Big wheels keep on turning.

There's nothing better than getting up really early on a summer's morning. No, really, it's true. This picture shows sun up on the Solent behind Sconce buoy.

This morning, I did an hour on the bike starting at 5-30am on an empty stomach. I didn't enjoy it.... the gnawing crampy feeling in my belly was unpleasant, and my legs felt as weak as Mr Bean's. It was cold too and had been raining overnight, so the roads were dirty and slippery. No matter... Exercising after an overnight fast is a well known training technique where the idea is to teach the body to burn fat instead of glycogen, which is an important requirement for endurance cycling. I'm going to do it again tomorrow morning. So, if I'm a bit grouchy at work, you'll know why.

I can't believe that June is here already. To think that The Stones will be on the Island in a couple of weeks is fantastic. Let's hope the weather is good. Not that I'll be there.

Is it Big Brother time again?

Tomorrow I'll have to tell you about my new wheels.

Time waits for no man

Mick said it years ago, and he was absolutely right. Was that on Goats Head Soup?

When I started out on this venture, I realised that my schedule would be hectic, and that I would be struggling to integrate the various elements that knit my life together with the intense training. I wish I was a professional athlete.

I'm still waiting for the phone call from the Chief Executive..... 'Hi Pete. I've been reading your blog. It's fantastic and so are you. What a tremendous good cause, and what brilliant positive advertising for the hospital. I've had a chat with the Chairman and The Execs. and we all agree that your success in this project is essential and will benefit us all. We've decided to give you paid leave until July 17th so that you can train as much as you want, and won't be compromised by lack of time. And here's a donation of £1000 from my slush fund towards Prostate Cancer.'

Dream on.

I am now acutely aware that with less than 6 weeks to go to the big day, what I do in the next 4 weeks is going to make the difference between a triumphant successful ride or a gruelling emotional slogfest.(Think pain, tears, bowel upset, depression..that sort of thing).

As you know I amazed myself and did pretty well in the Hampshire HH two Sundays ago. My official time has been posted on the organisers' website http://www.sportivecycling.org.uk/hhh2007provtimes2.pdf as 5 hours 41 minutes and that is well within gold medal standard for my age. So obviously I'm pretty chuffed about that and it has given me a big boost of confidence. Well, it did for a few days, and now the feeling has evaporated and I'm feeling nervous again. Perhaps I have peaked too early? Or the perfect conditions made it easy. And I'm reminded that after the 100 mile mark in July, I will still have two huge climbs ahead of me before the finish. And I feel as if I've done almost nothing since then and what fitness I had is ebbing away with the rainwater.

My biggest fear are the mountain climbs, the weather and the altitude. I've rationalised my insecurities and it boils down to this. I can't leave my house and practice riding up huge high mountains. If I was training for a marathon run, I would by now have mapped out a 26 mile route, and could simply go out and try it. And again. And once more, until success was assured. Then I would be ready. My problem is simply that there are no Pyreneean mountains in the UK, and so I can't go and try them. I can't test myself on the real thing. And until two days ago, I had thought that I wouldn't be able to take a trip to France for a recce.

So, imagine my luck....I get an email from my old mate, all-round talented action-man Chris who lives in Montpellier. Montpellier is near lots of mountains. Guess what Chris' new hobby is? Guess who's flying down to the south of France to stay with Chris for 4 days in the second week of June. It has been really tricky finding a gap in my diary, and Ryanair have come up trumps. More luck. The flights cost 1p each way. (OK..taxes etc cost about £500)

I'm really looking forward to that.

Last Bank Holiday weekend was a washout. I spent a few hours crossing the Solent and trundling up and down the M3/A34/M40 to visit the family. This brought an added and different stress to my table. No riding for three days was bad enough, but here was also the debilitating sleep deprivation (I'm a terrible sleeper in any bed other than my own), the patchy irregular eating, and lack of many, many mugs of tea. I've also developed a nasty low back pain, possibly from the foreign bed or the car journey.

Finally, some blog housework.

Thanks to Jacko and The Cosmic Lawnmower for their recent postings.

Thanks for the anonymous donation of £100 to The Prostate Cancer Charity. That's generous.

Good luck to Hannah who has soon to face her own small endurance event.

Commiserations to West Brom. Hard luck. Can't say I'm particularly sorry though.

Tomorow morning I'm going to fit a ride in early, before work at about 6am . The idea is to do a low-intensity ride for a maximum of an hour on an empty stomach. Apparently, this helps to teach the body to use intra-muscular fat stores for energy. We'll see about that.

I Predict A Riot

This photo depicts the victorious Thorns School football team from Kenilworth, who have just won the U11 mid-Warwickshire knock-out Cup Final.We beat the mighty St Patricks from Leamington Spa 2-1 after extra time. We won because of our fantastic manager.. Mr Barrett.

It rained constantly during the match, and it rained constantly today.

I'm in this photo looking very uncool. If any of my teammates are reading this blog, recognise themselves, and subsequently get in touch with me then I will...... I will.... be surprised.

