2009 was a bummer for me. I raced and raced and raced, from Easter to September I traversed Scotland seeking results but only getting kickings and disappointments. I didn't want to tell you about it at the time and I don't want to tell you about it now. But I will tell you something, I learned stuff, I stayed healthy and for 2010 I have changed my ways.
Please read on if interested.
Sunday 16 May 2010
Tuesday 10 February 2009
‘The Rider’ by Peter Krabbe (Bloomsbury 2002)
First published in 1978 in Krabbe’s native Dutch though now happily translated into english this is a magnificent read – the very best writing I have come across on the subject of racing bicycles. It’s a fictional account of one race, the Tour de Mont Aigoual the ‘sweetest toughest race of the season’ from the point of view of one of the riders - Krabbe himself. It’s a compelling and swift read – you could conceivable read the book in the 4 1/2 hours it takes the race to reach its devastating conclusion - but most likely you will find yourself relishing the writing and - as you read, reflecting on your own experiences and thought processes when out on the bike.
For this book, better than any other in my opinion, illustrates and sets out the preposterous switches, leaps and repetitions of the mind as it seeks to maintain focus during a race. The mental and physical challenges of racing are mapped out in a chaos of observation, memory and metronomic mental riffing. I love the way Krabbe, (a champion chess player) mixes it all up in this book – not gratuitously for dramatic effect, or for any intellectual kudos but because that is
the way it is when you are out there on the road fighting for a good ride. Ideas are not concluded, thoughts are cut short, sums are not completed - memories explode and thoughts loop in the headlong clatter up the road.
The left and right sides of the brain, supposedly so distinct, begin to scramble as the legs become ‘black and scared’ by the effort and by the endless responding to the race unravelling around you. Krabbe documents this fascinating state of confusion that is shot through with the unwavering eye on the finale, the desire to cross the line first.A wonderful thing about this book is that it describes an amateur race – no closed roads or huge crowds here, instead the familiar scenario of sketchy descents, a cow on the road and the mythic unknown rider from Cycles Goff up the road.
It’s a book that is on the one hand deeply profound - ‘more races are lost than won’ and on the other hand it can be wretched and horribly blunt. It’s packed with excellent tips on sprinting, pacing and gearing and it’s awash with historical anecdotes. All in all it’s a great book about racing, one that I reckon I’ll read about once a year for the rest of my days.
My favourite quote, ‘A puncture, permission from beyond to stop the dying’.
Previously appeared in Glasgow Nightingale CC Newsletter August 2007
Listening to: The Monks - 'boys are boys and girls are girls'
Thursday 15 January 2009
In praise of the wheelie
I've always been impressed by wheelies.
I've never been much good at them myself but where I come from, Forres a small town in the NE of Scotland, they are high status stunts. The holiest wheelie is one that basically covers the entire length of the High Street, starting somewhere near the old folks home, wobbling past the church, steady past the market cross, the Smokers Shop, Lido cafe and the Tolbooth before cruising past the co-op, the butchers, both bakers, Miele's chip shop, the community centre and library before a front wheel touchdown alongside the ghastly Britain in Bloom floral beds by the park. A wild ride indeed, pulling a wheelie, poppin' up by on your potent hog - humpy bosque like. Never could do it myself, never had the guts to even try. But I am most impressed with those that do. I'd imagine the same story plays out in all small towns absolutely everywhere - certainly we can be pretty sure that Grantown on Spey, a town not more than 25 miles from where I grew up, has its pantheon of wheelie greats. Top of the pile presumably must be freeman of the town Craig MacLean. I recently stumbled across the below footage of him riding a velodrome in Japan (I believe he spent a year there doing keirin school) - check him out 3 minutes into the clip...
Having seen this clip I find it hard to believe that the excellent MacLean, an Olympian, a World Champion, and the man whom Grantown's new leisure centre is named has not previously been Grantown's wheelie champion pulling a mighty wheelie the length of the High Street.
Craig Hardy is another scot who excells on one wheel, here he is crossing the finish line of the 2008 Sam Robinson RR poppin a skilly one hander after a tough 85 miles of Trossachs racing.
But I'll sign off this missive with the guy who is also at the top of the page, the champ, Robbie MacEwan. Here is a man who had the flash and nerve to cross the finish line of a Tour stage up the Alpe d'Huez pulling a huge one. Respect, veneration, applause etc.
