I’m thinking of taking a leaf out of this chap’s book:
“François Gissy set a new world speed record in the rocket-powered bicycle category, reaching 263 kilometres per hour on a disused runway in Munchhouse in the Alsace. “
Should be good enough to take a few KOMs on strava.
It was a busy weekend. Generally this season I’ve done one race a weekend, if that. This weekend i pencilled in two. It was the same double header as last year when I somehow contrived to win both the BSCC 10 and the Westbury Hilly.
The Westbury event starts on the edge of Warminster before heading off on a loop out and around the edges of the military bits of Salisbury Plain, via Chitterne, Lavington and other such places. there’s a long section that has frequent ‘tank crossings’. The road is reinforced with concrete and there’s a warning sign. It would be quite something to be ‘baulked’ by a hulking great weapon of war. I think i’d slow down if that were the case and not try any flash-harry TT moves to slip through or round the side.
The minor road up and out of Chitterne; tank post thing on the right
It finishes beneath the White Horse after 24 miles of undulating roads.
There’s always a degree of anxiety following a race the previous day, but it’s not often a problem if you’ve tapered a bit in the run up to both events. At times like this it’s worth remembering that the Giro D’Italia is currently serving up 150+ miles per day, for 21 days, through some of the highest mountain passes of the Alps and Dolomites. 34 miles ridden at pace over 2 days isn’t all that bad, or strenuous, no matter how much effort you think you’ve put it. It’s arguably about the recovery, but even then, a 20 minute effort shouldn’t compromise another effort the next morning. And so it proved.
I was in ‘have it’ mode this weekend. It’s that weird alignment where you have a sense of form and the ability to ride ridiculously hard, almost at full pelt, and for some strange reason it feels right and proper and vaguely exciting. It happened at Falfield on Saturday and the same again on Sunday. The course starts quickly with a slight descent and I got straight into the big ring and smallest cog. I reined it in ever so slightly on the climbs, barely though, and absolutely thrashed it on the descents, hitting a maximum at one point of 49mph. I think i was probably still on the poles at that point, the road surface was good and there was no traffic. I had the usual conversation with people back at the HQ afterwards, a club member was saying how he used the 39:25 heading up Chitterne. I don’t know what i used but it was definitely the 54, it was a big ring course for the duration, i might have cross-chained it a bit in the 20 or something, but i just sat back and gave it some welly. He looked a bit horrified. Power to weight is a glorious thing when you’re riding up hill at speed and weigh 67kg. I think I averaged 21mph on the drag up Anstey Hill. It was fun.
taken on Saturday, accelerating out of the roundabout
There were some classy riders on the startsheet, including Tavis Walker and Derek Smetham. Tavis has mostly been installing large farm machinery and working, taking time out to take a kicking from the other Elite roadmen at Castle Combe from time to time. Derek seems to be on a hot streak of form and he owed me 6 seconds from the Dursley mega-hilly a few weeks back. I got back to the HQ and Derek had done a 52.35, Tav a 52.40. My garmin was telling me i’d done a 52.34 but I kept it to myself. I normally start it a bit early and it’s about 10 seconds slower that the official time, which was confirmed after an agonising wait as being 52.28. It was a close contest, the best sort. It’s great to bag a win this year, I feel as though the pressure has lifted a little bit and I didn’t fancy another second place.
I also think, pending confirmation, that i nabbed the course record. It was previously set by Rob Lyne and I sliced about 10 seconds from his time. I’m quite pleased about this, Rob Lyne is super quick and I very much looked up to him in my first few seasons as the kind of chap I would never ever get anywhere near. A few years back he was a professional roadman who rode the Tour of Britain and won the Severn Bridge road race. It’s a vicarious encounter with greater glory. I’ll take it.
Rob in Amore & Vita colours
Today was the Bristol South CC 10 mile open time trial, taking place on the U7b, or as it’s affectionately known, ‘the graveyard’. Generally, it lives up to its moniker, burying any hopes or dreams of a fast time with all the clinical brutality of the grim reaper. The usual high-score combo is a lovely tailwind out, lulling you into throwing everything at the tarmac in the hope of a fast time, only to find the turn gives way to a wall of wind; all souplesse disappears as riders slip down through the cogs, trying to get over the three lumpy bits (including the mythical Col de Gossington Bridge) and somehow make it across the line without hæmorrhaging too much time.
Last year I won the event, but this year I was under no illusion that the feat might be repeated. Several extraordinarily fast men had decided to make the pilgrimage to the West’s fifth fastest 10 course, including Kieron Davies, Jon Wynn, Ben Anstie and Robin Coomber, all of whom have hefty 19s to their name and a clutch of 49 minute 25s. I decided that the best strategy was one i occasionally employ: PLF.