The Kaiser Chiefs are Leeds Utd fans, and obviously you all know from where their name originates, so I won't bore everyone with the story. Suffice to say that virtually the entire country loves to hate Leeds, and has done so ever since the Revie era. Perhaps the most ignominious event of the club's history is not their recent declaration of insolvency and relegation to Division 3 (in old money), but the sacking of the great Brian Clough after 44 days at the helm.

My poor misguided brother lent me a book about Cloughie's tenure at Leeds, assuring me that it was probably the greatest sport's related tome ever written. I can't even remember the name of it, but it doesn't matter because it was poor. I almost gave up half way through.

I disagree about a fair bit of stuff with my bro, which means we have a normal healthy relationship, and this is particularly true when it comes to discussing football.

Therefore, by the power of the blog invested in me I am wishing the best of luck to Derby County who deserve to be promoted tomorrow.

Alan Hansen famously said, 'You can't win anything with kids'. He was wrong. But let's invoke the spirit of Hansen tomorrow and hope the old men of West Brom run out of luck and legs and lose by 3 or 4 clear goals. It will be good to see Derby in the top flight again, and we're back to the Clough connection. Who remembers The Baseball Ground?

Did someone say pain is temporary?

A few blogs ago I took you on an 80 mile ride. Today we're going for a fast 20 mile run.. a high intensity session.
Yesterday I wittered on about sports drinks and nutrition and generally made it all sound a bit surreal. The point is , I still have to get on the bike and pedal. Furthermore, despite feeling reasonably pleased with my progress to date, I still have to keep pushing, keep on progressing. I don't think I'm anywhere near strong enough for L'Etape yet.

So, the mainstay of my riding in the next 6 weeks are going to be what I would describe as high intensity sessions. Fairly short distances at near maximum sustained effort. The body needs to adapt to the stress of a raised heart rate, raised lactate levels and pain. It hurts, it's not enjoyable, and I don't really look forward to the ride. But my reasoning is that climbing 5 dirty great big French mountains in 35 degrees of heat over 125 miles is not going to be easy or enjoyable and is going to hurt too!

Let's get ready to ride. 22 miles at 80% maximum effort. It is not going to be nice.
First off, I have to plan ahead.
What is Mrs C and the children doing today? The weather? What time shall I go out?
I need to be careful what I eat and drink for about 2 hours beforehand or I'll more than likely be seeing it again, or at the very least I'll get tummy cramps and/or the squits. I make certain that I'm well hydrated.
The iPod needs to be loaded with something suitable. Today, I went for Weezer, Strokes, ELO, Arctic Monkeys, Led Zep, Beatles, SRV, Robert Cray and Rancid. Obviously it's set to 'shuffle'.
Then get the gear together... water bottle, phone, key, saddle bag, bike computer, headphones. I check the bike over, and pump up the tyres to pressure. 120 psi.
Clothing... depends on the temperature. It's still warm and humid with some nasty black clouds to the north, but the rain should hold off until tomorrow. I put on a thin short sleeve base-layer, bib shorts and my short sleeved zipper top. Thin socks and the shoes.

I'm ready.

At this point I should do a gentle warm up and then some stretching before I give it the berries , but I just can't be bothered. Sorry.

Computer on. Leave the gate and head to Hulverstone. I'm cold, especially my arms. If I was warm at this point it would mean that I was over-dressed.
It always feels as if the brakes are binding when you set off. Depressing. Past The Sun Inn and smell the greasy cooking odour and try not to imagine supping a cool pint of Badger. The first short drag out of the village is steep, but I burn it hard out of the seat, then I settle down to get a nice steady cadence at about 22 mph. I immediately clock the headwind, so I tuck in to try and make myself small. We fly past Mottistone Manor on a nice S-bend then keep the pressure on before taking a left up Strawberry Lane. A very nasty climb is ahead of us. The road is narrow singletrack with high hedges and a blind corner. It is frequented by local people who think they know the road so they drive too fast or visitors/non-locals who don't know the road so they drive too fast. I haven't got time to worry about cars as the road drops down after the bend, over a load of sandy mud which is spewing out of a badger set. The front wheel skips nervously at 35 mph.
The road ramps up quickly. I'm on the big ring and out of the seat really pumping hard maintaining the momentum. I'm hurting big time, drop a gear, and keep pushing. Half way up. Pain is just pain. I change to the small ring as I hit the really steep bit and just tough it out. A bit further, almost there... and a landrover comes around the corner. Wobble past him, top it out gasping, and hang a right to descend into Brighstone. What goes up must come down, and I pedal hard to reach 40 mph. The road is a bit hairy, but I am consciously practicing my descending technique, so I negotiate the corners a little too fast for comfort. Exciting. I haven't got time to feel breathless and I'm scooting through a deserted Upper Lane at 28 mph. Out the far end and join the main road towards Shorwell near The Countryman.
I push on, hard, hurting. The hedgerows speed by until we take a right at The Crown and start climbing out of the village. I can't afford to slow down, so I'm bobbing up and down keeping the big ring going. Past Bucks Farm at the crest of the hill and really stretch out the legs towards the T-junction. A right takes me towards Chale, and immediately the head wind doubles in strength. A few big drops of heavy rain fall on my bare arms.

