live-cycle

What! 7:57:30 Now my legs are like jelly and my stomach is full of a whirling mass of butteflies. Having avoided the Epic website for a few days – well at least a week or so – I found my self logging in to the rider zone and saw in glowing yellow writing my start time. So it is real, I am doing it – well maybe not – I’m now beginning to feel sick about the whole game. I mean they could have let me have a bit more of a lie in, or do they think I am so slow that I will need the extra hours to complete the prologue? Oh why did I follow my team leader and agree to this venture, I can’t possibly be ready, can i?
It’s is all to real and immeadiate now. If only I could sleep and stop worrying.

To look the part I have my new kit, lycra bib shorts spangly helmet (replaced after the crash), new sun glasses to match the helmet of course! Gloves, socks and even shoes.
But what about those legs? Do I stay hairy or do I shave, wax, sugar or use cream? Then how much hair do I remove? Half leg up to the kneee leaving me with what might look like hairy knee warmers or do I do the whole hog and take the lot off, then what do I do about my bikini line? Do I grab a pair of ladies undies from the nearest shop and draw a line where to stop or do I creatively go freehand and try and match up the sides?
What if my wife catches me or worse the postman knocks at the door and I answer mid way through the procedure. How the hell to women cope?
Also do you do your toes?
The only reason to go smooth is because of of the amount of cream you rub into your legs to keep the muscles loose, so who on the epic is going to rub cream into my legs? Dennis – his hands might be rough – he might be offended, worse still he might like it being away from his wife for ten days with me!
So as I flip the coin, heads you go smooth or tails to stay hairy I put the question to you, what would you do?

This weekend I was a guest of “I’m not very sporty” Ray Hince down in Poole for a Sunday ride out over the Purbeck Hills. The day started well with Ray donning his apron and brandishing an egg lift to make us a hearty cooked breakfast and set us up properly for the day ahead.
On the road and gentle warm up round the harbour, sunlight dancing off the water and we arrived at the ferry.

Ray waits for our staterooms to be ready at the start of our island cruise

Who is the dark helmeted stranger?

Having taken a couple of photographs  of each other on board we hit land and set off into the countryside.
Chasing through singletrack lanes and woods we made good progress mud splattered our faces and we grinned like happy 6 year olds as we made our river crossing, both of us hurtled straight through with whoops of delight, no accidents only a perfect day to play.

Muddy faces but happy

Llamas?

A quick break in Corfe for gels and energy bars and we were on our way. It was only after this break that I suddenly realised that Ray had a directional issue. “Left” he panted as battled up hill, I looked left, “This left?” I asked, “No that left” he pointed right “But that’s right” I wheezed back at him. “Yes that’s right” He darted across my front wheel and headed up the track. Now cautious of Ray’s directions I followed at a discreet distance.

“Through this gate and you might have to be careful of the odd cowpat” Ray shouted back at me. Grateful of this advice I turned the corner to be greeted by what can only be descirbed as 18 inches of manure with a single track about a foot wide through the middle of it. “I did this yesterday” Shouted Ray, no wanting to know any more about his bowel movements I made my way on tip toes – if tyres can have tiptoes - through the offending pile.

Once clear of the farmyard my breathing was markedly easier ,  we headed into a narrow lane. The track rose up and at times the gradient was 25% – pretty steep to you and me – the surface was loose golf ball sized stones and rocks with a gentle stream cascading down one side. We heaved, huffed and puffed our way to the top. “Left” shouted Ray, so I turned right – following previous direction issues I thought this would be ok. ” I have a direction problem when I’m abroad” said Ray, “I think that left is right and vice versa.” “But we aren’t abroad” I replied. “No, but we did take the ferry so my brain thinks it is on holiday” I smiled in sympathy at his dilema. Onwards and for another of Ray’s issues to surface. “This is a bit technical, it’s steep and bumpy” So I turned down the track, the down hills started in a field that was so rutted you couldn’t ride, so we walked. “It gets a bit tricky here” Said Ray as we closed the gate on the field of mud. I looked down the track, it was full of rocks the size of footballs and had roots and trees trunks all over it. I really should have bought ropes and climbing gear to get down. We scrambled down, slipping and sliding on the loose rocks.
” We can ride the last bit and people at the bottom will think we are really cool for doing this ” said Ray. “Crazy more like!” I said battling with the rocks and brambles biting at my legs. Ray has a knack of under playing every situation, he says he’s not sporty – he is stupidly fit, He’s says a few cow pats – and the field is full of manure, not technical – means only Chris Bonnington should attempt the trail.

Baffled by Ray's directions I checked the sign - it does say Scotland 1/2 a mile!