About fifteen minutes prior to the start, the wind dropped almost completely and a heartwarming stillness descended. I felt good, and continued to feel good all the way to the turn, scratching out a 29mph average. I took the roundabout at a decent pace, trying not to think about rolling a tub and grateful for the absence of any cars, then headed back for the home leg. It took me about 400 metres to realise that the return leg was going to be equally fast. As soon as i’d got over the three short climbs i whacked it into the 11 and completely mullered it, turning over the big gear with a sense of rhythm and circularity. I scraped home in 20.43, slicing a marginal 3 seconds from my PB on this course, set on a balmy and warm September morning last year. I was also only 5 and 8 seconds respectively behind two fellow competitors who normally eke out much larger margins.
It’s quite pleasing to set a PB. It means that whatever else happens – or whatever times other people turn in – you can rest assured that you have produced the best ride you could. It’s sometimes interesting on fast days (and it was clearly a fast day) to see how other people cope. I find it surprising that other riders don’t always put in a rapid time, but you never can tell what sort of form or fatigue people have brought with them. My form seems to be on an upward trend, I’ve been relatively focused and working hard and my weight has dropped to around the magical 67kg mark. This is important, the last 2 or so kilos of weight loss take time and come with the right kind of riding and structure. I place quite a lot of stock on the idea of ‘racing weight’, partly because i know that when i’m just a bit lighter i climb with much more freedom and pace. I did a couple of very hilly rides at the weekend and assaulted several climbs in and around the Mendips, enjoying them rather than toiling to the top. Keeping an eye on the bigger picture is always important in the early part of the season; hard work pays off in the long run.
The social side of time trials was very much in evidence today, it was great to catch up with others and talk at random. In the white heat of the post-race endorphin and caffeine mania i heard myself saying, ‘there was a distinct absence of inclemental impedance’. The person on the receiving end of this slab of pseudogibber looked at me and edged slowly away towards the results board.
It’s always good to lambast a few triantelopes as well. I met a rider I hadn’t seen for some time who had been spending some time amongst the triathlopeds. He seemed happy to pile in with the general ribbing of the tritard world and their shonky bike handling skills. I recounted a story of how i passed a group doing a 4up at a Castle Combe TT one evening last year. I found the experience unsettling; they were doing a 4up and yet still contrived to be riding at around 5mph slower than me. And i wasn’t going very fast. I think that same evening i saw one of the tripods do his 5 laps at around 19mph, then drop his bike and start running around the edge of the track in his sleeveless top and armwarmers. I resolved never to return.
Recently I ended up having to overtake a triaptoplod on a full TT bike, head down, going across the downs the other morning. I held off for ages but in the end had no choice. His pace was fluctuating oddly, occasionally going up about a mile per hour or so, then dropping two. I was on a 65″ gear with a carradice saddlebag full of heavy things like fruit and sandwiches and books and shoes. I gave him a puzzled look and as i came through asked what he was doing. He said, through stuttered breaths and out of the salt-stained corner of his mouth;
“Intervals”
I was rendered speechless. Tritards: the turducken of cycling.
oh yeah i’m gonna put my inside pedal down and tame that corner in my groovy tritard hotpants with utility girdle drink station yeah yeah
Tomorrow is the Westbury Hilly. I shall have to see what the legs feel like.
I was watching the Giro today with Belle. It was heating up on the final steep slopes of Altopiano del Montasio when this happened:
I’m not sure where the chap ended up, possibly at the bottom of a very deep ravine with limbs pointing like a scalene triangle.
It was very funny. Belle has vowed to watch the Giro more often.
i’ve been much troubled of late with the issue of the wave. Whilst out riding this weekend I saw several groups of cyclists and the occasional lone wolf. It’s generally seen as appropriate to acknowledge the existence of a fellow cyclist.
The sport is experiencing an exponential growth in popularity, and whilst i don’t expect many of the newcomers to be fully conversant in the arcane and complex etiquette of cycling, i do expect them to be civil and lift a finger from the bars to acknowledge a comrade and the wider fellowship of the road. In days of yore, simply seeing another cyclist was an event worthy of celebration. These days I can’t escape the nagging feeling that cyclists are less welcoming than in the past. It’s hard enough coping with the reckless animosity from car drivers without drawing a blank from those sharing enjoying the limitless freedom of the bicycle.
I tend to nod, wave, or speak to any other cyclists I see. This even includes mountain bikers, although I have to be sharp and get the hello in early because the difference in speed is so big as to make the encounter fleeting and ephemeral. I sometimes vary the wave depending on how i feel, but it’s always there.
