helen's obvious delight. The bike is a lightweight touring bike, aimed at our prospective planned trips to ride the Danube Cycleway and round Denmark, something for the future. In the meantime, I feel sure it will get plenty of exercise as her new favourite bike. And on top of that, I have managed a handful of outings in between the bouts of rain, including an enjoyable ride out with Calum and the boys last Wednesday, a bit like the old days as we rolled back the years and did a surrogate Club Run down to the fringes of the Lakes. Plenty of banter, the usual plethora of hills (they seem to save them for me!) and a fine lunch stop near Penruddock where the chocolate brownie was top notch. All this has served to enable me on Christmas Day to reach the unlikely target of exceeding last year's record total distance ridden in the year, and still a week to go!
December 11th 2015: Find cake while the sun shines
Unbelievably, especially after the weather we've endured over the last week, the sun shone today, well in Cheshire at least. And it was my day off. It really would have been rude not to. So, I rang Pete and we agreed that a cake run was long overdue. After a leisurely breakfast, I rolled out on my trusty titanium steed to meet up with Pete and Sharon and we cruised our way through the leafless lanes of Cheshire (it is winter now) bound for Tatton Park. Here the red deer were idly chewing at the roadside as we rode by, unphased by our presence. A heron battled into the breeze. It was a pleasant tailwind which helped us all the way to our café stop in the park where they do serve up a mean variety of cakes. The difficulty is in choosing which to have, though I do err on the side of caution and invariably plump for the chocolate cake option. It was even pleasant enough at 8 degrees to sit outside and put the world to rights. The downside to all this was the cutting headwind we now faced on the ride back, but somehow in company it is never quite as bad. By the time I finally rolled back in just after sundown I had clocked up 112 rather enjoyable kilometers and felt suitably refreshed. We should do this more often. Thanks Pete, thanks Sharon.
December 4th 2015: Wet, windy and grim
This has probably been one of the worst Novembers on record. My solar panels have told me as much with the worst return over the last 5 weeks since they were installed. It has been woeful. When it hasn't been windy it's been raining, and when it hasn't been raining it's been windy. And the sun simply hasn't put in an appearance all month. Probably a good time to sprain my wrist then, which kept me off the bike for a couple of weeks in the middle of the month but I would have been hard pressed to ride anyway. Every ride has been followed by half an hour with a bucket and a sponge and yet still the bikes looked clarty. It is at times like this that thoughts meander and the idea of wintering abroad seem quite attractive. Probably I've surprised myself at managing a couple of metric century rides which have seemed hard work - I have now completely lost my summer fitness (if it can be called that) and struggle to maintain my normal average speed on these rides. The latest such ride, today, was another Strava Gran Fondo ride and that completes the set for 2015, one every month which some might think a bit anoraky but, as I've said before, it serves to motivate me to get out when perhaps otherwise I might choose not to. As with the others, it was a bit of a grind as I pedalled my way round the damp and dirty Cheshire lanes. I remind myself that this is winter after all, and it's really all about maintaining fitness through these dark months. Roll on Spring! Talking of which, the Mallorca gang have sorted out arrangements and we will indeed be heading for the Balearics next April, with the prospect of another crack at the Mallorca 312 to add some spice to the week. Now there is something to look forward to.
Totals for November
Distance ridden: 531km
Total ascent: 5085m
November 5th 2015: Falling into Winter
It's November and the year is nearly done. The clocks have reverted to Greenwich Mean Time once again and it's dark when I get out of work. It's that time of year again when cycling starts to wind down, the mudguards have been dusted down and the light batteries charged. Truth be told, I really don't like this time of year from a cycling perspective though it must be said the autumn colours have been spectacular and walking on the fells in the Lake District has been a joy. Despite all that, last weekend was so warm it was still like summer and, though we were away, the bike was (as you might expect) in the back of the car and I took the opportunity to explore the quiet lanes in deepest Hertfordshire as the sun shone and the wind abated. Whilst not quite like Cumbria, the landscape rolls gently with winding country roads in a pleasant rural lndscape - nice cycling country. Sadly, expecting the worst (it was the end of October after all) I only had winter gear with me and felt decidedly overdressed. No matter, it was lovely being out on roads I don't know enjoying the spectacle of buzzards and kestrels on the wing and deer in the woods as I rode gently by. It rather looks as if that really was the end of summer – the prospect for a ride tomorrow is rain and wind, normal service is resumed!
Thoughts have turned to next year and what 2016 might be able to offer. The 2016 Etape du Tour failed to excite me (I have been there and done it three times now and no longer feel the need to subject myself to the stress, certainly not on a route which failed to ignite my curiosity). Paul has said he will not be riding abroad next year, having just spent a large amount of money buying his first house, and the Mallorca boys trip looks increasingly unlikely to happen. Helen and I have mulled over a trip to south west Ireland and certainly that looks exciting, not a region I know but with plenty to offer I imagine in terms of scenery and challenges. I also like the idea of a return visit to both the Isle of Man and to Mull, both previous visits tickled our tastebuds for more. Yes, it seems to me that the next few weeks will see us mulling over a number of possibilities before making up minds. Watch this space.
Totals for October
Distance ridden: 1151km
Total ascent: 11109m
October 19th 2015: Boys on Tour in Yorkshire
The opportunity to get away for a “lads weekend” doesn't present itself very often, normally weekends are booked up so far ahead that I just can't get away. So when Mike asked whether I was free in the middle of October and I actually was I just had to say yes please. Mike had arranged a weekend riding over in North Yorkshire, renowned for its hills, and had booked rooms in a tidy little pub just outside Thirsk as our base for the two days. Our intrepid team numbered eight, and the opportunity to ride with them all was something to look forward to.
I picked Calum up at the unearthly hour of 7am, we chucked the bikes in the back of my car and before long we were gathering in Penrith station car park before the 2 hour drive across the Pennines to Thirsk (well, Sandhutton to be precise). As we headed east so the weather deteriorated and a dank drizzle dampened the mood. Mike had planned a decent foray into the heart of the North York Moors for day 1, the prospect of riding this in such weather was less than pleasing. As we assembled the bikes and made ready the drizzle continued to persist, but we are tough and we had come to ride. So, ride we did!
Mike's route took us east through the pleasant market (and race) town of Thirsk, from where we headed southeast to skirt round the escarpment of the Moors (and avoid the notorious Sutton Bank). Before long we were rolling into the little village of Kilburn and here we had a long conflab, discussing the merits of sticking to Mike's route or deviating to take in the challenge of White Horse Bank, one of Simon Warren's 100 Greatest UK climbs (no 56 actually). The latter won the day and we rolled gently up to the foot of the climb, enjoying the spectacle of the massive white horse carved into the steep hillside. The road took us straight up past it, not without drama it has to be said. The climb steepens quickly and, under the trees, the road was damp and greasy, with oil and mud making traction less than comfortable. Wheel spin on a 25% hairpin is disconcerting to say the least, but we hung on in there and finally emerged from the trees and onto the moorland where we enjoyed the spectacle of gliders taking off and landing at the airfield that bordered the road. Recovering, we were now able to enjoy a long gradual rolling descent to Helmsley and a very welcome coffee (and cake) stop in the square.
Suitably replenished we continued on the busy A170 heading east to Kirkbymoorside and a sharp left to take us onto the long climb up Blakey Road on to the Moors through the delightful village of Hutton le Hole. We had a stiff headwind to contend with but the early drizzle had now given way to clearing skies and sunshine which gave us some spectacular views of the deep dales here in the heart of the National Park. We finnaly emerged on the top of Blakey Ridge and continued north into that blessed headwind before dropping down to the small town of Castleton. Lunch beckoned and we found a Last of the Summer Wine café with a perfect menu for a group of hungry cyclists. Just what was required. At last we were now starting to head west again, and the elements were more in our favour, even if the gradients were less than forgiving. These North York Moors have a fearsome reputation and the relentless nature of the ups and downs was proving faithful to the reputation. Finally we dropped down north of the moors to Stokesley and a prolonged stretch on yet more A-road down toward Osmotherly. This was fast but not pleasant with heavy Saturday traffic flowing by. In the end we opted to cut off this road at Stainby and found yet another 20% bank to haul ourselves up before cruising down into Osmotherly for afternoon tea (well, coffee and cake anyway). At this point Calum's statement that it was downhill all the way back to Thirsk should be noted – it wasn't. In fact, the next stage was another steep haul up yet another bank onto the high moors, spectacular again in the late afternoon sunshine and there followed a lovely rolling road taking us south toward Hawnby. Leg strength sapping maybe, but glorious country nevertheless. At Hawnby the road plummets into a deep dale before the last 25% slog back up onto the moors. This was the last straw as my legs cramped under the pressure. Surely it must be downhill now. And it was – Boltby Bank is another of those Greatest UK climbs, but we were going down it and flew back to Thirsk, but not before enjoying a fantastic sunset from the edge of the moors looking west out over the Vale of York. A fabulous end to an epic 87 mile day on the bikes.
Sadly, the red sky at night proverb failed to live up to its reputation, Sunday morning dawned grey and dank, with drizzle in the air. Mike's original plan was a trip up into the northern Yorkshire Dales, but the consensus was that on a damp day this might not be fun. Instead, after some deliberation, Calum suggested a flatter ride following the Way of the Roses, a long distance trail which includes a stretch from Ripon to York, a “ride of two cities”. A hearty breakfast set us up for the day and as we drove through the ever increasing drizzle to Ripon it became obvious that this was the wiser plan. Our intrepid team set out in the rain from the city centre car park behind the cathedral, did a quick circuit of the city centre before finding the waymarked route and heading south. The Way of the Roses has the advantage of keeping away from main roads and meanders gently through the flat Yorkshire countryside, passing through villages and it treated us very gently. Riding over the ancient wooden-slatted toll bridge at Aldwark was followed by a detour into the grounds of Beningbrough Hall, all very Downton Abbey and a real picture with autumnal trees lining the estate roads. An enforced detour due to a bridge closure took us fleetingly onto the A19, not a pleasant experience, but normality was soon restored and soon we were approaching York, heading into the city along a cycle path by the river Ouse which delivered us right into the heart of the city. Time for lunch!
Leaving the city proved decidedly more tricky than arriving, as we sought a B road heading west. After some zig-zagging around we finally found our way and rode out across the vast fields of the Vale of York, bound for Marston Moor, scene of the famous battle of long ago. Strangely, it is not a moor, and it does seem odd that the future of our nation was decided in a large field in the middle of nowhere. I stopped to take in the mood of the place. As we continued north we found the route more undulating but in no way hilly as yesterday's ride had been. By now the rain had long since abated and, whilst hardly a nice day, it was pleasant enough for a Sunday ride. We cruised through the village of Roecliffe, and found a welcoming village pub where we could enjoy refreshments and watch the world go by. All that remained was a short hop back to Ripon and our weekend was done. A total of some 240 kilometers over the two days, it had been a great way to spend the weekend, a tribute to Mike's organisational skills. And a big thankyou is due to the lads (Mike, Steve, Calum, Peter, Graeme, Chris and Mark) for putting up with me and my frequent camera stops along the way. It was a shame the bike was covered in so much crap, it was going to take some serious cleaning when we got home.