Listening to: The Cookies - 'foolish little girl'
Sunday 4 January 2009
Thoughts on TTing
After the classic Tour de Trossachs TT last year we had a bit of a post-mortem about time-trialing and concentration levels/thought processes on the forum of my cycling club Glasgow Nightingale.
Subsequently I've been wondering about how I night apply 'the blinkers' when TTing and I have been thinking about my thought processes when it's just me against the clock.
However I consider it I keep coming back to the same conclusion - that I am a rubbish tester and always will be...but, it is an interesting subject nonetheless. 'Does the body rule the mind
Or does the mind rule the body?' - well, to take that excellent question right out of its intended context, I can say for sure that my mind rules my body when I'm out there alone against the clock - it just won't stop wittering inane, distracting, and unnecessary blethers at me. I asked Scottish champion Arthur Doyle (Dooley's RT) what goes through his mind when he's battering along the road faster than anyone else in the nation and he provided the illuminating answer of "not much really!". Here he is on his winning ride that glorious autumn day last year. Photo grabbed from Ed Hood/Veloresults
None the wiser but unperturbed I continued my rambling investigations and over the holidays I sat down and watched 'Stars & Watercarriers', a remarkable film made in 1973 by Jorgen Leth of that years Giro d'Italia. There is a truely magnificent section of the film where the cameras follow Ole Ritter (Bianchi/Campagnolo) on Stage 16, the Forte dei Marmi TT where Ritter came 2nd to Gimondi with a time of 46.46 averaging just under 48km/h. In the movie there is a beautiful, poetic monologue narrated over the top of the whir of his bike and the cheers of spectators that I feel goes quite some way towards explaining what time trialing is all about.
Something to do with 'thrust'?
Do watch the movie if you get the chance but for now here is a transcript of those fine words:
The trial of truth.
Contre la montre.
Facing the stopwatch.
The fight against the second hand.
The trial of truth.
He's off and the watch begins to register his time,
37 kilometers each man for himself.
2 minute intervals between starts, each man against the clock, against himself.
Here there is only the man & his machine
Here strength & psyche & style are expressed in the most simple way,
The trial of truth.
It's vitally important to get the right thrust
to find & hold a gliding rhythm.
Always the highest possible gear which can be maintained effortlessly.
Frequent changes to start with, what matters is to get hold of a harmonious thrust.
It's very important to make a sensible start,
it's a question of feeling your way, of knowing yourself,
of finding the right rhythm, just for today,
of starting off on the right foot for a long concentrateed & cohesive effort.
For others the finishing line is in sight,
times are written up, the results are adjusted.
The car is following at the stipulated distance
He knows himself & he knows pretty well where he has his opponents
But each single time trial is an experiment,
racing the clock is, every time, a new trial of truth & a fresh challenge.
There is no margin for coincidence,
here the question is 'whose day is it today?'
Here it is exclusively a job for the strongest & a matter for split second performance,
but who amongst the strong can make a super-human effort today?
Yes, he knows himself, he is no machine.
He is absorbed in his race as if it were a work of art
The result will depend on his sense of feeling & his concentration.
He knows his so called, normal possibilities
& he knows the feeling of euphoria when his wheels start humming,
When limits and contours are errased
& the fluid thrust is just right.
Energy, but above all energy under control.
The allocation of energy,
the ribbon of flat road,
the front wheel,
hands, stomach, breathing.
The maximum.
Kilometer after kilometer - the promenade at Forte dei Marmi.
The long straight stretch to the turning point,
spectator shouts urging him on.
The sidewind is an everpresent opponent but it cannot break his cadenza,
now nothing can make him loose his steady beat.
Cycle and body are a compact unit smoothly thrusting, meter consuming.
He is totally involved in a marvellous, integrated effort.
He is catching up with the rider who started 2 minutes before him,
It's the Olympic champion, the Dutchman Kuiper.
He overtakes him on the inside & continues, unfalteringly in his stride.
Just like in a dream this fluid gliding thrust,
revolutions equating time & distance,
exertion released from the force of gravity,
energy like a classic symbol,
pain as an icon.
A professionals generosity,
his evaluation of his own powers,
his concept of honour,
his sense of duty,
his experience,
the calculated risks,
the significance of the individual effort in the larger perspective.
But also the sense of well-being when the machine runs smoothly for the man,
when all calculations merge into the ultimate exertion.
