live-cycle

A very brief selection of pictures from the last few days – somehow it’s quite difficult to take pix and cycle, so for any snappers looking at the quality, think before you criticise the pictures as I might make you cycle a 100km before doing an assigment!!!!!

Ready for the off, The Times jerseys are looking very bling!

Stage 4 of Paul and Dennis’s epic adventure sees us leave early, following the lead car and 1000 other riders. For some reason the pace vehicle took a wrong turn with in 1000 metres and couldn’t cross the river he was faced with. He turned round, riders confused and stunned made up their own way across the river, which included trampling down a rather bemused elderly couple who came to see what the fuss was only to be met with a wall of Lycra clad bodies hauling over £3 million worth of carbon and aluminium through their flowers.
My backside, although much perter than before, is so sore I can barely sit down. Dennis is suffering the same way both of us gingerly settle into our rythmn and set about the stage with gusto, 118 km and 10 hours to beat the cut off time.
Gratefully we were able to leave the ropes, ladders, crampons and other climbing gear in the tents. The route wound through the town twice, which is hard as it only has 2 roads before heading out into the country along fast gravel roads. Most of the journey today was much less stressful than previous days although we climbed over 2000 metres most of it was saved for the last 10km, where a devastating series of hills delivered their knockout blows to us. We battled and punished our sore backsides and weary legs over the rocky paths dust billowed out from our wheels casting amazing shadows in the sunlight. As we hit the outskirts of Greyton we managed to put on a parody of a sprint finish, pink faces streaked with dust and our great Britain kit blackened from our trials on the singletrack trails I’m the hills. We beat the cut by a little under an hour and a half.
Showered, massaged and full of pizza we retired early to await Dr Evil’s plans for us.
Still trying to get pix up for you but the Internet cafe pc is not accepting my card reader, however I’m told there is a pic of us crossing the river bed on the cape epic site.
Until tomorrow ttfn

Today is a “short stage” only 71km, with a stupid amount of climbing. As we set off at dawn to the sound of High way to Hell blasting across the fields. Let me tell you about climbing, ah but first you need to be aware that Dennis and I had technical problems today. Four punctures with in the first 10km which meant we were officially last and with the cut off time being reduced to 8 hours it was going to be a tough day for us as we only managed 28km in four and a half hours. This coupled with a small amount of mountaineering that would have made Chris Bonnigton proud. Have you ever tried climbing – not riding – 5km up a mountain road made of rocks the size of footballs having to carry your bike? The sweat runs in rivers down your face, your shoes fill with grit and sweat and become like concrete slippers. The sun baking us and the Cape Epic once again resembled a broken defeated army in retreat to some safe distant haven.
On reaching the top we decided that the only thing to do was literally throw ourselves off the top and we did. We hurtled to valley floor over loose rocks and cobbles through dust and sand at speeds reaching 66kpm – Andy Keys, that’s downhill! This was the fastest I have ever been on a mountain bike off road. After finally getting to the tarmac we pushed on and averaged a speed of 40kph for nearly 10km, then more off road and some mountains and we were home with an hour to spare! That is riding with the pressure of failure sitting heavy on your shoulders, somehow you just dig a bit deeper and find some hidden reserves.
Sorry its a bit short but time is tight in the internet cafe

After the excitement of arriving at last nights hotel to find we had a suite overlooking a pool, we were both somewhat reluctant to leave it behind for today’s stage From Gordon’s Bay to Villersdorp.

The sound of media helicopters buzzing overhead accompanied us as we set off.