I'm hitting a bad patch now, and I start to think about quitting.. or at least slowing down. Perhaps I should be taking it easy today? After all, I had a beer last night and was very late to bed. And I've trained hard this week. And I did the big 100 last Sunday. And no one will blame me or mind if I slacken off and take it easy until I'm home. No one will even know.

Pain is temporary. Quitting is forever. So I push a little harder.

Chale Green comes and goes and the road gradually rises as we head towards The Wight Mouse. The wind is really bugging me now, and I'm feeling bad. Just bad. I know the climb up Blackgang is approaching, and I wish it wasn't. But, anything worth achieving in this life is inevitably going to require commitment and a whole lot of hard yacca... so I tell myself how grrrrrrreat I feel.

Turn left, and start to climb the big hill. I keep up to 15 mph, around the first corner, then push to the Blackgang roundabout. Push pushing on, and grind around the knee-down corner. Almost there, past Viewpoint car park with the tourists and bikers enjoying the view, a cup of tea or an ice cream. I top her off, then really kick down the run into Niton, hitting 38 mph. Into the village, around the one-way system, right at the Spar, past the White Lion. Kick again.

HALF WAY. It's amazing what a boost you get when you know you're on the way home. Obviously I've got to start climbing back up the hill that I've just sped down, but it's head over the bars, bum planted on the saddle, and just keep the cadence going. No time to relax. My quads are burning as Viewpoint arrives again, then we start a really long descent. I'm returning on The Military Road this time, and now I've got some wind assistance. Oh bliss. It feels as if it's downhill as far as Whale Chine, and we're really motoring at about 28 mph. Lots of car traffic.

I tuck down again onto the bars and give it the treatment as I approach Atherfield. There's a long gentle climb towards the Dinosaur Museum and I can see another cyclist in the distance ahead. This spurs me on ... I'm going to catch him if I can. The road plateaus out and soon I can see all the way to Brighstone a mile and a half ahead. I'm gaining on my friend, and I just grit the teeth and give it a maximum effort for 5 minutes, not looking ahead, until my lungs are bursting and the spittle is flying. Past the Brighstone garage and its old National sign, the road is horribly bumpy. Matey is just ahead, so one final effort and I'm on his wheel. I turn the Pod off, cream past him, nod hello, and ask him if he wants to ride my wheel? Yes, of course he does, so I push on really hard past The Pearl Centre knowing he's getting a nice tow and I'm doing all the work. No matter. This is about pushing myself to the max..

The final couple of miles hurt badly, but a cup of tea is 5 minutes away. Just keep pushing, ignore the unpleasant sensation called agony and turn right at Brook Green into the village. It's uphill for the final half mile, but I just give it a full-on effort until my rubber band nearly snaps. I wobble into my drive, and climb off the bike. I slump over the crossbar gently heaving, sucking in great lung fulls of air. The sense of relief at finishing is wonderful.

22 miles in one hour 5 minutes is an average speed of 19.7 mph. Disappointed not to crack the 20 mark, but that was a good hard ride.

Pint of milk, a banana and a pot of tea.

......It's not how you start...

.....it's how you finish.

Of course.

The Spring Bank Holiday weekend signals the start of summer in my mind. Unfortunately, I believe the weather forecast is not that good, but I'm not too bothered because we're heading up the A34 to a family get- together in Coventry. I used to work at Walsgrave Hospital over 20 years ago when I was a junior doctor. I'm glad I don't have to work in excess of 80 hours every week anymore, plus the extra pressure of constantly striving to pass postgrad exams. But I was in my mid 20's back then, and would have been at the peak of my physical powers. I could cope better with the stress of my job and the constant sleep deprivation, and had greater power of recovery. I would love to be able to magically turn the clock back and feel how fit and strong I used to be. Who knows?

On the flip side, there was no internet back then, and 'we' knew a whole lot less about sports physiology and nutrition. By 'we', I mean Joe Public. I suspect elite athletes like Seb Coe and Steve Ovett were extremely well informed, but the knowledge hadn't filtered down through the ranks. If I was attempting to do L'Etape back then, I would have probably made a hash of it, despite being physiologically fitter and stronger.

I don't want to harp on again about my rubbish attempt at the marathon in '83, but looking back my training regime was laughable. Carbo loading? Beer has a lot of carbohydrate in it, so I stuck to the pie, chips and beer diet. As for replacing the muscle glcogen stores during the race by drinking special energy-rich fluids, or even maintaining hydration by regularly taking water.... not a chance. No wonder I hit the 'wall'.

Now, I'm using all the legal resources available (obviously I'm not going to use EPO, steroids, growth hormone etc).

I've got special carbohydrate powder which I mix with water to make batches of fluid to go in my bottles. I try and drink a certain volume regularly during long rides.

I have energy bars which I munch regularly too, a little and often for solid nourishment. If I'm feeling really knackered, I have satchets of energy gel, easy to digest, which contain extra caffeine to put some tiger in my tank.