October 2nd 2015: World Champs and other stories
September has slipped quietly by, we have enjoyed a fine end to the season with a classic edition of La Vuelta, a splendid race in the Tour of Britain and to top it all off some intriguing results at this year's Road World Championships in Richmond, Virginia. From a Brit perspective the Worlds lost some gloss when Mark Cavendish, Geraint Thomas and Chris Froome all pulled out leaving a gaping hole in Team GB's plans for the Men's Road Race. It was left to Lizzie Armitstead to rescue it for us by taking a deserved and surprising gold medal in the Elite Women's Road Race, following a decisive break on the last climb and then successfully outsprinting Anna van der Breggen. She was scarcely able to believe it herself, bursting into tears as she crossed the line. Stirring stuff. In the men's event it was left to Peter Sagan to light the blue touch paper by jumping away on the penultimate descent, demonstrating some wonderful bike handling skills in the process, and staying far enough ahead over the last climb to savour a first rainbow jersey. Coming at the end of a season of consistent but frustrating results it was great to see him take the victory. One hopes the curse of the rainbow jersey doesn't strike and he goes on to do the title justice in 2016.
We are now enjoying the chaos that is the close-season merrygoround as riders jump ship and swap jerseys in the hope of rejuvenating careers/enjoying a final swansong/developing their early promise (delete as appropriate depending on rider and teams involved). Some notable “transfers” involve Richie Porte, Mark Cavendish and Marcel Kittel amongst others. Once the shake-up has finished and the dust has settled it will be intriguing to see how these moves unfold next year.
Having recovered from my little ride round Cheshire, September threw up some wonderful late summer weather which made for some fine rides before the nights draw in. No training, simply heading out on a bike and enjoying the ride, the scenery and the wind on my cheeks. By the end of the month I had clocked up over 1300km, rather surprisingly, with some especially enjoyable forays out into the Lake District, and a thoroughly relaxing ride up the Mawddach estuary in mid Wales with Helen on her birthday weekend, finding the most splendid café in Dolgellau on the way. As the days grow shorter it is becoming increasingly difficult to get out after work and I feel resigned to fewer rides, hoping the weather plays ball on my days off. Already thoughts are turning to next summer and what might be on the agenda. Watch this space!
Totals for September
Distance ridden: 1305km
Total ascent: 14936m
September 10th 2015: Meeting the Tour of Britain
The Tour of Britain has become an established feature of the British cycling scene in recent years, since it's rebirth some 10 years ago it has grown in stature and attracts a strong international field. The 2015 edition has given us plenty of opportunity to see the peloton across the north of Britain and it would have been remiss of us not to take advantage of this. I confess that the day the route was announced I already had my holiday application in for stage 5, the summit finish on Hartside in Cumbria. It promised to be decisive in determining the outcome of the race. Ahead of that stage 1 passed within a whisker of Chester and Helen and I met up with Pete and Sharon, after the requisite coffee stop, we rode out to intercept the route about 10 miles from the Wrexham finish, on a remote stretch of road where a few like-minded souls had gathered. Here we waited. News reached us that a breakaway was managing to keep the peloton at bay, but we suspected this was unlikely to succeed and by the time they came past us amidst a cacophony of cars, motorbikes and cheering spectators, the small group had less than a minute on the main peloton. We didn't blink, but still they were gone in a flash, followed very shortly by a rampant bunch intent on hunting them down ahead of the anticipated bunch-sprint in Wrexham. We heard later that Sky's Viviani had pipped Mark Cavendish by a tyre's width on the line.
Cumbria played host to two stages, the first was a flattish day heading out from Cockermouth and north along the coast, through Carlisle and on into the borders. Another sprint finish was almost certain. Work commitments meant I could only savour the highlights on TV come the evening as they passed along roads so familiar to me on my Solway outings, including Allonby, Silloth, Abbeytown and Kirkbride. It all seemed a bit surreal to have the likes of Cav, Wiggo et al riding MY roads. The second Cumbrian stage, stage 5, featured the Tour's only summit finish, high on Hartside after a tough day heading over from Northumberland and into the Lakes before the final slog for glory. There was every chance that the Hartside climb would be the showdown that would give us the overall winner by the end of the day. And what a day it proved to be. The sun shone pretty much all day, it was warm and
relatively wind-free and the crowds were out in their thousands. I met up with some riding mates for a brew before heading out to intercept the race at Lazonby, north of Penrith. The race was due through here at about 1.30, and we had time to kill, soaking up the holiday atmosphere. The church had laid on a cake stall and were offering teas and coffees for donations, whilst the village school were cheering everything that moved. By now I had met up with Dave, John and Bickers, a veritable Mallorca reunion, and we exchanged stories of epic summer rides as we waited. Eventually the advance bikes and cars started to pass through and we watched the slick rolling road closure as it swept into town, all the while being cheered on by the school kids down the hill. And then the race was upon us, again a breakaway (this time with some 4 minutes on the peloton) followed by a rather more casual looking bunch who seemed almost disinterested. The camera clicked away and the crowd cheered their encouragement. It was all spectacular and quick, and they were gone, up the hill and away toward Ullswater and the Lake District. Now we needed to make a move as we were going to ride over and up up Hartside ahead of the pros, taking up a suitable position to watch as the race reached its conclusion. I confess to being disappointed at the lack of vocal encouragement as we rode our way up Hartside, the gathering crowds seemingly distinterested at our passage. By the time we reached the 2 km to go markers we could see the summit and the crowds massed there. Quite a sight. John and I stopped for the obligatory photo under the one-kilometer kite thanks to an obliging marshall, before making our way up into the crowds to try and find a suitable vantage point. And there, amongst the mayhem, was young Paul, easy to spot in his Pyractif cycling kit. Now we waited. The great thing about Hartside is that, from the final ramp to the summit, there is a clear view back down the upper reaches of the climb and we could see the riders as they approached. The excitement mounted, the TV helicopter got closer and closer and it soon became apparent that the race had splintered dramatically on this final climb. Sky were trying to set it up for Wouter Poels, but Edvald Boasson Hagan had other ideas and the two of them came round the final hairpin with the stage win seemingly belonging to Boasson Hagan. Poels, though, had other ideas and he dug deep to pass the Norwegian with just a couple of hundred meters to go, almost in front of us. It was dramatic stuff. And at the end of it all, Boasson Hagan had the race lead by a single second. It gave him the impetus to go on and win the Tour of Britain, the first rider to do so twice in its modern guise. Behind these two the splintered race came up in dribs and drabs, even the grupetto was split into several small groups. Everyone was cheering them on, pounding the boards and the atmosphere was amazing. And then they were done, the broom wagon passed us and the racing was done. A rush to catch the presentations was less dignified and, in the end, John and I opted to slip away and head back down Hartside, elated after a wonderful day out following the Tour of Britain. In Cumbria. Hope they come again soon.
September 4th 2015: The Cheshire Cycleway
A week or so ago I came across a work-related piece recounting the lack of sight care for vast numbers of people in the world. Many fellow cyclists had signed up to ride a sportive over in Yorkshire to help raise money and awareness for this cause. I confess that I do not consider sportive rides to be a personal challenge which I would be happy raising sponsor money on the back of, but I wanted to do my bit. Talking to Helen, I came up with the notion of riding the Cheshire Cycleway, a 282 kilometer Sustrans route round the entire county. More precisely, I would have a go at riding it in a single day - further than I have ever previously managed. We are all guilty of taking our sight for granted but there are many many people in the world who have no access to eyecare and are needlessly vision impaired or worse. Imagine how YOU would feel if you couldn't see the things around you. For me, this was an opportunity to try and do something, albeit on a small scale, to help some of those people.
The day dawned dry and promising reasonable weather, with no ran and light winds. Perfect. I rolled out from our home in Chester at just after 7am, raring to go. The original route is outlined in a booklet from some years ago, but this has now been extended and the first part of the route heads north out on to the Wirral before returning to track east across the county toward the Pennines. Route finding was always going to be an issue, though for much of the ride the Cheshire Cycleway route 70 roadsigns made it easier. The problem came when they weren't there, as happened a few times. After a couple of hours I had "done" the Wirral, however, and now headed into Delamere Forest and a rendezvous with Helen at the Delamere Station Café for some welcome cake and coffee, the first scheduled stop coming after about 65km. By now word was out on Facebook and I was buoyed by messages of support and even the odd offer of sponsorship.
The next stage continued east through Norley, Acton Bridge, Great Budworth and on toward Knutsford, where I did stray off the route requiring some corrections before reaching Prestbury and finally meeting Pete in Bollington, my next stop at a delightful delicatessen and coffee house (Liveseys), who made me feel very welcome. Just over 120km done, but the hardest very definitely still to come. What followed was a steep hard grind up onto the Pennine hills above Macclesfield, Cat & Fiddle country. This was undoubtedly the toughest part of the ride, and the most spectacular. The sun was in and out, and the visibility extended for miles. The heather on the moors was in full bloom which made for some gorgeous views. Having brought my camera with me, I spent some time stopping to capture the moments. It was worth it.
Back down on the Cheshire Plain, it was time to crack on as the clock was ticking. As the kilometers clicked by my energy levels were gradually waning, not helped by a long and unplanned detour into the outskirts of Crewe after missing some crucial signage. It took me half an hour or so to get back on track, by which time I was flagging. 200 kilometers done, still quite a few to go and I could feel the dreaded bonk closing in. My last scheduled stop was at the Wheatsheaf in No Man's Heath, where they plied me with soup and cheese and a cheeky beer as daylight began to fade. Helen told me that I was now well over my £300 sponsorship target which was great news, and I set myself for one last push. The final part of the route was on familiar roads, no problems with route-finding now which given impending darkness was probably a good thing. Suitaly refreshed I cracked on through the gloaming and into the night before, finally, rolling home at about 9.15pm, feeling both knackered and elated. 262 kilometers in the end, over 3100 metres of climbing and just over 11 hours ride time. It had been a proper adventure and all I needed now was a hot shower, a coffee and a bit of a lie down.
This whole venture was inspired by Optometry Giving Sight, a charity which aims to raise awareness and to provide much needed eyecare for thousands of people who do not have access to something we all have in this country. If you feel so inclined, you can help by donating using the link below. It really is a worthy cause.
August 31st 2015: Was that summer?
August has flown by, this despite some incredibly unseasonable weather, our week in the Dolomites being the exception of course, but that's a story told elsewhere. With no obvious goal in mind now, I have satisfied myself with a number of rides out into the Cumbrian countryside, enjoying the quiet lanes and the odd foray into the Lake District hills. Bank holiday weekend we were down in Shropshire, and my bike was handily placed in the back of the car for a couple of rides into the lumpy Shropsire hills - the roads over the Long Mynd round Church Streeton are particularly brutal!
In the meantime La Vuelta is underway with high hopes for a British success as Chris Froome attempts the impossible by trying to win both Tour and Vuelta in the same year, a tall order which has not been achieved for many a year. There is a strong field in what looks like an especially tough parcours with no less than 11 summit finishes. It may be that those who chose to skip the Tour will prove the stronger in such a race. It certainly won't be much fun for the sprinters! We shall see.