The last part of the ride saw us climp up the Purbeck way heading towards the coast, the wind was pushing up the hills at a fair old rate, blowing in from the side we skidded sideways under a constant buffeting. These last few hills went on endlessly, Ray called them the mother in law because of this!

A break before tackling the mother-in-law

We were rewarded with a swooping downhill to the base of the last climb. I now know I have lost too much weight because it was here, halfway up the 27% slope that the wind finally beat me and blew me sideways into a bush, I wasn’t able to get any forward movement out of the bike, my legs spinning furiously, the back wheel spraying mud all over the place I had to give up and walk. I will return to conquer that hill!
The final ride back the ferry was a rolling downhills and soon we back at Ray’s for tea and sandwiches, after a great day of riding. Bikes cleaned and stowed in the back of my car I arrived home wind burned and pleasantly knackered and was soundly asleep by 9.30pm – the sea air always wears me out!

I love getting parcels, so you can imagine what I was like this week as five boxes have arrived for me. With eyes like saucers and smile so bright passing planes were diverted I eagerly open the first two. These were from Pete at Sport in Science and contained many boxes of gels, bars, energy drinks and bottles.
The third was a shiny helmet to replace the one I damaged in the crash a week or so ago. The fourth had new socks, gloves, massage oil for my legs and some and tyres. It’s so exciting the fifth one – well a card was left telling me it was at the post office to be collected. It must be huge, what could it be, stabilizers for my bike, a new bike, a spare pair of bionic legs? On arrival at Sevenoaks post office I hand my card over to the not so jolly postman. “Collecting it are we?” he asks. “Well yes please,” I reply bemused, why else would I be here I wonder. He hands an average sized envelope to me. Mmmm I’m a bit surprised, it would fit through my letterbox so…..”that will one pound and six pence” he states. “what!” I exclaim. “you are six pence short on postage and it’s a pound admin fee.” How ridiculous is it when a letter is six pence short and it cost me one pound admin, 6p postage, one pound fifty parking, about 80p in petrol, two hours of time and a balloon to keep my three year old son quiet!
Oh – the contents of the envelope: a marketing leaflet from a bank, now I know why there is a credit crunch!

There are only 15 days left until Dennis and I put our wheels on the start line of the Absa Cape Epic, so there is not much time left to prepare.
At this point I think I should be sleeping well, eating healthily, training hard with a view to tapering next week, but as with all things in the real world it’s not quite as it should be.
My days at work stretch into 11-12 hours and still I cycle in, 26 miles door to door through snarling traffic and dopey pedestrians. My sleep is disturbed with nightmares of crashing, not being fast enough, not having the strength or missing the start because my alarm doesn’t work.
As for food – lunch grabbed at my desk a quick sandwich, no breakfast or just an energy bar then arrive home at 10pm to eat whatever I can. Then up six hours later to start again. It is no wonder I have lost a stone and have the gaunt look look of a skeleton who makes lycra look baggy.
So to my amazement I find myself riding faster than ever, my times on the journey to work have tumbled over the past week – by as much as 5 minutes! So perhaps the way to get to the start of a major race is to crash a lot, eat badly, not sleep and work all the hours God sends and then get on the bike and press your nose to stem and ride your eyeballs out!
If only there were another two months until the Epic starts!

Well they gave us toilets, baths, a great big wall to keep the Scots at bay oh yes and roads. On saturday I decided to test the Roman road better known as Watling Street and ride to my parents in Nuneaton, only a 100 miles from the centre of London. So loaded down with energy drinks, gels and power bars I made my way north. My injurues from my recent crash reminding me I was probably being silly but I need the hours in the saddle this week. Winding my way out of London and up to St Albans was the usual chaos of Saturday shoppers, pedestrians jaywalking and hesitating on kerbs but before long I hit the open countryside and the road from St Albans or Verulamium as our friends from Rome would have known it. Now the only trouble with Romans is that they couldn’t dig through hills. So the Watling Street, or the A5 to those of you more familiar with the modern maps, darts through the countryside linking London with eventually Anglesey in Wales, and it is pretty much dead straight. This in short means that it is probably the most mind numbingly tedious road on which to cycle. All the way you can see hill after hill lined up because the Romans were too lazy to dig through them, giving no thought to weary cyclist who might one day haul his bike along the lanes by which they conquered Britain. Averaging a steady 18.4 miles per hour I pedalled steadily through Lactodorum (Towcester) and then on to Bannaventa (Norton near Daventry) still watching the hills line up in front of me like garrisons of Roman soldiers ready to knock me out with their repetitive rythmn. So after 99.8 miles and a little over 5 hours I turned off the dullest cycle I have ever done to be spoiled by my parents.
My salt encrusted face beamed a wearly smile as my mum opened the door, she took one look and made me feel about 10 years old again. ” More sweaty kit, I suppose you’ll want it washing! Don’t bring those dirty shoes in here either, watch the paint with that damn bike!”