The final 200 meters,
150 meters,
100 meters,
50 meters,
across the line.
Listening to: Muddy Waters - 'she's all right'
Subsequently I've been wondering about how I night apply 'the blinkers' when TTing and I have been thinking about my thought processes when it's just me against the clock.
However I consider it I keep coming back to the same conclusion - that I am a rubbish tester and always will be...but, it is an interesting subject nonetheless. 'Does the body rule the mind
Or does the mind rule the body?' - well, to take that excellent question right out of its intended context, I can say for sure that my mind rules my body when I'm out there alone against the clock - it just won't stop wittering inane, distracting, and unnecessary blethers at me. I asked Scottish champion Arthur Doyle (Dooley's RT) what goes through his mind when he's battering along the road faster than anyone else in the nation and he provided the illuminating answer of "not much really!". Here he is on his winning ride that glorious autumn day last year. Photo grabbed from Ed Hood/Veloresults
None the wiser but unperturbed I continued my rambling investigations and over the holidays I sat down and watched 'Stars & Watercarriers', a remarkable film made in 1973 by Jorgen Leth of that years Giro d'Italia. There is a truely magnificent section of the film where the cameras follow Ole Ritter (Bianchi/Campagnolo) on Stage 16, the Forte dei Marmi TT where Ritter came 2nd to Gimondi with a time of 46.46 averaging just under 48km/h. In the movie there is a beautiful, poetic monologue narrated over the top of the whir of his bike and the cheers of spectators that I feel goes quite some way towards explaining what time trialing is all about.
Something to do with 'thrust'?
Do watch the movie if you get the chance but for now here is a transcript of those fine words:
The trial of truth.
Contre la montre.
Facing the stopwatch.
The fight against the second hand.
The trial of truth.
He's off and the watch begins to register his time,
37 kilometers each man for himself.
2 minute intervals between starts, each man against the clock, against himself.
Here there is only the man & his machine
Here strength & psyche & style are expressed in the most simple way,
The trial of truth.
It's vitally important to get the right thrust
to find & hold a gliding rhythm.
Always the highest possible gear which can be maintained effortlessly.
Frequent changes to start with, what matters is to get hold of a harmonious thrust.
It's very important to make a sensible start,
it's a question of feeling your way, of knowing yourself,
of finding the right rhythm, just for today,
of starting off on the right foot for a long concentrateed & cohesive effort.
For others the finishing line is in sight,
times are written up, the results are adjusted.
The car is following at the stipulated distance
He knows himself & he knows pretty well where he has his opponents
But each single time trial is an experiment,
racing the clock is, every time, a new trial of truth & a fresh challenge.
There is no margin for coincidence,
here the question is 'whose day is it today?'
Here it is exclusively a job for the strongest & a matter for split second performance,
but who amongst the strong can make a super-human effort today?
Yes, he knows himself, he is no machine.
He is absorbed in his race as if it were a work of art
The result will depend on his sense of feeling & his concentration.
He knows his so called, normal possibilities
& he knows the feeling of euphoria when his wheels start humming,
When limits and contours are errased
& the fluid thrust is just right.
Energy, but above all energy under control.
The allocation of energy,
the ribbon of flat road,
the front wheel,
hands, stomach, breathing.
The maximum.
Kilometer after kilometer - the promenade at Forte dei Marmi.
The long straight stretch to the turning point,
spectator shouts urging him on.
The sidewind is an everpresent opponent but it cannot break his cadenza,
now nothing can make him loose his steady beat.
Cycle and body are a compact unit smoothly thrusting, meter consuming.
He is totally involved in a marvellous, integrated effort.
He is catching up with the rider who started 2 minutes before him,
It's the Olympic champion, the Dutchman Kuiper.
He overtakes him on the inside & continues, unfalteringly in his stride.
Just like in a dream this fluid gliding thrust,
revolutions equating time & distance,
exertion released from the force of gravity,
energy like a classic symbol,
pain as an icon.
A professionals generosity,
his evaluation of his own powers,
his concept of honour,
his sense of duty,
his experience,
the calculated risks,
the significance of the individual effort in the larger perspective.
But also the sense of well-being when the machine runs smoothly for the man,
when all calculations merge into the ultimate exertion.
The final 200 meters,
150 meters,
100 meters,
50 meters,
across the line.