Yesterday and today I saw several groups out on the road. Many of these gave a nod. I even had a chat with a chap at the bottom of Cleeve Hill. However, several riders ghosted past, looked, but made no gesture of recognition or welcome. The main culprits have been those wearing the red and black of Bristol and District Triantelopes. If you’re wearing club kit then there’s even more of an imperative to wave and present the club in a positive light. I can give BAD Tri the benefit of the doubt. Triantelopes don’t wave. This is because they have to concentrate very hard on the various things connected with riding a bike and especially trying not to crash by pointing the bike in the right direction. Lifting a hand from the bars, even momentarily – may cause a catastrophic wipe out. It’s probably best they don’t wave.
Fabian told him not to wave, but Gustav couldn’t resist showboating his new skills by lifting one finger off the bars.
It’s nice to see a triantelope attempting a new kind of dismount:
Or attempting to help one wounded triantelope back onto his bike with a gentle shove:
Anyway, from my inconclusive straw poll, Bad Tri need to wave more. It’s OK though, because triantelopes tend to contravene so many of the rules in such a spectacular fashion that waving is the least of their worries.
the lofty heights of triantelope chic
I was chatting to Mike Strada and Jez Strada the other day. Somehow we ended up discussing our encounters with famous cyclists. None of us could top Jez’s encounter with the big beast himself:
Legendary cycling champion and figure of notoriety – and some chump in a replica jersey
I once had a brief encounter with Axel, son of Eddy…
Me and Axel, son of Eddy.
A furtive back-turning from the son of a legend, played out in a rain and wind swept car park in Bradford is not quite a story to tell the grandchildren about. And i have been comprehensively outdone in the “Cycling Legends Top Trumps” by Mike.
Eddy recognises raw power when he sees it; the handshake speaks of the fellowship of the road, of two brothers joined in adversity and separated only by 11 grand tour wins.
It sounds slightly more glamourous than it actually was. Today I trekked to Wales for their 25 mile championship event. In truth, it wasn’t that different to any other event on the R25, it’s a course that attracts the strongest, fastest and scariest riders in the principality, and from over the border.
It was my first run at the Glynneath bank this year. I try to head over there a few times a year because there is always the tantalising promise of at least a personal best, and possibly a 30mph ride. For a slower rider like me it’s subject to the vagaries and whims of the weather, and especially the wind direction. Today wasn’t too bad, a headwind out and tailwind back is the preferred option. It was a bit too windy so I bore this in mind and moderated my ambitions. I wanted to beat my old PB and come in under 52 minutes. If i got close to 50 minutes then that would be a bonus. I was riding blind, entirely on feel. I couldn’t find my garmin this morning. I used my wristwatch instead to get a sense of where I was. This ended up being a little bit confusing, i kept thinking i was off on a 10, when I was a 1, which skewed my calculations. I realised eventually. I also recognised belatedly that i shouldn’t go by the ‘real time’, because my watch is set to ‘work time’, which is very different to ‘garmin time’. I turned it off after about 15 miles.
There were some luminaries on the startline, including Andy Wilkinson. 25 miles is a bit on the short side for Andy who has ridden 547 miles in 24 hours and done the End to End on a recumbent thingy in 41 hours. He also managed a paltry 317 miles for the 12 hour. That’s 20mph for 875 miles, 23mph for 24 hours and a ridiculous 26.5mph for 12 hours. He proved today that he can also ride 25 miles at 31mph. He is unquestionably one of the legendary figures of time trialling in the UK.
Andy en route to the 12 hour record
I felt quite good, held a reasonable speed going out and chased it hard coming back. I managed a 51.36, which is a minute or so down on my best time, but still works out at a 29mph ride. I think there is a 30mph ride in there somewhere, but I’m more reliant on the conditions than some of the other super strong men. Jeff Jones won the race with a mid 48, with Wilkinson second. I’m not sure what position i managed; perhaps grazing the outside of the top ten.
It was nice to be racing in vaguely mild temperatures, without knee warmers or arm warmers. I used my new disc wheel which i got second hand from Mike at Strada. It came with some interesting new decals so I left these on. The bearings on the new wheel are smoother than the proverbial codpiece made of cashmere and it was a psychosomatic dream.
i love hooters: matches the colourway so had to stay.
Allen Janes came along for the day out and did a bit of riding around Rhigos whilst me and Danny got to grips with the fast tarmac. We talked racing and club things on the journey over and Allen came up with some startling statistics: he has ridden over 1300 open time trials. This includes nearly 800 25 mile races. He has calculated that his average speed for the 800 is 24 miles per hour.
Allen pauses for a moment to contemplate every minute of every single time trial, all 1300 of them.
Allen with his dad Ernie in the late 1950s.
It’s always grand to catch up with Allen.