Ah the love of your parents!

So what did the Romans do for us? Brought us closer to our parents nagging and love, yes, but did little to ease the tedium of a 100 mile cycle ride over arrow straight roads and monotonous hills.

With some time off for my birthday, and following our trip to the South Downs. I thought I would revisit Cwm Carn. It is a tricky, technical circuit with horrible roots and rocks to snag and slow your progress up the long grinding climb. Setting off steadily – You see Phil I did listen – I made reasonable progress hauling in a group of other riders after about a mile and a half, I rode passed them strongly, offered a jaunty “Good morning” and left them behind. Sweat streaming down my face, pulse racing I got to the top feeling largely ok, alright a bit broken but I’ve been much worse.

Am I really fit enough to take on the Cape Epic?

So without further munching on energy bars I turned in to the bermed section that marks the start of the track back to the car park.
Winding thorough the woods, I felt strong and was looking forward to my next lap. Through the gate at the top of the last section I was really enjoying my ride. The track takes a steep twist downhill, gravelly bermed corners guide you down through the trees. Crossing a road you are warned of a new layout, a step down, through a huge corner then a series of gut swooping drops with speed increasing and brakes squealing in protest…….
…Lights out party over! I’m eating gravel after watching the sky rotate above my wheels before the bike and I parted company. The stars came out, and some little devil like creatures did a dance of glee before my eyes. There was two of everything,the images kept moving and swirling. My water bottles had rolled away, my knees were sore, my arms ached but the pain in my head was intense. After some time I gingerly picked myself up. You know how I mean, testing toes bend, feet rotate, knees are connected to shins. This stocktake of my body took a while, “I’m fine” I told myself and slowly remounted for the last hundred metres to the car park.

Dismantling my bike I felt pain coming over me in waves and then I caught a glimpse of my face in the car window. Dirty, yes, bleeding, oh I’m not good with blood. To be fair it was a graze but my head spinning I was unsure what to think. Tea! yes that makes everything right. Back to my digs for a cuppa. The bemused expression of the lady on reception as I walked told me I needed a more thorough examination. I won’t bore you any further body part descriptions, but lets say there are at least ten points on my body that are registering objection to a now 41-year-old hurling himself up and down hills on a bike. A short while later I’m sitting in the minor injuries clinic at the local hospital where the kindly nurse, tells me I should be more careful and cleans my grazes, does some tests on my eyes, tut tuts at my knees and says ” you have a minor concussion, you will really be sore tomorrow, so take it easy.”
So here I am dosed up on pain killers, feeling like some one has jumped on my head in jackboots, with a lump on my knee the size of a tennis ball, wondering how I am going to get through, what Dr Evil of the Epic, claims are twisty, technical downhill sections without killing myself.
Save me from my foolishness.

No permanent damage I hope!

One final thought, here is the damage to my helmet, I can’t imagine the mess the impact would have made to my head had I not been wearing it. So a big thank you to the chaps at Specialized for saving my head.

Always remember to wear your helmet, it may look silly but it could save your good looks!

Hopefully I will be back in saddle by the weekend?

On Friday Dennis and I had the pleasure of meeting Phil Dixon, Team GB mtb coach. He is a very unassuming chap too, 12 world championships and a former British National Champion and all before the tender age of 29! Talk about feeling inadequate! He gives sound advice and guides us through ideal preparation, what to expect and how to get the very best out of ourselves given our delapidated stage in life. ” You’ll need to really hurt yourselves over the next few weeks, then back off a let recovery start before you get on the plane.” he smiled at our faces that expressed a look of horror. He talked about supercompensation – which I thought was some kind of cash reward for the pain but is apparently the truth behind “no pain -no gain”. When I asked about nutrition, the poor chap looked horrified when I when tried to justify the nutritional value of a Big Mac, the look of shock that rolled over his features was enough to put me off forever. A quick whizz round the course at Sherwood Pines , where we met Phil, was enough for Dennis and I to decide we were in great shape and ready to take on whatever the Cape Epic threw at us.
Or so we thought…
Saturday dawns bright and clear and we head off to Beachy Head for a long ride along the South Downs Way. We were teaming up with “I’m not very sporty” Ray Hince of Team ABSA. He’s riding for the sponsors of The Epic in a star studded team, including South African footballers and Rugby Players, not to mention Sharon Laws, Team GB mtb rider extrodinaire! To me, not sporty means fat, balding and riding a penny fathing! But no, Ray turns up resplendant in his Team Absa kit looking like a highly tuned athlete. For 55 he looked in good shape – damn it!