When I finish a hard training session, I take a drink designed to aid recovery. It contains a mix of whey protein and special carbohydrates. I hope it works, because it's not cheap.

I'm taking low dose multi-vitamins, extra iron and calcium, Vitamin C and fish-oil tablets.

I've made an effort to improve my diet, with extra fruit and vegetables, and cut down on biscuits, red meat and sugary rubbish.

There are loads of books and magazine articles which contain training regimes for all sorts of different sports. There are gyms in every mid-sized town so we should all be able to use running and rowing machines. We have training aids such as HRM's, and there are plenty of sports coaches, masseurs and well-organised courses and training camps to help if necessary.

The only thing that hasn't changed is the influence of the mind over the body. Endurance events can be won or lost in the brain of the participant. Lance Armstrong is famous for his exploits and he's churned out endless quotes. My favourite is.. 'Pain is temporary..quitting is forever.'

Suffice to say, I won't be quitting unless my hip or shoulder has dislocated or my head has jammed itself in the front sprocket...... which brings me to a joke about Kylie, Robbie and Elton. Maybe not.

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.

I made two predictions at the end of my last blog, and the current Mrs C pointed out that only one of them came true. Star gazing is not my cup of tea, but I am reminded of the funny story regarding the manner in which the 'astrologer' Russell Grant was sacked by late Robert Maxwell, then boss of The Mirror. The opening sentence in his letter of dismissal read, ' As you already know......' I got the feeling that AC Milan knew they were going to win last night.

I spent a whole day fishing on Wednesday. Up with the birds, we left Yarmouth Harbour at 5am to head down the western Solent with the ebb tide. We hung a left at The Needles then cruised for over 2 hours at 12 knots into the mid-English Channel to get our fill of early season cod. Well, that was the plan.
I suspect many people have a strange notion of what we actually do when we say we've 'gone fishing'. What we don't do is chuck a baited hook over the side, sit down on a comfy seat and wait for a gullible fish to take the bait. We're on our feet all day on a moving deck, working heavy lures 50 metres below on the sea bed, up and down, trying to entice the little blighters. It's hard work, but no one complains when the weather is good and the alternative would be a day at work. There is also a fair bit of yarning, mickey taking and some telling of awful jokes. We didn't get back until 6pm by which time we were all sunburned, dehydrated and tired. My legs felt really stiff and achey, and I had that unpleasant light-headed feeling after a day of too much sun and too little sleep. The floor swims for a few more hours when you get back. A great day out and a freezer full of..... well, not many cod actually but don't tell anyone.

The football was a big disappointment. In a way, AC Milan had their share of the luck that they lacked two years ago, but for once, Benitez got the tactics wrong. There was Pennant skinning his fullback 2 out of 3 times and knocking crosses into the box for who? Kuyt on his own up against Nesta and Maldini. Two 6 foot-tall world class defenders. Not a chance. If ever Crouchy was needed it was last night. And Zenden? Too slow. Too much huff and puff. Bellamy should have been given his chance on the left of Crouchy, with Riise playing the wide role. Mascherano dropping into the defensive midfield on the left. Gerrard had one of his off days, so he looked only average.

My bike training is reaching a crucial stage.
I've worked hard in the last 10 weeks and so far I've done OK. I completed two 100 mile rides. I've developed strength and stamina that didn't exist when I started.
But, consider this fact. On the big day in July...there are still two mountains to climb after the 100 mile mark.
The other factor will be the temperature.
Today I did a moderately fast 25 mile run. For the first time this year I can report that it was hot. Hot and dry. It saps your energy. I was wearing the minimum, just a thin layer of technical moisture-wicking fabric. It wasn't nice to feel the heat radiating back off the tarmac on the slow climbs. I understand that the weather can be variable in the Pyrenees during July, but the most likely conditions will be temperatures approaching the mid-30's or more. I believe a lot of riders really suffered up L'Alpe de Huez last year in the heat, and the water ran out at the feeding stations.The burning sun was so bad that some poor souls tried to gain some shelter by lying in the gutter in the shadow of the small wall at the edge of the drop-off.

I've said before that a good power to weight ratio is the key to climbing these big mountains. My weight has never been an issue in my mind, but I did something I rarely do today... I stood on the scales in the bathroom. 11 stone 3. I've lost about 4 lbs since the end of the footy season. I guess I could lose another couple or three pounds if I continue in the same vain.... it's a nice thought to imagine leaving behind two bags of sugar at the bottom of the climbs, and not having to carry them up the hill. But I'm not going to be too bothered about losing any more. I need to stay strong and healthy, and keep on doing the things I've been doing. I don't want to lower my natural immunity and succumb to an infection which could easily knock a week of training off the schedule.

The County Press are going to publicise my Etape ride and money-raising efforts. A write -up and a photo. I hope it's accurate . It's another pain I will have to endure.