Totals for August
Distance ridden: 1229km
Total ascent: 20195m
August 9th 2015: Riding with Cav
Mark Cavendish's Rise Above Sportive was an obvious choice for us, taking place on our doorstep in Chester and heading out into the Welsh hills round Llangollen. A chance to ride with the legendary sprinter was too good to pass up, Paul and I registered our entry months ago even though it was taking place the day after our return from Italy. It also proved to be a chance to get together with an old university friend after some years living abroad, so lots to look forward to. Sadly the sign-on experience on Saturday evening was not great with huge queues, testament to the popularity of the event, persuading us to seek the comfort of a nearby coffee shop instead. Fortunately the organisation was much improved the following morning as Paul and I lined up with Pete and Elizabeth, ready for the roll out through the closed Chester cobbled streets. Cav himself was there to smile and wave encouragement, even shaking hands with Paul who has not washed since!
Some 1000 riders were heading out on the middle-distance 120km route, including the great man himself, though Cav wasn't setting off until nearly an hour after us. The question for us was just how far we could get before he passed us. The answer was surprisingly quite a long way. Early on there were large numbers of riders making it difficult at times on the narrow twisting country roads over the border, and the frustrating nature of many UK sportives where riders seem reluctant to work together meant that it was some time before we felt relaxed. By the time we were approaching Llangollen and he climb of the Horseshoe Pass the field had thinned somewhat and we hit the climb in bouyant mood. Paul was determined to do a PB and rode away from me immediately we hit the lower slopes, I concentrated on a steady rhythm and was gratified to find myself passing rider after rider on the long climb. The dry weather meant the views were spectacular and it was certainly an enjoyable ascent. Paul and I regrouped on the far side of the Pass, eschewing the feed at the summit (which was packed) and headed on toward Bwlch Penbarras, the brutal timed climb in the Clwyd hills above Ruthin. Once again Paul hit the climb at pace whilst I chose a more conservative approach. A third of the way up the road ramps up to some 25% and then rounds a fearsome hairpin, my strategy being to take this on foot (and pass many attempting to ride it in the process). As I took the hairpin on the steep inside none other than Cav himself, straining every sinew, rode past me hauling his bike up the Bwlch. Apparently Paul missed him as he waited for me in the feed on the other side, Cav opting not to stop. Reunited, Paul and I now tapped out a steady pace through the hills and back down toward Chester for the run-in and final sprint over the river Dee and up Lower Bridge Street, the crowd cheering us on as we finished with a flourish and queued up to collect our medals. A little while later, we met up with Pete and Elizabeth, whose first UK sportive this had been and shared our stories of riding with Cav over a welcome and well-earned pint. It had indeed been a good day out.
August 8th 2015: Dolly Mixtures
There is no doubt, the Dolomites is a tough playground. As we flew back from Venice today there was time to reflect on our week in these high mountains, spectacular in the extreme. It has been a thoroughly enjoyable week spent with friends, but boy do my legs feel tired. It probably goes down as the fewest miles ridden on a week away cycling, along with the most metres climbed. And that really sums up the Dolomites. There really is no flat, no respite from the relentless terrain where the roads basically either go up or down. And when they go up they are pretty damn tough. Going down, on the other hand, is a joy and goes some way to making the pain and suffering of the former worthwhile. In amongst all of this we had the chance to help Tim celebrate his coming of age as he nudged his way into his 51st year, quite a grand way to hold a party.
We were based in a pleasant hotel in Corvara for 5 nights, having transferred up into the mountains on a rather drab damp afternoon after flying into Venice and meeting up with faces both familiar and not so familiar. It was a big group, well over 20 in number, and I confess that even by the end of the week I didn't really get to know everyone there. With such diverse abilities there were opportunities to ride with a number of different riders and share stories and experiences, something which is always enjoyable and interesting. As we downed a glass or two with our first evening meal, Chris stood and gave us the motivational speech and encouraged use to avoid the dreaded faff which is the curse of all things efficient. Those of us who have heard this before smiled quietly to ourselves and allowed ourselves a knowing look.
Sunday morning dawned wet and miserable and things looked pretty grim for our first ride of the week, a short 55km cruise round the Sella Ronda, possibly one of the most spectacular short rides in the world. The forecast was improving so after a hearty breakfast and the minimum of faffing about we set off optimistically, straight into the first climb of the day. The Sella Ronda is a circuit ride over four high passes, starting and finishing in Corvara. It is simply stunning. And tough. Having been this way before I was aware of the scenery we were riding through, for Paul it was all new and I hoped the weather would give him the chance to appreciate this. As it was, it did. My philosophy for the week was all about enjoyment, and giving my camera the chance to work overtime in this amazing playground where the mountains dominate the skyline at every turn. As we rode over first the Campolongo and then the Pordoi passes so the clouds peeled back and craggy cliffs and peaks peered out at us, much to my camera's delight. We stopped and regrouped for coffee (and cake) atop Passo Pordoi before a fast descent and then the steep haul up Passo Sella, probably the hardest of the four climbs. By now, as a group, we were spread out across the route and a natural order was forming, mainly with me near the rear. I am not the world's greatest climber, although I can normally descend with the best of them, and I found myself in good company, spending time with Billy and Helen admiring the scenery. Billy I knew from a Pyractif trip 3 years ago when riding the Etape du Tour, Helen (his partner) I only knew by association but we got to know each other and our riding styles pretty well over the next few days. The last climb is over Passo Gardena and is followed by a glorious 10km descent into Corvara, a chance to let the bike flow freely before a bunch of us gathered at a likely looking pizza place for lunch and a chance to wish Tim a happy birthday (for today was indeed the day). To follow, a few of us decided that as a corollary to our ride we would quickly nip back up Gardena from this side and ride that descent one more time. Good day!
Monday was earmarked as a big day on the bike, the plan being to ride east over to Cortina and beyond to Tre Cime, a brute of a climb (Helen and I had been there last year walking so I knew the terrain). The weather had now been transformed into proper summer sun, with a fierce need for sun protection all day. It was great. I confess I had already taken the decision that I was not going to ride Tre Cime (far too steep in my view), and would content myself by stopping in Misurina at the foot of Tre Cime and enjoying a leisurely lunch by the lake there. At 105km there and back with some 3000m of climbing that would be plenty enough thank you very much. I was not alone either. And I think it was the right thing to do. Riding first over the Valparola and then the Tre Croce passes on a hot August day was tough enough, and by the time I had stopped for the odd photo here and there, I was ready for that lunch (and a cheeky beer). I joined Chris and Helen and Helen (there seem to be a lot of Helen's about these days!) on a table outside a café by that lake and we soaked up the views and the sun. as the intrepid riders who had decided to brave Tre Cime's epic sloeps returned they told stories of suffering which confirmed our decision. Helen and I then set off to make the return journey, first over Tre Croce and down to Cortina, then the long, long climb up Passo Falzarega, past Dolomites scenery to savour. It was hot, and we laboured but eventually crested the climb and took the opportunity to grab a coke from the summit caff before the long, bumpy descent of the Valparola back to downtown Corvara, hitting the main drag up to town in the middle of the rush hour, not ideal. Cracking day though, and we retired to the bar ahead of dinner for a beer or two. Well, we are on holiday!
After the drama of Tre Cime Tuesday offered another epic climb, this time the giant Marmolada (Passo Fedaia) which brushes the Dolomites' highest mountain massif. After yet more early morning faff the group set off, yet again over the Campolongo before taking the Maratona route down the valley to the small town of Caprile which sits at the foot of the Marmolada. It is a long, long descent to Caprile, some 20km or so and a chance to enjoy some easy riding on another lovely summer's day. Coffee in Caprile gave us all the chance to prepare mentally for what was going to be a tough climb. Early on on the climb there was a detour option into the Sottoguda Gorge,a traffic-free defile which accompanies the tumbling torrent coming down from the mountains above. Some of us chose theis option and a spectacular one it was too, albeit incredibly steep in places. Back on the main road we hit what can only be described as a sufferfest stretch of road, 3km of relentless 12% grind before the gradient kicks up through a series of hairpins, finally topping out on Passo Fedaia at just over 2000m. It had been a climb of 1000m and my legs could certainly testify to that. But what a reward. There is a short stretch of plateau as the road skirts a reservoir (with dams at both ends!) and the Marmolada massif towers high above. Awesome. Camera time. And then lunch, as we found a wonderful refugio at the far end of the reservoir where beer and pizza awaited. By now, most of the group had gone on and we were left, Billy, Helen, Paul and myself to enjoy the rest of the ride by ourselves. Starting with a glorious 8km descent down into Canazei, spoilt only by a large lumbering slow lorry near the bottom. Canazei was like a cauldron, temperatures must have been hovering around 40 degrees, but as we began the climb of the Pordoi so the temperature gradually subsided. Along with our energy levels. Paul and Billy decided to pace each other up the climb leaving Helen and myself to ride it at a more comfortable pace, taking in the scenery as we went. More camera time. Finally we reached the summit and found a coffee house which gave us the best cake of the week. Well worth the stop. And the end of the day gave us two fabulous descents, off the Pordoi and then the Campolongo into Corvara. A cracking end to a spectacular day.
Wednesday dawned with the sun shining yet again, and Paul and I had agreed to do our own thing and ride the Sella Ronda in reverse, a bit of a “rest day”. Taking the opportunity to do some major faff (no group ride today) a few of us then cruised up Passo Gardena enjoying the views and grabbing a few arty shots along the way before seeking solace in the refugio for coffee on the verandah! Paul and I then carried on with our planned ride, and soaked up the sunshine and the views, the camera working overtime as we made our way up Passo Sella (actually Paul made his way up, I followed on at a discrete distance). From the Sella it was a quick descent before a PB ride up the Pordoi and lunch. Passo Pordoi is a bit of a tourist hotspot and it teemed with visitors of all nationalities taking in the atmosphere, pretty thin at 2200m. We watched this all go by from our vantage point on the café verandah overlooking the pass, a cheeky beer slipping down nicely thank you. As yesterday, we now had the undoubted pleasure of two glorious technical descents to come, and a second PB climb on the Campolongo from Arabba. Short but very sweet.
The last two days involved a lengthy transfer, east to the small town of Ovaro which nestles at the foot of the mighty Monté Zoncolan, I believe this being Tim's way of punishing everyone for having a good time. We arrived at our hotel to find the lower altitude meant much higher temperatures as we sweltered in some 35 degrees. There was enough time for a short afternoon ride and Paul and I chose to ride the long but steady Passo di Razzo, a 30km drag up the river valley which heads west from Ovaro. Despite the heat this was an enjoyable climb, not spectacular in the manner of the Dolomites, but scenic enough and when we emerged on the summit road there were some extensive views – I just have no idea what we were looking at! All this meant a long descent of course, not technical, but thoroughly enjoyable. We finished it off by going to have a look at the foot of the Zoncolan climb which was to tempt many of the group in the morning. Chris gave us a lengthy briefing of the difficulties of this notorious climb which seemed to confirm my decision NOT to ride it as the right one. Our last day here was really a half day before the final transfer back to Venice, time enough for a goodish ride, whether riding the mighty Zoncolan (as Paul chose to do) or circumnavigating the base of the mountain which was my choice, a 55km ride which introduced me to the three possible ways up this beast. It was a nice finish to the week, much more pleasant and less ugly than attempting the climb would have been. Paul told me the tales and showed me the photographs, so I feel I have been there in spirit.