We set off from the car park, under my navigation and promptly arrived back at the entrance to car park about 2 minutes later. “Take the road” suggetsed Ray, “It’ll be less confusing” . Haring off down the road to Belle Tout we stretched out around the bends then hit the rough track up to the Belle Tout lighthouse.  The view was spectacular, azure sky, crystal sea and dazzling sunshine filled the panorama. We scrambled further up, then flew down the other side to be greeted by a virtual wall. My computer told me that the grade was 22% that’s steep, speed 2 miles an hour, heart rate 183. Two ladies with a dog passed us smiling in sympathy at three old blokes on bikes dressed head to toe in lovely lycra! One point seven miles down and we stopped, well collapsed in a heaving sweaty heap.

Paul and Dennis feeling slightly queasy atop the Seventh Sister.

One of the features I love on the South Downs is the Seven Sisters, stunning cliffs that peak and trough between Eastbourne and Cuckmere. At this point I was wishing that there were no sisters, and that the first sister had been an only child.

Ray, of Sunshine, sorry, I meant of Poole. Very fit.

I think early early enthusiasm did for us all bit today,  three hours later and after nearly 1000 meters of climbing and not as many miles as we had hoped we slewed to halt in the pub car park.

The lesson here is one Phil expalined to us only yesterday, “Start gently and finish strong”. It is common sense really, keep something in reserve, ride within yourself and you will go the distance. Dennis looked somewhat down hearted after we finished but it is only one bad day and better to get that out of the way before the Epic. We’ll be ok but we both have work to do. Ray on the other hand is like a spring chicken, so all I expect to see of him during the Epic is that back of his jersey and be left behind sucking on his dust.

So the kind folk at the ABSA Cape Epic have finally put the route profiles up on the website – Epic route – the route looks more like an adventure through the jaws of hell than a mountain bike ride!

Back to the training with a vengeance. It’s been really difficult to get off road lately with all the snow, floods and ice, so I have been using the turbo trainer more than I really enjoy. My minds goes blank and boredom sets in very quickly. But I have discovered the secret to making the hours on the trainer bearable.

After layering up in my various fleeces, pulling on my woolly hat, I venture into my garage. I carefully arrange my training aids. Earphones, Iphone, water and something to munch on if I get hungry. Start pedalling, my heart monitor tells me I’m alive and then hit play – my head is filled with sounds of Mamma Mia, the ABBA hit movie, and what a sensational training aid it is. Blasting through the 1 hour 51 minutes of camp musical bliss while whizzing the pedals and singing my head off to “The winner takes it all” and into a breathless version of “Dancing Queen” a rather unique rendition of “supertrooper” and “Voulez vous”. But wow, at the tempo Abba played at it makes great music to spin out your legs. After two hours I emerged from the garage slightly wobbly legged and steaming like a boiled egg to be greeted by a neighbour. “Training going well?” he asks, “yes, brilliantly thanks” I reply. ” Pity you can’t sing, we’ve endured two hours of you squawking away, Abba is it? Camp Kitsch, well no wonder you wear Lycra tights, now have you quite finished because I really want my kids to sleep tonight” he finished by looking me up and down with a raised eyebrow and stifling a laugh. Some people have no appreciation of the demands of becoming highly tuned athlete.

Following the constant nagging from a friend about being serious about nutrition I decided to follow her advice and get some samples.

I didn’t realise it was so scientific, 1gram of carb per kilo of body weight can be consumed each hour, graphs and stats on the packets. So I weigh 76kgs, which means for every hour I need to carry 76g of carb, so if I ride for 6 hours that’s alot of pasta to carry!

Scared by the enormity of the task I contacted the experts: I phoned Science in Sport, these chaps know their onions – or carbs more to the point. Anyway after a brief discussion about my needs, the very patient man – Pete – agreed to help. So there I am trying to convince a man in Blackburn Lancashire that I am a serious athlete and that Dennis and I are in with a chance of finishing the Cape Epic. Now I’m used to playing second fiddle, but when Pete explained that his wife had won a stage of the womens Tour de France, and that he advises Formula One stars and well as the winners of 9 (yes 9) Olympic gold medals, oh and did I mention that they help winners of the TDF, Vuelta and Giro………. You can see why I was suddenly rather embarrassed at having asked for help. I think that Dennis and can certainly claim to be slowest people that Science in Sport sponsor!