L'Alpe de Needles

Today I'm on holiday.
Glorious sunshine again.
This morning I went for a leg loosener with the missus up to the Needles. Here I am on one of the switchback corners near the top.
This afternoon, I've done a real lung buster.. 22 miles at 19.4 mph including the steep climb up Strawberry Lane above Brighstone. Didn't manage to breathe out of my bottom though, so there's more to come. After Sunday's ride I have realised the importance of high intensity sessions.
Nipper is off to footy training soon, and then we've got a Riptide practice.

Tomorrow I'm going fishing, and then Liverpool are going to win the European Cup again.

Today Matthew...... I'm a food processor

It’s Monday afternoon and I’m on leave this week so I'm slumped on the settee. Despite stuffing my face with a very healthy lunch, I’m still starving hungry. I think I need good old pie ‘n’ chips.
Yesterday was my first ever cycling event, and I really enjoyed it. 104 miles in 5 hours 43 minutes. I don’t know how many calories I burned, but I think I’ve earned my hunger pangs.

The ride started near Winchester and then took us through some spectacular Hampshire countryside. Having said that, most of it passed in a blur. The worst climb was Watership Down but I didn’t see any bunny rabbits nor hear Art Garfunkel. We were blessed with perfect conditions, sun all day long and little wind, which surely contributed to my enjoyment and a good time. The organisers described the event as a ‘sportive challenge’ and stressed that it wasn’t a race. I can promise you, everybody around me was racing their guts off. In order to make it a decent challenge, there were plenty of climbs, particularly in the last 15 miles when everyone was getting knackered. I finished quite well, within the gold medal standard for my age group.

I arrived nice and early, and then enjoyed the spectacle in the car park. All the other competitors seemed quietly confident as they prepared themselves. There was plenty of banter and ribald comments as friends and club mates teased each other about the day ahead. There were a few ladies, and a couple of them looked very fit and super-cool. I guess some are triathletes?
The bikes on show were spectacular. There is no doubt that this is a sport for the well-to-do middle aged, who eschew more gentle pastimes such as golf or sailing and need the buzz of an energetic aerobic workout. Everyone looked highly professional, and I felt a little nervous that I was out of my depth and unprepared for what lay ahead. The pungent whiff of embrocation tarnished the air, and I had to suppress a smile when some of the guys started doing good old fashioned limbering –up exercises. Then the bloke next to me started stretching… he could get his foot up on the saddle with his knee straight! Impressive. I can just about get my leg on the pedal. There was an underlying current of competitiveness… more about that later.

I was very uncertain about how much clothing to wear. I’m sure I feel the cold more than most, so I had my arm-warmers and a sleeveless gilet over a base layer and my short-sleeved jersey. Too much? Maybe… but remember what your mum used to tell you, ‘You can always take it off, but you can’t put it on’
I had drunk extra water right up to the start, and had taken on about 500 ml of SIS PSP22 energy drink with 20 minutes to go with a banana. On the bike I carried two 800 ml bottles with more PSP22, and every available pocket was stuffed with flapjacks, energy bars or gels. I bet the bloke who owns SIS is a millionaire.

They set us off at 5 minute intervals in bunches of about 30 and I made sure I was in the second group. The first 10 miles flew past, and then everything started to settle down. We seemed to be really motoring in a big group, but I felt comfortable. You have to really concentrate on the arse/tyre of the guy in front (or gal if you're lucky) and keep your wits about you. At 20 mph, if anyone touches a wheel, veers off line or brakes suddenly, then there will be a multi-bike pile up and it could be very nasty. But there is a tremendous feeling of combined speed, with a purring sound of meshing gears and rubber-on-tarmac. In the 'peloton' you feel like part of a vast articulated machine rushing headlong along some pre-destined route. During the whole day, I had no idea where I was going, where I was, or where I had come from. I just followed the guy in front or the black-on-yellow direction signs. Brilliant fun.
Some early observations.
1. It was great to hear the cussing as people made plenty of horrendous clunky gear-changes. Despite lots of expensive kit, loads of people don’t seem to have made the fine adjustments to their derailleurs in order to eliminate the clicking and clacking from the slightly mal-aligned cog wheels.
2. There is a huge variety in the size and shape of peoples’ calf muscles. I wonder what mine look like from behind?
3. Cyclists do not have body odour (compared with runners/joggers who usually stink).
4. There was tons of sophisticated electronica on peoples’ bikes. Presumably these are cadence monitors, GPS sensors, HRM’s and power meters. Paradoxically, it became apparent later on that some people didn’t have any sort of timer or milometer of any sort.
5. Lots of shaven legs
6. Lots of funny short socks with logos on the back for me to look at.

Back to my ‘race’. I had spotted this huge bloke in the car park, with a gorgeous bike and all the fancy paraphernalia, who looked like a previous Tour winner. He was ahead of me, so I sprinted up to him and tagged onto his wheel and let him set my pace for the next 15 miles. My thinking was simple… No disrespect intended, but.... 'a big-arse bloke means a BIG hole in the air for me to tuck into’. I think it worked. Remember, I’m the novice here, and need all the help I can get. Around 25 miles, the bunch was slowly dropping people off the back, and I realised that I was much faster than big-bottom up the hills.He was dropped, but to him I owe a vote of thanks. By now we were catching up with lots of the slower riders from the first starters, and leaving them behind mercilessly. At this point I was realising that this was a race in every sense of the word, and no quarter was given to anyone.There were lots of mini-breaks, and people trying to sprint up hills to no avail. Every time the bunch of us would chase them down on the fast sections and swallow them up. Slowly my group was thinning out, so that by the first drinks station at 35 miles, we were about 15 strong.