Listening to: Muddy Waters - 'she's all right'
Saturday 3 January 2009
Ras de Cymru 2008 Stage 6 sun 6th July
Abergavenny/Three Cocks/Llangynidr, 60 miles
Before the Ras I'd only ever twice ridden my bike in south Wales before. Once over the Gospel Pass towards Hay-on-Wye from Crickhowell (very beautiful ride) and then a quick burst up the mad mountain road behind my hotel - which turned out to be exactly the mountain we were finishing up on today, Llangynidr. Its a brute of a climb, long, unforgiving and very exposed higher up. The race newsletter today urged us, in all seriousness to 'please (do) not collapse on the road. Use the verges for this purpose.'... I was really concerned about racing it - in fact I lost a lot of sleep over it, or more exactly over my stoopit lack of anything bigger than a 23 sprocket. Its a deal of work keeping bikes going smooth over a few days, remembering bits, checking, fixing, swapping out, cleaning, you all know the script. The bikes had done fine but I had forgotten the 12-25 and it was worrying my tired mind on a sunday morning, M&D Cycles of Abergavenny being shut. Sod it, onwards, last lap, last gasp. Today it was WET. Very wet.
Racing was easy for starters but picked up to a really painful speed pulling back an early break. Cooke was active, she loves to attack, really relishes it and is a powerful presence at the front of the field, missing nothing. I'm a little way back a lot of the time, frankly I'm exhausted by all the racing - I feel old today, I mean I am (relatively) old but don't yet have to dwell on it much but today, with several days continuous racing in my legs, I'm whacked. I'm not the only one suffering today, Pooley spends a good deal of time on my wheel (and thanks me for it later - bless) as I struggle to close gaps. But as the rain returns on the run-in to the mountain the pace drops as we are just one big bunch of 40 at the head of the race, a situation which nobody expected - thus the Llangnidr will decide. As I said, it's a brute, a steepening haul that doesn't even bother to hair-pin for the bulk of its lower slopes though higher up it tacks horribly left and over onto exposed slopes of moorland. A brief descent and then it rears up again, steep and bad to the summit.
Emma Pooley smashed it, putting 32 seconds between herself and Jack Adams the next finisher, she is a phenomenal climber and I felt privelidged to experience her riding away from me whenever the road reared up. A magnificent sight.
My ride was OK given that I started at the back of the bunch. I plugged away, picking through the field, a great determination filled me - and all of us I am sure - maxed out but going crazy for the line and the finish and an end to what had been a tough few days. I was 25th on the day - all I could do, all I could do.
So I enormously enjoyed riding the Ras; the company, the racing, the organisation, that justified whooping swoop downhill to the valley from the finish - it is as serious and committing a bike race as I have found in these islands for a humble, 3rd cat road racer. The racing was consistently hard but I didn't ever feel completely out of my depth though I had to adopt a low-key, damage limitation style of riding to survive intact to the end. The standard of riding was high and I have very few complaints about fellow riders - all were fit and focused and fair. There were undoubtedly a few outstanding riders in the field, male and female, young and old, who are destined for great things (like rainbow banded shirts and pure gold medals!) but the majority were just toughing it out and, like me, were into uncharted territory come the 4th day. It was an enthralling taste of the all-enveloping world of stage racing that I'm proud to have been part of. The organisation of the race was amazing, with every detail taken care of by a remarkable group of people. From the South Wales NEG motorcycle outriders to the Caerleon Campus canteen ladies, from race organiser Simon Bray to the many marshalls, pushers off and behind the scenes administraters - these people made sure the racing happened in a healthy, safe and high profile manner. They really did everything possible to allow us riders free reign to race, a phenomenal situation to find yourself in - I am truely grateful to them all.
So the overall race was won by canny Tim Carter - who has been South African TT champ in his time - he is also a vet (over 40) - which pushed me into second spot in that grizzled category. So I ended up 26th on G.C. which isn't special but was hard fought - but I'd love to go back next year as part of a drilled Scottish team of attacking nutters - we could really do some damage down there in 2009. Have a think about it.