And so our Dolomites trip drew to a close, we enjoyed a pleasant evening meal in our hotel near Venice airport, much wine and beer flowed and we all swapped stories and email addresses before our inevitable return to normality. The memories of some amazing scenery will linger long, the recollections of some awful, borderline dangerous, driving by Italian motorists will haunt the memories, probably to the extent that I shall not return. Shame.
July 30th 2015: Dolomites, here we come
As July draws to a close Paul and I enjoyed our last ride out into the northern fells over Caldbeck on a pleasant (but unseasonably cool) summer evening, thinking ahead to next week and the challenges that lie before us as we tackle a tough itinerary in the Dolomites. After a bizarre ride on Tuesday evening in persistent rain and temperatures that were more at home in February than July, tonight was a tonic, and the views out over the Solway as we rode home were quite splendid. Whether all this leaves me ready for next week only time will tell. The prospect of riding the likes of the Sella Ronda, the Marmolada and Passo Giau is both enthralling and daunting, but provided the weather plays ball I shall have a field day (or week) with the camera. And I'm told there is a good supply of cake to be had too! The bike is packed and ready to go, my ride of choice will be my new BMC GF01 bike complete with a rather handy 32 tooth sprocket and disc brakes which should help on those long descents. It certainly is a novel way to celebrate Tim's 50th birthday, inspirational even.
Totals for July
Distance ridden: 1048km
Total ascent: 10210m
July 26th 2015: Vive Le Tour!
Wow, what a fantastic three weeks that has been. The drama of this year's race has been second to none with thrills, spills and all the usual superlatives thrown at us on TV coverage which has left me exhausted. As we settle down to watch today's final stage into Paris in the hope of another Cavendish win on the Champs Elysées (though I think it's a tough ask) it's an opportunity to reflect on Chris Froome's second, and arguably finer, victory in the most famous cycling event of all. Team Sky has certainly been tested to the limit and all the riders have played their part in what has very much been a team win. It is arguable that Nairo Quintana was possibly the sronger rider but, in the end, he lost too much time in the hectic opening week and was probably guilty of some naivety (along with his team) which left him with a mountain to climb (pun intended!) by the time the race reached the Alps. Chris Froome's attack on La-Pierre-Saint-Martin proved to be the decisive move of the whole race and set up this wonderful victory which places Chris Froome in an elite group who have won the Tour more than once. On top of all this, he has conducted himself with dignity in the face of some less than edified attacks, both from certain parts of the media and from some fairly unsavoury characters on the roadside who can scarcely be called fans. For me the revelation of the Tour has been Geraint Thomas who has proved (as if we needed proof) that he truly is a world class rider and has offered unwavering and unquestioning support to Froomey. It is probably fair to say that Froome may well not be riding into Paris in yellow were it not for G. It was a shame when he finally blew on stage 19 and lost a chunk of time which meant a high placed finish was gone, although I'm sure he would stress that that was not his role in this race. Yet again the French have flattered to deceive and, for me, Thibaut Pinot, despite a magnificent stage win on Alpe d'Huez, has shown a temperament which will make it difficult for him ever to win a Grand Tour. Romain Bardet, by comparison, may not have quite the same flair but possesses a determination and elegance that sets him apart, his descending particularly is thrilling to watch. Whether he has what it takes to challenge over 3 weeks is questionable but a polka dot jersey is probably a credible goal. But the 30 year wait for a French winner of their own race goes on and, arguably, that might explain why the French media sadly chooses to cast so much doubt on whoever is wearing the yellow jersey. Personally, I prefer to sit back and enjoy the spectacle and do so in the sincere belief that the vast majority of the current peloton ride honestly. In the meantime, come on Cav!!
Footnote: sadly Mark Cavendish didn't have the firepower to overcome an in-form André Greipel who took his fourth stage win of this year's race, Cav eventually crossing the line in 6th place. There's always next year!
July 18th 2015: A tour en France
Helen and I have been in France for a week or so, enjoying some seasonably warm and sunny weather, totally unlike our typical British summers. Unlike my recent trip to the Pyrenees with Paul, this time we were nowhere near any mountains and the cycling was definitely of a more relaxed nature. A few days in the Berry province south of Chateauroux was followed by some time in the Loire valley and very pleasant it was too. Berry is perhaps most famous for being the region that was home to the author George Sand, and we were able to explore the quiet country roads in seach of chateaux and other locations which are linked to her and her work. I confess I know nothing of her literary prowess although I can at least say I had heard of her, but the countryside she lived in and wrote about was quietly enjoyable.
Temperatures as I say were on the high side, comfortably in the mid thirties, and to be honest riding bikes was one way of keeping cooler in the heat. Nothing too challenging, we instead concentrated on enjoying the countryside, seeking out the odd bar/restaurant and a few chateaux, the best of which was Chateau Sarzay, a ramshackle old castle now being renovated by an eccentric old chap who, as well as showering us with cool water, gave us an insight into his lifelong project - I fear he may not see it out. We also explored parts of the huge Loire a Vélo cycle trail, an 800km trail which follows the river from tip to toe, based as we were for a few days in the magnificent fortress town of Amboise, some 30km east of Tours, including riding all the way along the river into the very heart of old Tours itself, a lovely old town full of narrow alleyways and squares. It was here that we finally found a bar where we could settle down and enjoy the live spectacle (on TV) of the Tour de France, taking in the big Pyrenean stage over the Tourmalet. We came home after a week certain that this part of France is indeed an enjoyable place to sightsee in the saddle, and it has whetted our appetite for more.
July 4th 2015: The Tour starts here!
There is always a frisson of excitement here at home as the beginning of July comes round and, with it, the start of the Tour de France. Perhaps more so this year than for quite a while as we anticipate the “showdown” between what on paper looks like an exceptionally well matched foursome in the shape of Froome, Nibali, Contador and Quintana. It really is difficult to pick a winner, though I guess it is unlikely to be anyone outside of that select band. So much has already been writte, it seems pointless for me to add. Suffice to say that there are no excuses. Cobbles, time trials, hot weather, thunderstorms. It's the same for all the contenders, the winner will be the best one suited to whatever conditions the Tour throws at them. Also this year expectations are high for the sprint showdown as Cav returns after his disappointment on stage 1 in Harrogate last year to do battle with messrs Greipel, Kristoff et al. No Marcel Kittel this year which obviously favours the Manxman but Alexander Kristoff is in brilliant form and may well come away with several stage wins to his name. The next three weeks will no doubt present its fair share of thrills, spills, twists and surprises, but above all it will be compelling watching. See you at the end of July!
Totals for June
Distance ridden: 1439km
Total ascent: 20380m
June 21st 2015: Ride to the Sun
Some months ago I came across a post advertising a ride with a twist, a night ride from Carlisle to Edinburgh in time to see the sun rise over the Forth estuary. Ride to the Sun (Scotland) sounded interesting and I bounced the concept off Paul who expressed his interest so we signed up, not knowing quite what we were letting ourselves in for. The trick was clearly to time our leaving Carlisle to arrive just ahead of sunrise at Cramond west of Edinburgh, scheduled for 4.26am. The route was pretty straightforward with one major climb (the Devil's Beeftub north of Moffat), so it probably wasn't going to be an excessively gruelling route, but the nighttime riding was an unknown as far as I was concerned. Going out for a few miles with lights in winter is one thing, riding right through the night would place new demands on our skills and experience and concentration. The organisers emphasised that this was not a sportive or organised and supported event, participants were very much on their own and needed to be self-sufficient. Not something to be taken on lightly.
To add an extra dimension Paul and I decided to turn this into a coast to coast ride with a difference, namely south-north rather than the conventional west-east. On a bright sunny Saturday evening we rolled our of Wigton and headed out to Bowness on the Solway coast, and the start of our C2C ride to the sun. The forecast was not great and we felt we were on borrowed time with the sunshine. So it proved. By the time we got to Carlisle and the official start of the RttS in the shadow of Carlisle Castle the sun was low in the sky, a gaggle of like-minded cyclists were converging ready to make their start. Unlike a typical sportive where riders start together and finish sperarately, this was rather a ride in reverse. Some riders had set off over an hour earlier hoping to time their arrival at Cramond, we felt that an 8pm start would serve us. In the event Paul and I rolled out of Carlisle a tad late at 8.15, but in good spirits. Edinburgh, here we come!
The early miles ticked by as we left the Carlisle city streets behind and headed towards the sun now setting behind an ominous bank of growing cloud as we crossed the Esk and rode into Scotland. Gretna, Kirkpatrick Fleming, Kirtlebridge and Ecclefechan came and went as we pedalled ever northwards, following the old A74 which runs very unimaginatively alongside the M74 for the first half of the route. Gradually the light began to fade and the clouds thickened until, eventually, rain began to fall around Lockerbie. We donned rain jackets and pedalled on. We saw little sign of fellow participants until we neared Beattock and Moffat by which time the nighttime was well and truly upon us, as was the persistent rain. At least it wasn't cold. Moffat gave us our first proper stop as the oranisers had arranged with a chippie to stay open and provide much needed sustenance to riders (a shrewd financial move I suspect given the trade they were doing). We welcomed the distraction of sausage and chips (high on every nutritionist's list of ideal cycling energy foods I suspect) and gathered ourselves for the next part of our ride, the climb over Devil's Beeftub.
The road out of Moffat to Edinburgh is a scenic delight, but at 11.30pm the visibility was pretty poor as you can imagine, especially on a wet night. There was nothing for it but to knuckle down and ride. It would be nice to come back and do this climb in the daylight sometime, but we made do with following the procession of twinkling red lights making their way up the long hill and over into the Tweed valley. An equally long descent in the dark is demanding on the powers of concentration and, in the rain, was also a cold affair. Down in Tweedsmuir the organisers had positioned a welcome support van (their concession to support for the ride) offering bananas and water. It was very welcome. The next part of the ride is remote and dark, with little in the way of civilisation until Penicuik on the outskirts of Edinburgh some 30 miles distant. Paul and I pedalled on. And on. At least the rain had stopped by now. Shortly after 3am we rolled into the bright lights on the edge of Edinburgh. We had made it. All that remained now was running the gauntlet of drunken Saturday revellers in the city centre, not a very pleasant experience if I'm honest. But soon we were through and the sky was brightening all the while ahead of dawn. Birds were tweeting as we headed out west toward Cramond and finally, at 3.55am we cruised down onto the seafront at Cramond beach where a small gathering was taking place. Amazingly, despite the rain and cloud, we were treated to a reddening sky which, whilst not a full blown proper sunrise, was welcome all the same and seemed to finish off the ride nicely. A shade over 200 kilometers to watch the skies redden over the Firth of Forth, some might regard that as madness, but we certainly felt some satisfaction at our achievement. A sense of comradely togetherness pervaded as gradually the riders drifted away, heading somewhere for a warm bed and some very welcome sleep.
June 14th 2015: Playing in the Pyrenees
It's a long way to the Pyrenees. A really long way. Paul and I had made the decision to drive – it meant that we would have options once we were there, and had the added advantage that we could load a case or two of wine and beer into the car for our return, always handy. On top of that, even with the cost of diesel, ferry fares, tolls and an overnight stop in Calais it was still cheaper than flying. It was still a long way though.