Then I was in for a shock. I stopped to refill my bottles with High 5 and to my amazement all but two or three carried on without stopping. Sh1t. I then had to work really hard to find 3 other guys of suitable pace and we formed a mini-group and cracked on at top speed. I must admit that I did no leading, but hid behind someone from the Discovery team nearly all the time. I offered him an apology for my parasitic behaviour. We were now going faster than at any time before and I was working hard and really wishing that I hadn’t stopped. Around 40-ish we finally caught up with my original group and I was able to settle down at a slightly slower pace.

The ride then settled into a sort of rhythm for the next 30 miles. I learned a lot about riding in a ‘peloton’. First off, don’t ride at the very back. If you do, you can’t avoid this horrible elastic-band effect which makes it harder to keep in touch. Any slight change in pace at the front, either faster or slower gets magnified along the line. If they speed up you want to be within 8 feet of the wheel in front so that you can draft effectively. It’s a doddle, coasting, or just giving it a few gentle pushes. If not, at 25 mph you’ve got to pedal like a nutter making your own hole in the air. The cornering is exhilarating at 35 mph, avoiding gravel, potholes and drains. Good wheels and tyres are essential. I’m glad it wasn’t wet.
It also paid off to find someone with a smooth style. Some riders (and I’m probably one of them) are harder to follow because they ride a bit erratically, either in terms of weaving from side to side or speeding up and down. Now that's not condusive to energy conservation and that was the name of the game for me. Conserve energy was my mantra. Save it for later.

I really enjoyed the group riding, and the collective speed. Why worry so much about keeping with the group I hear you ask? Well, it was so much easier. The decrease in wind resistance, the pacing, the teamwork, the sense of having a measure of the required effort all helped me enormously. If I was on my own, I would be working almost as hard, and yet be going a lot slower. My worry at this point was whether I was going to be able to maintain this sort of speed to the end.

The miles ticked by and slowly we were dropping people so that towards 80 miles I was with 4 guys. I am indebted to a big strong chap decked out in sky-blue. His Pinnarello was blue, so were his tyres, shorts and shirt. He was strong as an ox and pulled me along all the flat stretches, pushing through the wind. I took my turns at the front , but I couldn’t do it for long, nor as fast as him. The great thing for me was the climbs… I was much quicker up the hills. It must be the bike and the 3 stone less that I am carrying.

The final 20 miles predictably became a bit more of a struggle. I was thirsty, had a headache and crampy tummy pains. My bum ached, my neck and shoulders were stiff, and even my hands were sore from gripping the bars despite wearing gloves. The lower back was stiffer than Dirk Diggler and, like every other rider, it was nice to get the chance to stand on the pedals every now and then and flex the spine forward to gain a few minutes relief. I’m very pleased to find that my back feels fine this morning.

The last few miles were annoyingly hilly, but I had plenty of ooomph to get out of the saddle and power up them instead of the slow grind in bottom gear thang. The organisers had told us it was 103 miles, but my odometer was well past the 104 mark as I sped around the final corners, and I can promise you that an extra mile at this point matters! Finally, around a final turn to enter Sparsholt College, over the speed humps far too fast, and then over the timing strips. Bliss. No cheering, no starlets, no cup of tea. Back to the car for a sit down on a comfy seat!

My official time will posted on the HHH website this week, but according to my data I'm pretty sure that I've qualified for an imaginary gold medal.

Afterwards I drank a 3 or 4 litres of water before I could get an effective diuresis going. Aren't kidneys great things. I felt sick for a couple of hours and my tummy was a little upset. My headache lasted until 9pm when I hit the sack for a delicious well-earned sleep. By the way, my daughter was competing at Bracknell Ice Rink all day, and came second in her event, which is fantastic. I didn't see her all day.

Today... bring on the food. It’s time to eat.

Don't forget www.justgiving.com/etapeorbust

I'm only sleeping

Today I did the Hampshire Hilly 100.
What a fantastic exhilarating ride!
I loved it.

The statistics according to my bike computer ..... Total miles was actually 104. The 'official' anticipated mileage was 103, but everyone I spoke to agreed with me when they checked their computer or GPS system.

Average speed............... 18.2 mph in 5 hours 43 minutes.
I think that's an OK sort of time, but I don't really know. Of course, this wasn't a race . It was a challenge, a sportive, although everyone around me seemed to be racing their nuts off . I like that. If you didn't already know, lots of men (and women) are competitive in everything they do.
The organisers will be posting all the times in a few days so I can see how I measure up against the other 400 or so entrants.

I've got loads of stories to tell you about today, but I'm too knackered to write any more. Off to bed.