Listening to: Galwad y Mynydd - 'un cynnig olaf' (one last chance)
Full results
http://www3.newport.ac.uk/displayPage.aspx?object_id=7707&type=PAG
http://www.cobrecordsbangor.co.uk/wales-music.php
http://www.sports-pictorial.fotopic.net/ (Dave O'Nyons took the pictures)
http://sports-centre.newport.ac.uk/rasdecymru
other reports
http://www.britishcycling.org.uk/web/site/BC/roa/EventReports2008/20080706_RasdeCymru.asp
http://www.teamhalfordsbikehut.com/content/en/news_details.aspx?guid=5572CE20-73CD-411F-AFA2-B90908F2A6C5
Before the Ras I'd only ever twice ridden my bike in south Wales before. Once over the Gospel Pass towards Hay-on-Wye from Crickhowell (very beautiful ride) and then a quick burst up the mad mountain road behind my hotel - which turned out to be exactly the mountain we were finishing up on today, Llangynidr. Its a brute of a climb, long, unforgiving and very exposed higher up. The race newsletter today urged us, in all seriousness to 'please (do) not collapse on the road. Use the verges for this purpose.'... I was really concerned about racing it - in fact I lost a lot of sleep over it, or more exactly over my stoopit lack of anything bigger than a 23 sprocket. Its a deal of work keeping bikes going smooth over a few days, remembering bits, checking, fixing, swapping out, cleaning, you all know the script. The bikes had done fine but I had forgotten the 12-25 and it was worrying my tired mind on a sunday morning, M&D Cycles of Abergavenny being shut. Sod it, onwards, last lap, last gasp. Today it was WET. Very wet.
Racing was easy for starters but picked up to a really painful speed pulling back an early break. Cooke was active, she loves to attack, really relishes it and is a powerful presence at the front of the field, missing nothing. I'm a little way back a lot of the time, frankly I'm exhausted by all the racing - I feel old today, I mean I am (relatively) old but don't yet have to dwell on it much but today, with several days continuous racing in my legs, I'm whacked. I'm not the only one suffering today, Pooley spends a good deal of time on my wheel (and thanks me for it later - bless) as I struggle to close gaps. But as the rain returns on the run-in to the mountain the pace drops as we are just one big bunch of 40 at the head of the race, a situation which nobody expected - thus the Llangnidr will decide. As I said, it's a brute, a steepening haul that doesn't even bother to hair-pin for the bulk of its lower slopes though higher up it tacks horribly left and over onto exposed slopes of moorland. A brief descent and then it rears up again, steep and bad to the summit.
Emma Pooley smashed it, putting 32 seconds between herself and Jack Adams the next finisher, she is a phenomenal climber and I felt privelidged to experience her riding away from me whenever the road reared up. A magnificent sight.
My ride was OK given that I started at the back of the bunch. I plugged away, picking through the field, a great determination filled me - and all of us I am sure - maxed out but going crazy for the line and the finish and an end to what had been a tough few days. I was 25th on the day - all I could do, all I could do.
So I enormously enjoyed riding the Ras; the company, the racing, the organisation, that justified whooping swoop downhill to the valley from the finish - it is as serious and committing a bike race as I have found in these islands for a humble, 3rd cat road racer. The racing was consistently hard but I didn't ever feel completely out of my depth though I had to adopt a low-key, damage limitation style of riding to survive intact to the end. The standard of riding was high and I have very few complaints about fellow riders - all were fit and focused and fair. There were undoubtedly a few outstanding riders in the field, male and female, young and old, who are destined for great things (like rainbow banded shirts and pure gold medals!) but the majority were just toughing it out and, like me, were into uncharted territory come the 4th day. It was an enthralling taste of the all-enveloping world of stage racing that I'm proud to have been part of. The organisation of the race was amazing, with every detail taken care of by a remarkable group of people. From the South Wales NEG motorcycle outriders to the Caerleon Campus canteen ladies, from race organiser Simon Bray to the many marshalls, pushers off and behind the scenes administraters - these people made sure the racing happened in a healthy, safe and high profile manner. They really did everything possible to allow us riders free reign to race, a phenomenal situation to find yourself in - I am truely grateful to them all.
So the overall race was won by canny Tim Carter - who has been South African TT champ in his time - he is also a vet (over 40) - which pushed me into second spot in that grizzled category. So I ended up 26th on G.C. which isn't special but was hard fought - but I'd love to go back next year as part of a drilled Scottish team of attacking nutters - we could really do some damage down there in 2009. Have a think about it.