Having set out on Friday lunchtime we finally rolled in to Chateau Pyractif just after 7pm on Saturday evening, tired and road-weary, but soon rejuvenated by the usual warm welcome from Mr & Mrs Pyractif, Chris and Helen, and before long we were sitting down to a delicious supper washed down with a bottle or two of wine along with fellow guests who were here to tackle some epic cols, sharing experiences and looking forward to some exciting days ahead on the bikes. The weather forecast for the week was mixed, but we were here to ride. And that's what we do!
Day 1, Sunday. It is a long standing tradition that the first climb tackled on any stay here in the Midi-Pyrenees is the Col des Ares. It is neither long nor steep, but it is a glorious start to the riding week with its steady 5% gradient which hardly wavers along its twisting 8 kilometers to the top. We were not about to break with tradition. As we hit the foot of the climb on a warm morning, Paul immediately launched his attack, determined to test his climbing legs. I always feel the need for more of a warm up and left him to it as I made my way steadily up the climb, enjoying the views along the way. We followed the road over the top and enjoyed the descent. equally steady. It won't win awards or plaudits but it remains one of my favourite climbs in the region. Paul and I had decided on a modest first day centred around the Col de Menté, a Categorie 1 climb which is always a test. The road to it winds up the Aspet valley to a fork, the Menté off to the right and the Col de Portet d'Aspet to the left. This was the scene of the tragic death of Fabio Casartelli in July 1995 when descending during a stage of the '95 Tour. We stopped at the monument to spend a few minutes in contemplation before continuing the grind up the twisty steep but mercifully short climb. The descent back to the Menté is quick and before long we were onto the crux of today's ride. Once again I was soon riding solo as Paul set out alone, aiming to exorcise some demons after a bad day here a couple of years ago. I enjoyed the solitude, taking in the wonderful views and reeling in a couple of cyclists on the hairpins nearer the top. By the time I reached the summit, just short of my own best time, Paul had come back down to meet me having smashed his own best and was wearing a huge smile. We celebrated by enjoying a tasty lunch washed down with the eponymous cheeky beer in the café at the top. It was rammed with weekenders, a lovely atmosphere on a sunny afternoon. The day was still relatively young and Paul and I discussed options. At the foot of the Menté, a rather fun descent to St Béat, you can turn left and ride into Spain before heading over another enjoyable climb, the Col de Portillon and back into France. Why not? So we did! This time Paul and I rode side by side, chatting away and enjoying the views. Not a PR in sight but thoroughly enjoyable. And then for the descent to Luchon, fast and furious. Suddenly it was getting on and we were in danger of being late for supper so we cracked on. By the time we got back to base in sunny Bertren we had over 125km under our belts and were ready for a spot of supper and a glass or town of vin. It had been a great start to our week.
Day 2: Monday. The ski resort at Peyragudes has been on my to-do list for a wee while now, since messrs Wiggins and Froome worked over Vicenzo Nibali there in 2012. Paul and I checked the weather (fine morning, possible showers later in the afternoon) and though why not. A cruise round the lovely D26 to Arreau, a coffee and then a cruise up the Peyresourde to the Peyragudes turnoff, just 3km short of the top. What could possibly go wrong? And indeed, the early morning fine weather made the D26 section entirely enjoyable as we lapped up the soft Pyrenean views and watched the kites and buzzards soaring high above us. At Arreau we felt suitably in need of that coffee and settled down to savour the town's atmosphere, soaking up the morning sunshine. All too soon though, it was time to press on and start the hard work of the day. By now the storm clouds were gathering and loomed ahead of us. This look ominous. The rain started almost the moment we hit the foot of the climb and soon we were donning rain jackets and listening to the thunder echoing around the valley. By the time we were approaching “Ullrich corner”, scene of his famous off in 2001, the rain had turned to hailstones and we sought shelter under some trees to wait for the worst to pass. It was certainly spectacular. And at least it wasn't too cold. Eventually we were able to carry on, the roads soaked now and the mountains clothed in thick clouds. The tunder and lightning continued to echo around. It was tempting to ride straight over the climb and head for home and a warm shower. The Peyragudes turn soon appeared and thoughts of running for home were banished as Paul and I took the high road, a new climb for both of us. Paul was off and away, once again I was riding solo. Truth be told, the climb is a bit of a brute with some steep pitches before the gradient eased as the ski resort hove into view. A few photos of the atmospheric mountains were in order, before finally I was amongst the apartment blocks of Peyragudes, not unlike a ghost town as it was definitely closed for business. We wouldn't be getting any lunch here! Paul rode the last kilometer with me and we gloried in the satisfaction of another new climb ticked off. Shame about the weather – and the deserted cafés. Time to continue and we took the short link road back to the Peyresourde and over the summit before the long, damp plunge down to Luchon – it was raining again by now. Probably one of my slowest descents ensued, but better safe than sorry. Once down in Luchon we headed for home and that warm shower. And a chance to reminisce on an epic day in the mountains and savour the 116km of drama.
Day 3: Tuesday. The Epic Cols gang were into their last half day and had the mighty Port de Bales on the agenda to wrap up their weekend. With the weather forecast suggesting more of the same Paul and I decided to join them and see how the day unfolded. An early start saw us on the lower slopes of the Bales almost before breakfast, and once again Paul was off and away in search of another PR. I settled down to try and find a rhythm, difficult with the varying gradients on what is a difficult climb. This early in the year the road surface leaves much to be desired too, with a lot of debris littering the road, especially after some heavy rainfall yesterday. At times it resembled an assault course. The sun was struggling to break through but it was warm. As the road finally emerged from the trees the views back down into the valley below are grand, but ahead the clouds were rolling in and by the time I finally sprinted the last few hundred meters to crest the top, the summit was covered in a thick mist. Paul was there, recovering from his PR-busting efforts, sadly my time was a few minutes short of my best, but a good climb nevertheless. After a few photos we set about the long descent into Luchon, enjoying the sweeping ride once below the clouds. A gaggle of French riders latched on and we towed them down finally despatching them as we joined the Peyresourde road for the final few kilometers. Down in Luchon there was time for a welcome coffee with the Epic Cols gang before we said our goodbyes. Paul and I had decided that, in the absence of any rain as yet, we would press on and ride the Col de Menté from the western side, a toughie at the best of times averaging nearly 10% for its 10 kilometers. As we hit the climb the clouds were gathering but it stayed dry. And warm. Paul and I rode the lower part of the climb together before I stopped for a photo opportunity and he rode away over the last 3km, leaving me to savour the numerous hairpins at my own pace. At the top we were hungry and headed for the summit café, this time strangely deserted and sadly, not offering quite so extensive a menu. Nevertheless, a cheeky beer was on the cards along with a sandwich and we were ready to roll once again. The descent is fun and Paul and I enjoyed the quiet roads, finally reaching the Aspet valley far below. All that remained was the Col des Ares, a lovely way to finish the day's climbing. As we rolled back into Chateau Pyractif we were tired but satisfied after another long day, with nearly 125km in our legs.
Day 4: Wednesday. Today's weather forecast was pretty dismal, and the day started with rain tumbling from grey skies. It wasn't a day for going high, so Paul and I looked to the Pyrenean foothills and a rather gentler profile, hopefully avoiding the worst of the weather. Heading east from Bertren there are a number of lower cols which are still challenging enough – in the UK they would be considered big climbs, in France they are leg-looseners! We headed out once again over the Col des Ares, bimbling up the gentle slopes – I even stopped at the panorama viewing platform to take a shot of the threatening dark clouds. At least the rain had stopped by now. We cruised down into Aspet for a coffee at the Café Francais, dry enough to sit outside and watch the world go by. Then it was on to the Col de Larrieu, a climb of several parts with an especially stiff middle section before the last 2km which is almost flat. By the time we reached the summit we were actually going downhill! From here our ride took us north and out of the bigger hills into rolling pastural scenery through some obscure rural villages before finally reaching the St Gaudens valley and the road to the Cote de Burs. This is an especially nasty little climb which featured on the 2012 Tour de France and which includes stretches at 20-odd percent. Whilst the pro riders probably take it in their stride this was almost a climb too far from my point of view. Paul leapt away as his climbing legs stretched into action, I ploughed a harder furrow up the steep tarmac before crawling over the crux of the climb and gathering my breath. The views, however, were spectacular, probably even more so on a good day, but even on a grey afternoon such as today they were worth the climb. Paul and I now retreated to the walled village of St Bertrand de Comminges for some much needed nourishment, a very welcome crepe and a cheeky beer in a street café amongst the tourists. A mere 105km, but it had been another enjoyable day, despite the weather.
Day 5: Thursday. The weather was in danger of dominating our week here, but we had a get out. The car. Further east the promise was of warmer sunnier opportunities so Paul and I fetched out the map and the book of Tour de France epic climbs and chucked the bikes in the back of the car before heading out of Chateau Pyractif and east along the A64, bound for the little town of Massat up in Arac valley in the mountains above St Girons. By the time we parked up under the trees near the village centre the sun was breaking through and the temperatures climbing. Our main focus today was the lesser known Col d'Agnes, which featured in the 2009 Tour de France. The climb from Massat is a steady 18km at just over 5%, but that stat hides a meaner streak. Nevertheless, the road was quiet, albeit strewn with loose gravel from recent roadworks, and as the climb unfolded so did the views which were amazing on this increasingly beautiful morning. The camera was working overtime and by the time I reached the stunning Etang de Lers I was running out of superlatives. Here the climb's character changed with a short but signifcant little descent ahead of the final 3km haul to the summit which seemed all the harder for that short downhill section. By now Paul had come back to ride with me the last kilometer and we savoured those views through the final hairpins before finnaly reaching the summit sign. And ahead the views just got better. We lingered awhile as the camera did its work before settling in to the long descent to Aulus les Bains which is seemingly surrounded on all sides by wonderful mountains. The descent was rough and less than enjoyable, but the unfolding views made it worthwhile. Aulus was shut, it seemed, so we resolved to tackle the next climb, the Col de Latrape, a short but enjoyable ramp which is the springboard to Guzet-Neige (not on today's agenda). At the top we found the summit café open but full of locals enjoying a leisurely déjeuner which meant we were unlikely to see food this side of nightfall, so we opted for a quick drink before continuing on our way with the fast descent down the pretty Alet valley and on down to Seix and finally the Arac gorge where we could head back up to Massat, full circle. Back in Massat we were well ready for something to eat and got some supplies from a corner shop and grabbed a quick coffee before setting off for the glorious climb of the Col de Port, also a climb from that 2009 Tour. This is a lovely climb, settling into a steady 5% gradient for almost its entire 12.5km, and rewards with some lovely views. I rode this some 7 years ago on the Pyrenees C2C and enjoyed it then. Today, despite the rain which was now threatening to engulf us, it was a chance to enjoy it again. Paul and I rode tempo to begin with before he stretched his legs in that ineviutable fashion of his and I did my best to limit my losses. I did ok, topping out in just around 50 minutes, comfortably a PR. And it had stopped raining too. The descent back to Massat is simply delightful, with sweeping corners and long straights, and we finished the day with big smiles on our faces as we climbed into the car for the long drive back to Bertren. Only 105km but a cracking day on the bikes.