All the Small Things

Tomorrow is the first big race/sportive of my cycling 'career', The Hilly 100.

Today the sun has cracked the paint off the walls, and we've had a strong south wester pushing up the Channel. Dry, windy and sunny.... my kind of perfect day.

I dragged the poor old dog up the beach at 6-30 am, by which time my daughter was already on the ice at Ryde Arena for her regular skating lesson.
Son No.1 was on the 'puter playing Runescape by the time I got back, and he didn't budge until about midday when he could no longer stand the pain of his full bladder. I have no idea what this game is about. Every 30 minutes he's on the phone to his buddy Macca conspiring together to advance through the game. I think that's what they talk about. Apparently they 'cheat' or work out some new strategy. I'm glad computer games didn't exist when I was a nipper.

The warm weather in the latter part of this week has got the grass (and the weeds) growing like mad. Unfortunately, my ride-on mower has been on the blink 182..... every time I tried to engage the blades the engine has been cutting out. Even I knew that it must be a faulty relay or switch somewhere, but it took me 2 hours to track it down to a tiny screw. Once I had found the fault, it was cured with half a turn of a screwdriver. If I hadn't got the grass cut today I'm would be needing to borrow a tractor and a set of gang-mowers.

Then it was time to get the bike ready for tomorrow's big ride. The main thing was to wash a weeks worth of sticky mess off the handlebars which accumulates when you drink from your bottles. She didn't need a polish, but she's had one anyway. Then I checked the brakes, the bearings and tweaked the adjustment of the front derailleur.

After the bike was gleaming, I got all the clothing together, mixed some drinks, made a load of flapjack.

I think it's important to get the small things right. The 'big' thing is the riding of the bike. I'm on the 6am ferry in the morning in order to get to Winchester for an 8am start.

I should be able to do the 103 miles. Well, let's face it. If I can't do a 100 tomorrow how am I going to cope with 125 miles and 5 huge climbs in the Pyrenees in 8 weeks time?

I'll let you know either tomorrow night or Monday.

She flies like a bird.

This is the final word on saddles and sore bottoms.

This is a photo of 'Fred' sitting on my new 130mm Toupe. Fred had been on the latest trendy diet, but took it too far. As you can see his ischial tuberosities (the bony bits in your bum cheeks) are sitting nicely on the supportive wings of the saddle. After two test rides I've decided that my derriere is a lot bigger than Freds, and I didn't think the new saddle was an improvement on my original 143 mm Toupe. So, it's as we were, and I'm just going to tough it out, irrespective of the pain. This is a psychological war and I'm going to win.


Yesterday I did nearly 40 very pleasant miles with Peter and Steve, two top riders, who I have got to know via a combination of the power of the blog and work. We had perfect weather and it was nice to be able to ride with two other people instead of on my lonesome. The pace was decent, we had a nice mini-peloton thing happening, and I got the chance to see how hill climbing should be done.....err, faster than me.

So, after a shower and the obligatory pot of tea, we retired to The Red Lion at Freshwater for very good pub food and a couple of pints of 6X. The barmaid was a honeybus. After stuffing ourselves , I had the chance to bombard the lads with 101 detailed questions concerning all aspects of road cycling. Steve used to be a professional rider so has been to places on his bike that we bumbling amateurs will never reach. One of the things what I have learned about this road riding business are the massive amount of components and accessories available, which allows you to customise your bike as far as the budget allows. I'm slightly out of synch here because I know less about tasty bike kit than Manuel , and let's face it, 'He knows nothing.' Anyway, the message from Steve is clear. I need new wheels and rubber. Actually I don't need them, but now I want them. More sensibly, it would be a good idea to have some spares available in case I break a spoke or tear a tyre just before a big event.

The other thing that Steve stressed as the Etape gets ever closer is the importance of getting your weight down as much as possible, but without losing strength. That means sensible eating, skillful training and is not just about starving yourself. There are other 'tricks' involved designed to teach your body to burn fat more efficiently, so I think the message is to train 'smart'. Funny...that's the entire gist of the JBST smartcast.

As you know, I've got a 100 mile sportive/race on Sunday. After a confidence wobble earlier in the week, I've given myself a good motivational talk and am now feeling tip-top. Today and tomorrow are rest days, and I want to get plenty of sleep. Hopefully I'll be able to go kitesurfing tomorrow, as we've got a decent forecast.

Maybe I'll have an early night?

Is cycling the new golf?

Here's a pic of Steve and Peter who have just dragged me around my neck of the woods for a couple or three hours on our bikes. One of these guys used to be a pro cyclist: Can you guess which one?

A few observations.
Cycling with other people is a thousand times easier than being on your own,
Riding in warm sunny relatively calm conditions is fantastic.
The Island is a hilly place to live.
Cycling is more difficult when your front brake is binding.
My bottom doesn't hurt when I don't think about it.
Ex-pro cyclists are much faster and fitter than middle-aged blokes who take up cycling instead of golf.


I've got to go and meet my new buddies for an intensive liquid calorie intake session.