The first few kilometres were a neutral zone, so no racing, then into the action proper.
Now I would like to say that Dennis and I were at the front pushing the world chamion for a podium spot but he was a bit quicker than us so we were battling at the back with two fat ladies, a man with arm and a bloke with a squeaky bike.
The first climb was an 8 km monster, rising up 500m to the Steenbras Dam, the n along the ridge line of the mountians surrounding Gordon’s Bay. So far so good. Dennis and I were riding strong and fast. That should tell you something. After a very technical descent over loose rock, jumps, dips and sand then up a minor mountain through the Nuweberg plantations things still going well. It was on this descent that Dennis’s back tyre exploded after he hit a rock. The Ferrari pit crew couldn’t have repaired a tyre quicker. Shortly after this hold up we approached the mother of mountains – Groenlandberg – it’s a 5km climb, excuse my French here (especially you mum – happy mothers day by the way!) but this a bitch. It was here about 60km that things started to go a bit pear shaped for me. MY legs turned to lead, my eyes started rolling, I stopped sweating even though the temperature was 29 degrees. My heart rate dropped and I couldn’t turn the pedals, my pace dropped to a crawl, my body rolling over the bike, my hands numbs, feet boiling, the air I sucked in through dry lips poisonous to my every move. I’m not ashamed to admit that I got off and walked as the gradient steepened. Dennis was supporive and helped, cajoled and bullied me onto my bike like a top team mate. Once at the crest the down hill gave no respite, deep sand huge rocks made holding on to the bars incredibly painful. We stopped for water, both of us drained. The cape epic had become a war of attrition, its competitors were like a defeated army battling forwards against all hope, the sun was merciless. Salt crusted out faces and clothes, mouths moved to speak but only formed silenbt curses as the hills kept coming, they were relentless, crest rising over crest, the dust silhouetted riders against the sun. This was incredible. Digging deep within myself I found a little something in reserve, what it was God only knows but as we clicked over 100km we both started pushing for the end of this nightmare. Riding through the orchards over the last 15km was and act of utter destruction by those organising this race, we passed countless riders lying by the roadside, exhausted, faces blackened from the dust mouths silently asking for help. The last few hills came and went at an agonising snails pace, but eventually we hit the tarmac to the finish, the sign said 1km to go, we had to make 10 hours to beat the cut, with jellied legs and lungs of fire we pushed as hard as we could over the joyous road (I can see why the pope kisses it on his arrival in a foreign country!) We hit the finish line after 9 hours and 56 minutes – of which 4 were trhe most tortuous I have ever spent on a bike. We both collapsed exhausted, broken but elated to have beaten, well not beaten, but at least it was a honourable draw with Stage 1.
Camping tonight! Bring on stage 2 let battle commence at 7am
Mum, sorry I didn’t get you a present but consider me surviving a gift to you from me x

Standing nervously at the start of the Absa Cape Epic prologue before dawn, watching as the sun turned Table Mountain blood red and then slowly illuminating the start area with a fantastic warm light, the kind of light landscape photographers dream can only dream of. This was not the time to take pictures.
The starters fingers showed 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… and we were off, competing against 1200 other cyclists as we raced round the area and up the sharp incline into the woods and away.
For an amateur cyclist like me – and not a very good one at that – I have to say being cheered out of the stadium was a pretty emotional way to start the day. Bouyed along by their support we quickly caught the team that had started 30 seconds ahead of us, and were promptly overhauled by the team who had started behind us, all is fair in love and war!
The climb to dead mans tree is long and the surface is loose, wheels spinning and sliding desperate for traction causing loss of rythmn made us both sweat. But steadily we found our climbing legs and worked together catching teams and being overtaken in a continual game of cat and mouse. The last bend before the aptly named “Dead Man’s Tree” I pushed up through the corner as the spectators cheered us on and I gracefully fell from my bike to a chorus of whoops from crowd.
“Marks for style?” I gasped
“Never play to the crowd” a man laughed back “get on and pedal man!” he continued his encouragement as I remounted and slipped and slithered to the summit.
Turning on to the road the full extent of the fires became visible, Dennis and I took our time, drank plenty of fluid and ate some gel bars before continuing through the charred and blackened landscape, still smouldering in places the smoke drifting in lazy spirals as we climbed through it.
Once off the road the downhill was fun, hardwork to keep upright because of the loose gravel, but a run into the valley bought smiles to our dust streaked faces. The sting in the tail of this course was the last hill, raising up infront of us like a wall. I passed two riders, “Hey great work,” said the first rider to me. Just to prove lightening can strike twice I looked across to say thanks and fell off again. I moved aside to let Dennis power past me. The surface was so loose and the incline so steep that I couldn’t get going, so picking the bike up I ran up the slope – and soon regretted my enthusiasm as the air I sucked in scalded my lungs and my legs seemed to made of jelly. Dennis seemed to suffer from the same complaint as we gathered ourseleves at the top of the climb for the last singletrack home. Weaving through the trees a Danish rider caught us and as he tried to go past flew over the handlebars, then only moments later Dennis had to go for style marks by copying him. No damage done, we made the arena and clasped hands as we rode under the finish banner to the sound of Green Day’s “American Idiot”. We looked at each other, the pent up nerves of the previous day were forgotten after conquering Table Mountain we just started laughing as we wheeled our bikes to be cleaned.
The time for our prologue, largely irrelevent, but around 1 hour 17 minutes for 16.8 km with a total ascent of 850 metres.
Not a bad start, so bring on tomorrow, I’m off to get my legs rubbed – Now where is Dennis?