Day 6: Friday. And so we came to our last day here in the Pyrenean playground. As ever the time has passed us by and there is so much we would love to have done and seen but just never enough time. The forecast again played havoc with our plans, but seemed to offer better conditions after lunch. Chris also had some free time and offered to join us later in the day so Paul and I hopped in the car and headed up to Luchon to do some souvenir shopping and top up with wine and beer. All the while the sun beat down and we were in danger of sunburn. Typical. Back at base we grabbed some lunch, saddled up and mosyed on out with Chris leading the way, bound for the remote rural ski station of Nistos Cap-Nestés, on a road we had passed countless times but never taken. The Nistos valley is delightful, heading south deep into the mountains above Aventignan on the eponymous D26. It amazes me we have never ridden up here before, but then few people do. At Haut Nistos the pleasantries cease as the road takes a sharp left and suddenly the climb proper begins. From here on in it was every man for himself and I sensed I would, once again, be riding solo. The lovely weather which had shone down on us lower in the valley was giving way to cloud and the threat of rain by now – this could get messy. The first 6km are brutal, steady 10-13% all the way through trees and with no respite. Time to grit one's teeth and plod on as the rain began to test my resolve. Ahead Paul and Chris were having their own ding-dong battle but I wasn't concerned with them. Like the Bales, there were patches of debris on the road which increased with altitude and didn't bode well for a fun descent. After some 8km or so the gradient eased and the road headed out on a terrace high above the valley below. Sadly, the cloud base was pretty well at the same altitude so the views were less than spectacular, though it was all very atmospheric. Once again the gradient kicked up and the last 3km or so was in thick cloud, picking one's way through yet more debris before finally reaching the summit car park. When I say car park I really mean gravel area. The café was shut and there was little else to grab the attention. I'm sure on a good day this is a great place to head off for a wlak but today it did not invite. We posed for photos, grabbed a drink and plunged back down the rocky road to the valley below. It was not a fun descent. Back in Nistos the complexion changed again and the last part of the ride was much more fun – until Chris punctured. It was that sort of a day. Ah well, sometimes you just have to put it down to experience. A short day at 80km, but a fitting end to our week here. All that remained was the long, long drive home on Saturday. As always, it has been a great week here in the Pyractif household. We'll be back.
June 1st 2015: So that was the Giro!
I don't know about you but it strikes me that the Giro d'Italia is invariably a far better race than the Tour de France. Last year that was certainly true, and after what we have just witnessed over the last 3 weeks this year's Tour in July is going to have to be pretty special to buck that trend. Whether it's the weather (pun intended), or the more varied terrain of the parcours, or indeed the fact that it possibly wasn't the strongest field, but the racing in this year's Giro has been wonderful to watch. Of course, Alberto Contador stood out as the rider to beat and in the end was fully deserving of his victory, but those boys from Astana certainly gave him a run for his money. Team Sky disappointed yet again, they really struggle to get the tactics right over a 3 week race, and poor old Richie Porte doesn't seem able to convert his form on 1 week races into the longer format. Fabio Aru, too, seems to always suffer at least one bad day and that seemed to cost him the chance at toppling Contador this year, whilst Astana grappled with the Team Sky problem over which rider to back. Notwithstanding any of that there was plenty of exciting racing to be enjoyed with breakaways, fun in the mountains and a time trial that threw up a few surprises.
Meanwhile another month has slipped by and we are still waiting for summer! Hasn't May been miserable. Wet, windy, cold - I can't believe I'm still going out in winter gear on occasions. My fitness levels do seem to be improving though, ahead of our imminent trip down to the Pyrenees, which is something. And Helen and I have managed to share a few rides (including the splendid Coast and Castles trip). Paul and I enjoyed a brief tour of Devon (well, south Dartmoor anyway) with a dig up the eponymous Haytor climb as used on the Tour of Britain - PBs all round made it thoroughly satisfying for both of us. I am now busy trying to decide whether to trade in one of my bikes for a disc-brake model - it is a subject which is causing much discussion at the moment and I do feel it is something worth trying out. After all, a few years ago the trend to compact chainsets was the subject of similar debate and now I wouldn't dream of anything else. Watch this space!
Totals for May
Distance ridden: 1343km
Total ascent: 12585m
May 29th 2015: Of Coffee, Cake, Coast and Castles
The Sustrans organisation has come up with a myriad of interesting and challenging routes for cycling around our countryside. Perhaps one of the less well known is the Coast and Castles route which heads north up the Northumberland coast from Newcastle, finishing in Edinburgh. The coastal route is a leg-stretching 170 miles and is decidedly not flat, though I'm not sure how aware of this Helen was when I suggested that we do this ride over 3 days during half term. Gamely she agreed and preparations were made.
Setting off from Newcastle city centre on a gloomy Wednesday afternoon was hardly an auspicious start, with a forecast that more or less guaranteed we were going to get wet. A few pedal strokes got us down by the riverside where we picked up what is also the tail end of the C2C through the city and underneath the famous Tyne bridges. Photo opportunities were many and varied and the camera was certainly going to be kept busy over the next 3 days (see the slide show below for a few shots to give a taste of what we enjoyed). The first 10 miles out to Tynemouth are hardly inspiring, taking us through a semi-industrial hinterland before we finally emerged by the seaside and celebrated by turning north, finally feeling like we were actually heading toward Edinburgh. Even now, the route threaded its way through busy seaside towns like Whitley Bay and up toward Blyth, with not too much scenery to inspire the soul. By the time we left Whitley Bay the promised rain had arrived and we started thinking about some lunch (and welcome respite). Blyth provided us with that moment, as we rode through Ridley Park we came across a small cafe which answered our prayers. To be fair the rain had eased anyway, but we felt the need for coffee and cake.
We still had a few more miles of coastal industrialisation to get through and by Lynemouth the rain had well and truly set in. One of the stretches of cycle path had been liberally sprinkled with some broken glass sadly, and at this point Helen picked up some slivers in her tyre and the inevitable puncture happened. There are few things less enjoyable than fixing a puncture in the rain by a busy roadside, but we managed and carried on our wet way. At last the countryside was beginning to take over and north of Cresswell we finally found oursleves in a more open coastal landscape, heading up to Druridge Bay and Amble. This was more like it, though we spurned the option of riding the off-road route across Druridge Links, preferring some proper tarmac and less chance of a repeat puncture (wise choice as it turned out). By the time we got to Amble and Warkworth (and our first glimpse of a proper castle) it was getting on for 7pm and Helen was fading fast. We still had a few wet miles to get to Alnmouth and our first night's stop, so we scoffed a few jelly babies and time-trialled the last bit. What a welcome sight as we rolled up outside the Sun Inn, and started to dream of a hot shower, a tasty meal and a pint. Suddenly we felt human again.
The next morning was glorious, sunshine bathed the Northumbrian coastline and Alnmouth looked a picture. Our route meandered up through pretty villages past strikingly photogenic rape fields and into the fishing harbour at Craster, where a coffee was definitely called for. The harbour is famous in these parts, not least because of nearby Dunstanburgh Castle and the local fish which can be sampled in many restauarants. Suitably refreshed we headed on as the route got steadily more and more lumpy. Yesterday had been pretty level throughout, but the coastline noe took on a more undulating nature and the route planners seemed to delight and taking in numerous little climbs to soften up the legs. By the time we came down into Seahouses after 20 or so miles we were beginning to think about lunch. Ahead was the striking outline of Bamburgh Castle, and the road was busy with half-term holidaymakers. Nevertheless, the sun was still shining on us and we decided to grab a sandwich and coffee with views of the castle before us. All was good, but the clock was ticking and we still had a way to go. Ahead the road got steadily hillier and Helen was feeling it in her legs. We had hoped to ride out across the dramatic causeway at Lindisfarne but time was really not on our side, so we found a lovely little cafe and enjoyed watching the increasing number of heavy showers skirting around us. Next time...
The last part of the day became a war of attrition as Helen picked up her second puncture (probably related to the first as there was still some glass embedded in her tyre). A hasty repair (thankfully in the dry this time) got us going and Berwick was only a few miles away. Here good old Halfords came to our rescue as I presented the stricken rear wheel with shredded tyre to a helpful mechanic who kindly fitted the new puncture-resistant tyre (for a fee, of course) and we were on our way again. We still had 15 miles or so to go and now came the sting in the tail in the form of Lamberton Moor, rising for some 3 miles before dropping us finally down into Eyemouth and our room for the night. It had been a long long day (some 10 hours or so on the go) but we had made it in time for dinner (just) and a very welcome pint.
Our third and last day was a bit grey as we pulled back the curtains. Yesterday's sunshine had given way to some overnight rain but the promise was more sunshine and showers. We would probably get wet. And my mind kept thinking (quietly) that problems tend to come in threes. Hopefully this wouldn't be the case today. As we set off after a quick look round Eyemouth, a functional fishing port, the road climbed gradually up onto the moors to the west and a first hint that we were turning westwards after a couple of days riding north. It was at this point that, quite suddenly, a spo0ke went twang on my rear wheel. Yep, things do come in threes! I loosened off the brake calipers and we carried on, my wobbly wheel not overly unrideable. After all, it was just 50 miles to Edinburgh, we should be fine. At least Helen shouldn't suffer on her shiny new tyre. Soon after this we summited on Penmanshiel Moor, the high point of the 170 miles at about 250 metres, surrounded by a swarm (?) of giant wind turbines, and looking down over the delights of Torness Power Station. It was a bit bleak up here. The descent was enjoyable though, until the route planners took us off the road and plunging down a steep hill into Pease Bay, only to immediately climb back up again. Helen was not impressed. Now the path got increasingly mixed with off-road sections on gravel paths and old railway tracks before we reached Dunbar, birthplace of John Muir. A quick check of the watch meant that if we pressed on we could grab some lunch in Haddington, after passing our first castle of the day, the relatively unknown Hailes Castle in the Tyne Valley (no, not that River Tyne). By now heavy rain showers seemed to be everywhere, but by some miracle they were avoiding us and we sat in the park by the river in Haddington with sandwiches and a coffee soaking up the sun.
Now it was the last leg, just over 20 miles to go. Another disused railway line, courtesy of Dr Beeching, took us back out to the Forth coast at Longniddry and our first view of Edinburgh – complete with ominous black clouds. We kept to the roads now to speed our progress as we had a train to catch, and soon we cruised into Musselburgh, “the honest town”. Just a few miles now and time was finally on our side, we allowed ourselves a brief rest for a photo on the picturesque harbour wall before cracking on with the last stretch into the heart of Edinburgh, taking on the busy rush hour traffic rather than the (probably) more relaxing off-road Sustrans route. We rolled onto the grass in front of Waverley Station on Princes Street with 20 minutes to spare, and a chance to enoy the moment as we realised we had made it. 175 miles over 3 days, it had been a big ask for Helen and she had made it. Perhaps the icing on the cake was enjoying the train journey back to Newcastle which took us back along our route for much of the journey, and taking a mere 90 minutes to do what we had done in 3 days. It had been quite a bike ride.
May 3rd 2015: Another month slips by
Here we are already a third of the way through 2015 and it's difficult to understand where the time has gone. The Pyrenees is now just over a month away, preparations for what promises to be a tough week are going reasonably well, the ferry tickets are booked and Paul and I are looking forward to it. Before that Helen and I have decided to take time out during half term and ride the Coast and Castles Sustrans route in the north-east, from Newcastle to Edinburgh, a 170 mile coast ride over 3 days. Should be a great trip.