Listening to: Galwad y Mynydd - 'un cynnig olaf' (one last chance)
Full results
http://www3.newport.ac.uk/
http://www.cobrecordsbangor.
http://www.sports-pictorial.
http://sports-centre.newport.
other reports
http://www.britishcycling.org.
http://www.
Ras de Cymru 2008 Stage 5 sat 5th July
Storey Arms/Brecon/Defynnog, 70 miles
Quite a long drive to the strip at the Storey Arms, west past Cardiff then north through the valleys and right up into the Brecon Beacons where it was howling! Cagouled walkers were streaming down from the hills as we steeled ourselves for what was to come. I went for warm-up and as I wheeled up the drive to attend the pre-race con-fab 'bang' i was over the bars thwacking my helmet and knee on the way down. Never happened to me before, but my chain had snapped - could of happened at a worse time!
Neutral service were right on hand (courtesy of London's Bath Road Road Club) and got busy taking a link out of my chain whilst I dived indoors to get cleaned up. Here is my Pinarello back ready for action, seconds to go - and oh yes and that is the British RR champ in front!
We streamed north down the hill, neutralised at first, cold and wet before a swing west into the wind got us working up a sweat. Many attacks as we headed up the valley, most brought back but a Cwmcarn +3 went off the front before we hit the major feature of the days race course, the mad steep 16% Defynog hill. First time up was terrifying, right on the limit, second time was mad, racing full pelt staggered at the speed and ease with which Emma Pooley rode it but I would be surprised if there was any oxygen left on that hill we were all breathing so hard. 3rd time up was relatively easy. Heres one of Dave Nyons photos of that gasping effort:
By this time another group of 8 had got off the front to join the first break. I had tried to get off the front on the 2nd and 3rd laps, measuring my energy and finding some to spare but I got nowhere other than back in the thinning bunch. Sobering that, I had nothing to show for my digs other than stinging legs and I suppose pride restored that I'd at least had a go. I was tired and by this stage clearly not a player in the race but I was absolutely not going to relinquish my hard fought position towards the head of the bunch, but I was reduced to just watching the attacks go and come back, riders disappearing for a spell before raggedly re-entering the fold. There was a mighty battle on for KOM points between Carl Dyson (Cyclingbargains) & Lee Tunnicliffe (DHCyclesport) both chasing the tally of Tom Crouch (Team Certini/Felt) and setting that competition up to be decided tomorrow, on the final slope of the race.
So it turned into an epic race on what was a great circuit, with its super smooth and fast descent from the climb and, an exposed valley road and pretty village to pass through. They used it for the Welsh RR champs last year.
Shane had a crash during the race and packed. Rob just packed. It was just me left from our team now.
We pulled back Crouch in the purple jersey of the KOM just before the finish, totally blown. Nicole Cooke immediately attacked and led our bunch of 20 or so back up the Defynog one more time and over the line with a commanding display of measured strength. We were 4 mins down on wild eyed Tim Wallis (Red Kite) who had soloed home with 9 hellhounds on his tail including the clear young talents of Jack Adams (Loughborough) and Tunnicliffe. These 3 riders all secured their 1st cat licences during the course of the Ras. The South Wales shake-out was nearly complete, just one more day to go...the end was almost in sight, but twas atop a mountain so harsh, so bleak, so steep.
Listening to: Duffy - 'stepping stone'
Quite a long drive to the strip at the Storey Arms, west past Cardiff then north through the valleys and right up into the Brecon Beacons where it was howling! Cagouled walkers were streaming down from the hills as we steeled ourselves for what was to come. I went for warm-up and as I wheeled up the drive to attend the pre-race con-fab 'bang' i was over the bars thwacking my helmet and knee on the way down. Never happened to me before, but my chain had snapped - could of happened at a worse time!
Neutral service were right on hand (courtesy of London's Bath Road Road Club) and got busy taking a link out of my chain whilst I dived indoors to get cleaned up. Here is my Pinarello back ready for action, seconds to go - and oh yes and that is the British RR champ in front!