I’m not one to panic, as many of you will know but today i’ve sort of had my hair on fire all day.

Dennis and I set about attaching my tubeless tyres and after initial slapping on backs and general self congratulation first tyre mounting, some how the second wasn’t the same. It went on the rim and I started pumping and I pumped and pumped and pumped still harder, no air went into that tyre. We tried adjusting the way we held the rim, pressing, squeezing, cajoling and even swearing but that tyre remained flat. After another half hour of me bouncing on the pump until sweat ran in rivers down my red face I collapsed, handed the pump to dennis who made similar unsuccessful efforts. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the hose had sheared from the pump meaning we had been spouting hot air into a void for nearly an hour!

A local bike shop – action bikes – sorted us out in seconds, so helpful and friendly, if only the bike shops back home were like that, what a wonderful world it would be.
To top this I had a call from the fraud office at natwest. Some Lind soul had cloned my credit card, spent £500 locally on jewellery and was obviously off to buy more objects of desire on me when the boys at may west were on to him. They stopped the card, brilliant, but now I only have £253 to last ten days, no spending spree for me unless I borrow Dennis’s card! He has kindly offered to sort mr out though like the good friend he is.

Tomorrow at 7:57:30am we start the prologue. We had a practice session today and we both found the going interesting, a bit like trying to walk on ball bearings really. The surface is loose tiny rocks that slide and roll under the wheels. The downhills are treacherous with speed bumps littering the trail. Four people were hospitalised with broken bones after being to overconfident. It will not be the case for us, we are both suffering a bit with nerves although we excited, it’s like waiting for Christmas in many ways.

Bikes built and resplendant in our Times racing jerseys Dennis and I made the 4km journey to register for certain death, well looking at the slopes of the stunningly beautiful Table Mountain that was the best we could hope for!

Our legs stiff and heavy we huffed and puffed our way to the registeation area. Helicopters swooped low over us thundering toward the mountain that pierces the city skyline. The air thick with smoke from the fires that have ravaged the scrubland through which we are meant to race.

At heathrow we both felt ready bit now mixing with tanned Lycra clad cyclists, I must admit to feeling like a fish out of water. Even my freshly shaved legs didn’t help as they were the colour of mottled cream typical of everyone from northern Europe at this time of year.

Grasping our instructions and numbers like nervous schoolboys, a lady laughingly told us to have fun! Giant Adidas bags were thrust into our hands and we were in, registered, competitors, and if you ask me, crazy nervous men who should have listened to their mothers when they said ” don’t be so stupid!”

After many hours of heaving my gasping sweaty body up hill and down dale we leave the country today to “compete” in the ABSA Cape Epic.
One of my friends told me yesterday that it looked like a nice biking holiday! Mmmm not sure if holiday is the right way to describe it but it is certain to be the trip of a lifetime.

While I was sorting my packing and checking my bike, Noah, my 3 year old son, watched me with curiosity.
“daddy, when go on your bystickle do you see baby bears in the woods?”
“no, but I do see rabbits and squirrels” I explained
“ok…daddy do they have baby bears in Africa?”
“no, but they have lions, zebras elephants and giraffes.”
“like at the zoo?” he asked
“yes just like the zoo but they don’t live in cages” I told him.
” daddy will you come home from Africa?” he asked changing the direction of the conversation.
“yes, well I hope so, why?”
“if you come back” he started, “will you live with me and mummy or will you live next door?” he looked at intensely as he asked.
” do you me to live with you?” I asked cautiously.
“well sometimes I do, but if you lived next door you wouldn’t tell me off when I was naughty, and you could tell Thomas off instead.” he said.
“but Thomas has a mummy and daddy to tell him off when he is naughty.” I waited as Noah looked at me carefully. “mmm ok well you might die in Africa then you won’t come home!” he said seriously, “if you were dead the lions can eat you too.”
With that he turned and ran off carrying Buzz Lightyear.