Apart from that brilliant day out on Arran, April has thrown up a number of varied rides, notably exploring the country roads near Hitchin in Hertfordshire and over the infamous Road to Hell near Denbigh in north Wales. Plenty of hill training on the local fell roads near home in Cumbria are aimed at building up my climbing legs, an ongoing process. The highlight, undoubtedly, though was Helen and my week in Mallorca where we enjoyed a fantastic time walking and cycling. The weather was immensely kind, with not a drop of rain all week, and it was a pleasure to be able to wear shorts all week. Introducing Helen to the sights of Mallorca was something we both enjoyed, and rides out to Petra, Alcudia and Campanet on quiet roads whetted Helen's appetite for more. We hired bikes which was an interesting experience, but one I probably wouldn't repeat. Somehow, there is no substitute for your own wheels, though I confess the lack of hassle involved by not transporting our own bikes on the flights was something I definitely welcomed. And I guess the hire bike couldn't have been too bad as I took the oportunity to sneak off on a couple of evenings and ride some of the local climbs, and bagged a couple of PBs on Coll de Femenia and Coll de Sa Creueta, a bit of a bonus really.
The Spring Classics have now been and gone, it has been an intriguing few weeks. Promises of British success fuelled by Geraint Thomas and Ian Stannard's storming rides last month sadly came to nothing, and Bradley Wiggins final ride for Sky in Paris-Roubaix proved to be a tad anti-climactic, though he gave us all a glimpse of what we will miss as he turns his attention to the track ahead of Rio next year. His new incarnation at Team Wiggins was a qualified success at the inaugural Tour de Yorkshire which thrilled some pretty amazing crowds over the three days last weekend. The race itself was great to watch, all the more so for the lack of race radios, and with television coverage proving that there is an audience for cycling on TV in this country, it meant we could all enjoy it as the action unfolded. As I write, the Giro d'Italia is just a few days away now but I confess to being a little disappointed that not a single British rider will feature, the first time in many a year. Truly an opportunity missed. For me, though, the highlight on the pro scene has been Alex Dowsett's ride in the Manchester Velodrome last weekend when he set a new benchmark for the UCI World Hour by eclipsing Rohan Dennis' previous mark by some 500m. Whilst in all probability it will be beaten comfortably by Wiggo next month, it was a masterclass in controlled riding by the young Movistar rider who, I suspect, has more to give in this discipline - watch it on Youtube.
Totals for April
Distance ridden: 1230km
Total ascent: 13094m
April 25th 2015: A Grand Tour of Arran - a grand day out
Some years ago I travelled north with a good friend Dave to catch the Calmac ferry out across the Clyde to the Isle of Arran, armed only with our trusty bikes and a camera, the aim being to ride round the island and catch the ferry home late in the afternoon. It was a cracking day out, the weather was kind and we got a taste for this wonderful island. Last year Helen and I returned with friends Phil and Barb and spent an enjoyable couple of days doing something similar but far more leisurely. A week or so ago, in one of those moments that we all suffer from, I suddenly got the urge to head to Arran once more, and suggested to Paul that we might reprise that day in 2011, giving him the opportunity to experience cycling on Arran too. He readily agreed and plans were laid...
On Friday evening we threw the bikes and some cycling kit into the car and headed north, stopping the night in an unfortunate hotel near Prestwick Airport, allowing us a gentle start to Saturday with a short hop to the ferry terminal at Ardrossan. Having watched the weather all week we were really quite uncertain what the day would throw at us as most forecasts seemed to be sitting on the fence. Rain, shine, wind – who knows? Rain was clearing as we awoke and there, in the distant north-west, was what looked suspiciously like some clearing skies. We might, just might, get lucky.
By 9.30 we were on board the Calmac ferry, and excited as two kids on a school outing. We were not alone, there must have been a good 30 or so fellow cyclists – Arran is obviously a popular cycling destination. At £7.50 return per person you can see why. An hour later the ferry cruised into a sunny Brodick harbour, albeit a windy one too. No matter, it was dry and the prospect was that it would stay that way. Arran is really an island of two halves – the north is mountainous and dramatic, the south is more rolling and gentle, but with a rugged interior. We chose to split the day in two and ride south for the morning, heading along the island's only major A road toward Lamlash and Whiting Bay. Between each inlet there is a suitably nasty hill which soon got the heartrate and body temperature up, and by Whiting Bay we had removed our outer jackets and stopped for the first of many photo opportunities – it was one of those days! Strangely, we saw no sign of our fellow ferry cyclists – they simply disappeared when we alighted from the ferry, never to be seen again. Ah well...
As we rounded the southern tip of the island we found ourselves heading into a stiff north-westerly and it became harder going, not least because those incessant ups and downs kept coming. After an hour or so we turned off the coast road and head into the rugged interior on the road known simply as The Ross. What a splendid road. It climbs gradually up a delightful moorland valley, never especially hard but always spectacular, until it finally reaches the crux and a cheeky 10% section to the 300m summit. We stopped to take in the views (and grab a few photos) before the steep (and rough) descent back to Lamlash and a return to Brodick. The final hill out of Lamlash reveals a fantastic vista of the northern mountains at its summit, with the (apparently) famous profile of the Sleeping Warrior – it would seem that his profile can be seen in the outline of the mountains, although it requires some imagination. This was explained to us by a gentle accordion player who was walking his dog as we pulled into the viewpoint.
We now had the dilemma – do we stop for an early lunch, or press on round the northern loop to find some lunch in Lochranza. We chose the latter, preferring to get the stiff climb over Sannox out of the way before stuffing our faces! The few miles north along the coast from Brodick are pan flat with views of the mainland, but all along here it is a matter of saving yourself for the climb to come. Sannox is a 5km haul over the shoulder of the Goat Fell range and climbs to some 220m, all of which was into a battering and relentless headwind. Paul was unleashed and gave battle, racing to the top as I struggled up more sedately in his wake. From the top of the climb, the mountains are close and very rugged and spectacular (more photos), but lunch called and we plunged down into Lochranza for a cheeky beer and some food at the hotel there. The sun was still out, and we found some shelter to sit outside and enjoy the spring air. And no midges!
The last leg was the (comparatively) flat western coast road down to Blackwaterfoot, a 20 mile race with a helpful tailwind (at last), time to enjoy ourselves. A few photo stops interrupted our flow, but before long we were cruising into the village and turning northwest for the final climb back over to Brodick. The String, as this climb is called, is a lovely climb, similar in height to Sannox but steadier and with no headwind. Paul was off again, I managed to keep him in my sights this time and we crested the summit to the tune of a noisy Ferrari which powered its way over the climb before racing off down to Brodick. The views (again) were amazing and the camera had one final outing before we raced off down after the Ferrari and a date with the final ferry back to the mainland, 83 glorious hilly miles in our legs. It had been quite a day.
April 6th 2015: Cobbles
We are now well into the Classics season and yesterday was the Tour of Flanders, probably the best known of the cobbled Belgian Classic one day races. Team Sky's Geraint Thomas has proved to be a revelation thus far, winning E3 Harelbeke and coming third at Gent-Wevelgem last weekend, thereby setting himself up as one of the favourites for Flanders. The drawback was that this made him very much a marked rider and so it proved as every move he made was carefully marked by the other teams. In the end Flanders proved to be a race too far as it seemed Thomas had run out of that extra something that had enabled him to impress the previous week. Allied to the fact that the status of Flanders as a race means that the big guns target this race and tactics become more signifcant, something which Team Sky have yet to master it would seem, and G was probably doomed to fail (if finshing 14th is indeed a failure). I suspect that until such time as the Sky team can prove themselves more adept at tactical planning for these races then they will continue to fall short. Let's hope they learn from this. Having said all that, we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that Alexander Kristoff rode a masterful race and fully deserved his victory, establishing himself as an all-rounder capable of winning stage race sprints as well as the big one day Classics.
March 31st 2015: Rain on the Cheshire Plain
As March has drawn to a close I have managed to pack in quite a few lumpy rides as the days get longer, though no dryer sadly. A local climb has proved good training terrain with 1.6km and 100m of ascent, neither too long nor too steep but a solid 5 minute effort every time. Hill reps may be boring but they are effective.
Sunday was the day of the Chester and North Wales CTC Spring Tourist Trial, a lovely day out which Helen and I, along with Pete and Sharon, have supported before. We duly signed up a few weeks ago and were looking forward to a gentle 50 miler with friendly banter and plenty of cake. Sadly, the reality of March's weather this year meant that the forecast was pretty dire and Helen, Pete and Sharon decided that staying dry would be preferable – can't say I blame them! In a fit of conscience I felt duty-bound to support the organisers who had put plenty of effort into making the day a success. The weather was not of their making, but the route and the bun fight certainly was. Sunday dawned wet and miserable, with a fair bit of wind thrown in for good measure, and as I drove out to the village of Farndon down on the River Dee in the heart of the Cheshire countryside I questioned the wisdom of my decision. At least it wasn't too cold, and riding solo meant I could effectively ride at my own pace and (probably) keep warm. Given the original make-up of our team I had an early start time which would mean an early return for the halfway lunch stop and so it proved. I set off in light rain which gradually deepened to heavy rain and the wind picked up to make things interesting. These CTC rides are not route marked like sportives, rather riders are required to navigate themselves round the prescribed route and are solely responsible for safely getting back to the finish, all part of the fun. Especially in the rain! Overnight rain meant that along much of the route standing water was an issue and by half way my bike and I were both pretty sodden. As expected I rolled back in after 25 miles ahead of all other riders – and too early for the food and coffee which wasn't due to be served up for another 15 minutes! To be fair, they did sort out some sandwiches and coffee pretty quickly and the next rider wasn't far behind me. I have to say the prospect of another 25 miles in the wind and rain wasn't overly appealing, but I was here to ride, so after 20 minutes or so trying in vain to dry off a bit I embarked once more, and the rain came down that bit harder. Well, quite a lot harder actually as the road started to resemble a river. I drew solace from the fact that I would probably be finished long before those hardy souls who were trailing around in the later groups. And I felt much for the organisers who could do nothing but put on a smile and a brave face and cheer riders on. 90 minutes later I finally rode back into Farndon for the second time, drenched head to foot but somehow rather satisfied with my efforts. Yet again I was first rider back and, thanks to quite a number of no-shows, there were still copious amounts of cake which required eating. I did my best to make a dent – well, it would have been rude not to!
Totals for March
Distance ridden: 1008km
Total ascent: 10326m
March 16th 2015: Holme Moss and Jodrell Bank
I seem to have been on my travels this last week. Last weekend I found myself joining the Wing Commander on a pleasant ride over the Chiltern Alps, testing ourselves on Ivinghoe Beacon and Tom's Hill, getting some early practice in for the big trip to the Dolomites in the summer to celebrate his big birthday! Midweek rides saw me out under lights on a starry Cumbrian night ride before an enjoyable social with Pete and Sharon seeking out some fine cake at Tatton Park in Cheshire. This weekend Helen and I were in Yorkshire for a function and I grabbed the opportunity to take a bike with me and ride up the gruelling slopes of Holme Moss, high above Holmfirth in Last of the Summer Wine country. A cold north-easterly didn't really seem to help much and the summit was more like Siberia than Yorkshire, but somehow it still rewarded with some satisfaction. Then finally, on Sunday, Paul and I teamed up in Pyractif colours for the Jodrell Bank Classic Sportive, 2015 edition. This is a ride I've done before, but for Paul it was a first. It can best be described as low-key compared to some bigger sportives, I imagine only 400 or so riders lined up for the three distances on offer. Paul and I were taking on the 80 miler, on what looked like a pleasant tour round the east Cheshire countryside, circumnavigating the spectacular telescope down at Jodrell Bank en route. We were lucky with the weather, it stayed dry although the wind was that same nagging north-easterly I had enjoyed on Holme Moss, something which made the latter part of the ride a bit more challenging. Sadly, following the route was not as plain sailing as it might have been with some issues over signage meaning a few riders were getting lost. Fortunately, as I try to do at all such events, I was carrying a route map which meant that when we did go astray we were able to re-find the route and carry on. In the end, despite our extra mileage, we did creep back in inside the gold time limit, so felt reasonably pleased with ourselves.