We streamed north down the hill, neutralised at first, cold and wet before a swing west into the wind got us working up a sweat. Many attacks as we headed up the valley, most brought back but a Cwmcarn +3 went off the front before we hit the major feature of the days race course, the mad steep 16% Defynog hill. First time up was terrifying, right on the limit, second time was mad, racing full pelt staggered at the speed and ease with which Emma Pooley rode it but I would be surprised if there was any oxygen left on that hill we were all breathing so hard. 3rd time up was relatively easy. Heres one of Dave Nyons photos of that gasping effort:
By this time another group of 8 had got off the front to join the first break. I had tried to get off the front on the 2nd and 3rd laps, measuring my energy and finding some to spare but I got nowhere other than back in the thinning bunch. Sobering that, I had nothing to show for my digs other than stinging legs and I suppose pride restored that I'd at least had a go. I was tired and by this stage clearly not a player in the race but I was absolutely not going to relinquish my hard fought position towards the head of the bunch, but I was reduced to just watching the attacks go and come back, riders disappearing for a spell before raggedly re-entering the fold. There was a mighty battle on for KOM points between Carl Dyson (Cyclingbargains) & Lee Tunnicliffe (DHCyclesport) both chasing the tally of Tom Crouch (Team Certini/Felt) and setting that competition up to be decided tomorrow, on the final slope of the race.
So it turned into an epic race on what was a great circuit, with its super smooth and fast descent from the climb and, an exposed valley road and pretty village to pass through. They used it for the Welsh RR champs last year.
Shane had a crash during the race and packed. Rob just packed. It was just me left from our team now.
We pulled back Crouch in the purple jersey of the KOM just before the finish, totally blown. Nicole Cooke immediately attacked and led our bunch of 20 or so back up the Defynog one more time and over the line with a commanding display of measured strength. We were 4 mins down on wild eyed Tim Wallis (Red Kite) who had soloed home with 9 hellhounds on his tail including the clear young talents of Jack Adams (Loughborough) and Tunnicliffe. These 3 riders all secured their 1st cat licences during the course of the Ras. The South Wales shake-out was nearly complete, just one more day to go...the end was almost in sight, but twas atop a mountain so harsh, so bleak, so steep.
Listening to: Duffy - 'stepping stone'
Ras de Cymru 2008 Stage 4 fri 4th July
Usk/Raglan/Usk circuit, 68 milesA bit of a snooze back at the strip and a wander into town and all of a sudden it was time to get back on the road for another RR. This time a circuit to be ridden 3 times, mostly flat but with a finish on the only hill, a big ring affair. By this point in the race distinct patterns were emerging as both the stronger teams & riders became more confident. Apart from the seriously commited and organised female teams there were strong squads from Team Certini, Cyclingbargains and most particularly the local Cwmcarn Paragon - all tearing it up and making my life painful but strangely excellent! This really is the life, though I badly feel the lack of a proper team that can cover, compliment, support and just be there when the the pressure rises. As it was I was in the game of survival, with proper tough mountain stages in the next days I was all about minimising my efforts and enjoying the ride.
We had a great race today, swinging over the old chain bridge over the Afon Wysg, powering into Usk behind the TV cameras (there for Ms Cooke I hasten to add) and past screaming children let out of class to cheer us all on. This area has always embraced the bike and is clearly very chuffed with Nicoles success. From my perspective I have been very impressed with her. She attacks, she suffers, she grins, she shouts, she hangs wheels and then attacks again. She is tough and organised though clearly riding a bike is an emotional activity for her. She is a champion rider.
I finished =6th in the bunch, 37 secs down on my campus neighbour Gareth McGuiness (Clwb Eqni/Rhos on Sea) who toughed it out in a sprint with Wallis and local Andrew Lane (Cwmcarn Paragon). The Cwmcarn were riding a very smart race at this juncture, with 3 riders in the top 6 on GC all complimenting and supporting each other, they were a ubiquitous and relentless force at the head of the pack.
Another rider who made a deep impression today was Simon Thomas (South Region Juniors). He worked persistently to bridge up to the break and apparently was the driving force in ensuring it stayed away once he joined it. A skinny kid, clothes flapping about and a wee bit all over the road but generally grinning and mad keen to ride.
In the evening the excellent Stuart Stanton gave a fascinating informal talk on another revered local cyclist Arthur Linton who, in 1893 took world hour record off none other than Henri Desgranges and in 1896 won the Bordeaux-Paris race. The story of Linton has considerable contemporary relevance as you'll note if you follow this link:
As well as being an archivist of note Stuart also organises the Junior Tour of Wales and is the Ras de Cymru's mobile commentator, with an endless succession of observations and anecdotes for riders and spectators being broadcast from his van all week.
Listening to: Young Marble Giants - 'wind in the rigging'
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