On a lighter note the Times racing jerseys arrived from Polaris yesterday (picture very soon) and they were worth waiting for. Although we can’t sell them because of a ruling over the use of the crest on sports gear being demeaning to the crown, they are beautiful. A huge thank you to Andy Keys for designing them and to Roger Dillon at Polaris for jumping through hoops to get them made just in time.
Next time I update this I will be in Cape Town nervously waiting to toe to start line on Saturday.

Getting a new bike 7 days before a big, no huge, race is some would say a little bit stupid. I’ve ridden my Scott Scale for over 1000 miles in training and it fits me very well.

So on taking delivery of our new Boardman pro mountain bikes, I grumbled pulled a face and rather ungratefully criticised its weight, balance and kit.

An hour spent in my garage last night to put on pedals, adjust bar angles and swap out the some what comfy armchair saddle that Mr Boardman seems to think I need and it was ready to ride.

It is pretty bike, pearlescent white paint job, and it is well equiped for a bike that costs a grand all in. It has Ritchey bars, stem and wheels, SRAM X0 and X9 group set, Avid brakes and Rockshox Reba forks (in black), oh and possibly the worst saddle ever put on a bike.

I must admit I have customised it – I’ve added my Mavic crossmax SLR wheels, the Rockshox have been replaced by my trusty Fox forks and the comfy armchair saddle now has pride of place in my lounge for watching the TV on!

The bike looks not just pretty now, but damn sexy – it is white throughout, even the saddle is white. I am quite sad really when it comes to colour matching my bike – some would say that I have OCD! My wheels have one red spoke and red matching hubs, so I have highlighted this detail with little red screws on my brakes. Am I sad?

I set off wanting to hate this bike and then I could rebuild my Scott and do the Epic on that instead.

Turning onto the narrow singletrack trail near my house I was amazed to find the bike was responsive and smooth over the rocks and roots of my favourite loop. There is no power loss on climbs and it doesn’t skip about too much either.

A huge smile lit up my face as I hit 50kph coming down through the trees the bike moving effortlessly beneath me over mud and rocks. I could feel a bit of the confidence returning that I lost following my crash in Wales.

This was brilliant, having climbed the best part of 500m on my 30km loop I can say that Boardman have got it right, they really have. It’s a bike that is responsive, light and has enough bling to say satisfy most cyclists all at a price that is so competitive other manufacturers are going to have to take notice.

That was my last ride before flying to South Africa on Wednesday with Dennis. My only worry now is that when I take it to pieces to pack it in its box for the flight, it all fits in the bike pods that Polaris have kindly given us, and that it turns up in Cape Town, oh yes and that I can put it back together without having a pile of spare parts left in the box when I have finished.

“Are you mad!”

This is without exception the first thing people say when I explain about the ABSA Cape Epic.
I can’t answer for Dennis, although I think he must be as mad as a hatter to have picked me as his partner!

But me, well I think yes I would be mad  if it wasn’t for cycling.

The rhythmic action of cycling allows me to realise and release the stresses in my life and thereby acting as a kind of catharisis. Spinning the pedals, focusing completely on the fluid motion of my legs, forces me to relax and as this happens outside, deep with my mind a tap is turned on. The multi-coloured mists that cloud my everyday actions and thoughts lift and are replaced by a calmness and clarity of thought that feels like a cool summer breeze.

Battles rage inside my head and my heart, but when I ride my battles are won and the demons are defeated.

During long rides when the pain in my body is at its peak my life order gets straightened out properly, my stress and frustration subside, the times when my self esteem is low are replaced by a reassurance and self confidence no book or course could deliver.

 In its masochistic simplicity cycling gives me the freedom to dig deep inside my mind and body and discover a strength that until recently I never knew I had.

I have really struggled to find something that helps me deal with the stresses in my life, but the one thing that actually works is cycling.