March 5th 2015: King of the Mountains!
Strava has a lot to answer for. Having signed up in the early days back in 2011 I have found many good things in being a Strava user, not least the way it allows me to monitor my rides through the season and keep track of whether or not I am improving. The ability to create segments on routes I use frequently gives me an accurate take on just where I am at any given point rhough the year. I have long since given up the notion that I can head out and bag a KOM, other than by chance. In the early days, before Strava became a household name I probably had 30 or 40 KOMs to my name, but as more and more riders have joined the Strava community so my KOM tally has gradually dwindled to probably about half a dozen or so. Today's ride through the west Cheshire countryside provided a welcome surprise when I uploaded the Garmin data and found that sitting proudly at the head of my list of achievements was a King of the Mountains icon. Surely not? Well, yes indeed. Admittedly, it is not on a segment much ridden - only 18 riders have picked out this particular stretch of tarmac as worthy of their attention. But a KOM is a KOM. And the segment is over 4 kilometers long, not just a poky little segment for segment's sake. So I will certainly take it. And deep down I find myself hoping that not too many people discover this particular segment and that I can keep the KOM title for a while longer. Please!
March 3rd 2015: British Classics
It has been a wonderful weekend for British riders in the opening weekend of the Classics season with British riders winning both the gloriously named Omloop Het Nieuwsblad on Saturday, and the Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne on Sunday. First up, Team Sky's Ian Stannard successfully defendedhis titlein the Omloop classic, with a canny piece of riding as he saw off the combined might of 3 Etixx-Quickstep one-day specialists in a four-man breakaway, much to the consternation of Quickstep manager Patrick Lefevre who felt Stannard should have contributed to the break. Sounds like sour grapes to me. The following day Quickstep in the form of Mark Cavendish made amends by triumphing in the Kuurne race in what turned out to be a sprint finish. Cav saw off the talented Alex Kristoff and Elia Viviani which must do his confidence no harm at all. It was the second time he has won this race, also taking it in 2012. Sadly, this wonderful news managed to pass much of the BBC by, as sports bulletins on Radio 4 and Radio 5 managed to omit any mention of these successes. After the disappointing performances by Team GB's track riders surely there might have been occasion to celebrate. It was left to Radio 2 to big it up on the Chris Evans breakfast show. Ah well!
February 27th 2015: Could this be Spring?
Blimey, another month of this still new year has slipped by. Not sure where they go, but March is just about here and I really don't feel I've got started yet. Recovery from my little spill at the beginning of the month has been slow, with discomfort in my left wrist making it uncomfortable on longer rides but as the days grow ever longer opportunity for those longer rides is greater. Today I have just completed my third 100km ride of the month, each one slightly easier than the last. And I have managed to maintain the magic 1% ascent/distance ratio, always an encouraging sign. The fact that the sun was shining and temperatures sneaked into double figures for part of the ride all helped to give a feeling of optimism that Spring always brings. Daffodils and crocus lined the route and all was good with the world. And the cafe stop was all the more enjoyable for sitting outside.
Elsewhere it has been a busy month on the pro cycling scene which we watch with interest. The track Word Championships provided something of a wake-up call for Team GB who failed to win a single gold, the first time since 2001 that this has happened. A handful of silvers just one year out from the Olympics does not bode well, the team really didn't produce many convincing performances over the four days. It remains to be seen whether the new young riders who have been drafted in following the retirement of such stalwarts as Chris Hoy and Vicky Pendleton can match the improved French, Australian and New Zealand riders (amongst others). On the road it has been a rather better month all round for British riders, with both Chris Froome and Geraint Thomas winning notable stage races. Chris Froome produced a terrific performance taking on Alberto Contador who looked to have the better of Froome after an audacious stage win on stage 3, only for Froome to turn the tables on stage 4 and claw back the time and more with a stunning attack on the final climb. It's rare that we see Chris Froome out of the saddle on climbs but on this occasion he looked the part and Contador simply couldn't live with him. Great to watch. As for G, he started the Volta ao Algarve stage race as a support rider for Richie Porte but a classic breakaway victory on stage 2 saw him take the lead which he never looked like losing. It was his third stage race victory and bodes well for the coming season. Mark Cavendish is looking to be in good form too, and with the Classics season all but upon us the next few weeks look set for some fascinating racing.
Totals for February
Distance ridden: 664km
Total ascent: 6240m
February 5th 2015: Ice
So, that was January. Where did it go? The icy grip of winter has returned after a year off in 2014, and getting out on the bike has proved more challenging. I have been digging out extra base layers to wrap up against some pretty icy temperatures. Fortunately, it has been pretty dry, and the problem of icy roads has been less of an issue. Driven on by the ubiquitous Strava challenges I have been motivated enough to get out and get some hill reps under my belt – although the prospective Dolomite climbs that face us come August will dwarf said hill reps massively.What is welcome is the fact that the days are getting progressively longer, it's actually still light (just) when I leave work these days.
A staggering attempt at setting a new record for the distance cycled in a calendar year has proved intriguing to watch. Steve Abraham completed his first month with roughly 6000 miles in the locker as he tries to top Tommy Godwin's “unbeatable” record of 75065 miles set in 1939 – an era when bike technology almost certainly didn't afford the comfort or speed that we all take for granted. As I battle against some unpleasant elements I can only admire Mr Abraham's attempt as he sets off each morning at around 5.30, regardless of the weather, temperature and how he happens to feel. Good luck to him.
On the pro scene, the new season has got underway with the simultaneous protour races in both Australia and Argentina. Just started now is the Dubai Tour where Mark Cavendish is seeking to get his season properly underway after a couple of shocks in the Tour de San Luis where he was upstaged by the young Colombian sprinter Fernando Gaviria before taking the final stage. Cav won the opening stage in Dubai and took the leader's jersey. It could be an exciting season ahead. Perhaps the most surprising result over the last week or so was Steve Cummings hilltop sprint victory on the second day of the Mallorca Challenge, beating no less a rider than Alejandro Valverde.
As a footnote, and on the thorny subject of helmets, always an issue which raises a few contrary opinions. I have just returned from today's ride down in the Cheshire countryside, another Strava Challenge under my belt (maybe they are too easy?). Anyway, en route I suffered a mechanical issue when my bike missed a gear and down I went in an unceremonious heap on the tarmac, spraining a wrist and bashing the back of my head rather dramatically. On inspecting the helmet I found that the rear section was completely broken, the polystyrene in several pieces. Suffice to say, my trusty helmet had done its job, probably the main reason why I ALWAYS wear one. Time to say a grateful goodbye, I shall invest in a new one forthwith
Totals for January
Distance ridden: 765km
Total ascent: 8070m
January 15th 2015: Normal service is resumed
Already we find ourselves halfway through Janaury, 2015 has well and trully landed. And I have to say I am singularly unimpressed with the weather. Very reminiscent of 2014, the wind and rain (and some snow) means some serious wrapping up is required before venturing out to brave the elements. Cumbria seems to be on the verge of sinking, or being blown away. Not happy! Despite that I have “enjoyed” a few choice rides, most notably a foray down to Hertfordshire where I took a couple of rides up in the Chilterns. Whilst not quite the same as our Lake District climbs, it was certainly challenging enough for early season legs and I made the most of the opportunity to get familiar with Ivinghoe Beacon. Calling in for coffee and rather splendid cake with good friend Tim, who lives nearby, was an added bonus.
Plans for the coming 12 months are well advanced now, but there are still a few projects unfolding. As a warm-up I have signed up for an early season sportive, the Jodrell Bank Classic here in Cheshire, in mid March. This is a gentle warm-up with a rolling profile over the 80 mile course, but enough to test the legs. Paul may well join me, though his decision seems to be rather weather dependent. January meanwhile is all about foundation for the coming summer, and Strava have been at it again, fine-tuning their riders challenge regime by throwing a hilly gauntlet in our direction. I have signed up hoping that it motivates me to get out there and try and condition my hill legs after some fairly gentle riding at the end of 2014. So far I am on target with just over 60% of the target reached. My legs are telling me that's enough!
As the pro season gets underway in a few days time with the Tour Down Under and the Tour de San Luis, it is interesting to note the early season salvoes of the teams and riders as they try and score a few motivational points ahead of the racing. Eyes will no doubt be on Mark Cavendish after his “failure” in 2014 when he only won 11 races, and his rivalry with Marcel Kittel will be keenly awaited. And it is intriguing listening to the almost weekly changes to a prospective Tour de France line up which may or may not include Vicenzo Nibali depending on whether the UCI decide to uphold their own rules regarding positive dope tests. Astana seem to be mighty lucky to have been granted a Protour licence, but despite Brian Cookson's protestations I remain unconvinced that they should have been.
The last few weeks I have been enjoying a mighty fine read in Nicole Cooke's autobiography, The Breakaway. I can certainly recommend it and it would seem to ask a lot of questions regarding British Cycling's behaviour over the last 15 years or so, particularly their attitude to female racing and, more especially, Nicole Cooke. There is little doubt that British Cycling has contributed hugely to the cycling scene here in the UK over the years and the recent successes of the track teams and the men's road team are testament to some wonderful talent which has developed in the last 10 or 15 years. Changes in the attitudes of the general populace to cycling have been very positive and the sport has enjoyed a fantastic growth in popularity, in part overseen by British Cycling. However, it would not appear to be all rosy. Reading Nicole Cooke's book, it seems quite extraordinary that despite having the world's top female cyclist on their roster British Cycling seemed to do all they could to prevent her riding and winning at the highest level. On the face of it, to describe their training, racing and funding programmes for women as amateurish would be an understatement. In all fairness, it appears that Nicole Cooke won all she did despite British Cycling, a sad indictment of a somewhat tainted system. This is obviously one side of the coin but if her story is accurate (and why should we doubt it?) then there are very few characters within the top echelons of our national cycling governing body who come out of this with reputations enhanced. Nicole Cooke remains one of our most successful cyclists (male or female) ever – and with a palmares that includes World Road Race Champion, Olympic Road Race Champion, Tour de France winner (twice), Giro d'Italia winner, and three times Fleche Wallone winner as well as ten times National Road Race Champion (despite British Cycling's best efforts to thwart her). Her most recent action saw her take part in the epic Taiwan KOM hill climb challenge. She has been an ambassador for her sport and it seems a shame that other elements of the cycling hierarchy were seemingly unable to deal with her directness, professionalism and individualism. Not sure what I'm going to read next but I hope it's as good.