An anagram for you

An amazing thing happened today.
Somehow, don't ask me how, I flicked from Sky News and landed on Countdown.
There was brainy Carol Vorderman putting up the letters for an anagram. Des O'Flipping Connor instead of the legend that was Richard Whitely?

You'll never believe what the anagram to solve was .. PETECLOSE

That's me! Why did they choose my name? Is it a sign?

Can you solve it?
It's easy, but the two contestants failed.
Loads of people in the studio audience got it.

I need a boost of confidence

I blogged about my Muddy Fox Explorer yesterday, which promptly nudged the old memory cells at the back of my brain and set my cogs a whirring. Consequently, I was obliged to spend two hours when I should have been asleep going through our box of crappy old photos, looking for the above picture of my old bike. Actually, I found the picture almost immediately, but that didn't stop me ooohing and aaaaahing over all the other photos which I simply had to go through one by one.
One interesting thing to note is the 'biopace' front chain rings... they are elliptical instead of circular. The idea was to improve the smoothness of the pedalling action.

It's just under 9 weeks to L'Etape, and I must admit that I'm leaking any confidence which I had like a leaky sieve with extra holes in it. It's a combination of factors. Initially I made big advances and really pushed myself. I did an 80 miler and quickly followed that with a ton. But since then I've lacked the time and inclination to repeat the 100, and I'm slightly dreading the thought of doing it again. There is also the feeling of impending doom when I think of the bum ache which I have to go through. Jacko has sent me a new 130mm Toupe saddle and I've fitted it and given her a go. The verdict..... I think it's better, but I'm not sure yet.
I've also got a bad back. I think it's down to lugging the heavy amplifiers in and out of the car for our gig last Saturday, but it might also be the cycling that's doing it. That worries me.

Today, I had some academic work to do. I'm preparing a couple of lectures and then I went through a load of old X-rays looking for cases of cycling injuries on Island patients from the last few years. I've seen some beauties.

Outside, it was tipping it down , but I was ready to ride at about 3 pm as it seemed to be clearing. I planned a fast 30 miler around the far West Wight. After only 15 minutes the sky's opened again and I got another drenching. Sodden. I think the new saddle may be a winner but this ride only lasted less than 2 hours so I can't be certain yet.

I'm deliberately taking it easy this week because The Hampshire 100 is coming up this Sunday. We expert athletes call it tapering. I want to be fizzing with vim and vigour come Sunday morning, with my legs loose and strong, not aching and stiff. I'm a little anxious that I am going to really struggle. 103 miles with loads of hills and a tough finish apparently, according to the website. I planned to do this event way back at the start of my campaign, and in a way it will let me know if I'm on course for the Etape. I feel that by blogging I'm setting myself up for public humiliation. On the other hand, if it goes OK on Sunday, I'll feel really chipper .

Oh well. I'll do my best. I'm looking forward to a nice semi-social ride with 2 work colleagues from the mainland on Thursday. We're planning a gentle 30 miles. BUT, one of these guys is an ex-pro rider, he's about half my age, and so I think I'll be tying an old railway sleeper to his rear wheel.

It's been a hard days night.

The Beatles are the greatest band ever, and will never be eclipsed. I won't waste time or space justifying that statement, because I could write a thesis on the subject. Please don't bother arguing, unless you are prepared to respond electronically (and sensibly) to my blog so that we can all read your comments. (This is designed to provoke The Cosmic Lawnmower).
Anyway, my favourite Beatles story concerns Ringo ..... during a TV interview a cheesy guy asked the boys, 'What do the band think about the generally accepted opinion that Ringo has become the greatest drummer in the world?' Quick as a flash John replied, ' The greatest drummer in the world?.. He's not even the greatest drummer in The Beatles! '

I used to live in Liverpool, near Penny Lane, where my mate Mugsy is a GP. Way back in about 1984 I bought my first mountain bike. It was a Muddy Fox, bought from Alex Andersen at Valhalla Custom. (He made custom windsurf boards). Actually, we bought two, a his and hers. My girlfriend (she's the wife now) and I used to take them to Angelsey, or The Trough of Bowland or out to the Delamere Forest, go riding, have pub grub, drink beer and generally do things together (apart from the obvious, giggles out loud).
It's difficult to remember what a huge impact these fancy-dan bikes had on the cycling scene. The radical steering geometry, bullet-proof construction, the fat tyres, the brakes and the low gears...it really revitalised my enjoyment of riding a bike. I could zip in and out of town too, across the broken glass, over the paths, through the parks and bump it up and down kerbs. Great for city riding, as long as you could ensure that the scallies didn't knick your bike. I left it in town U-chained to a lamppost by George Henry Lee's once, and some annoying little urchin stole the saddle. That was an uncomfortable ride home. I'll have to go through the box of old photos to see if I've got any good pictures of my original Muddy Fox.

When I moved to the Island I graduated to Marin. I broke one in 1994 when I crashed in a downhill race (broke my clavicle and dented the top tube). Then a few years ago Adrian at Extreme Cycles wouldn't let me leave the shop unless I bought a Whyte PRST-1. A terrific piece of kit. I was more than happy to take it out into the forest and trails near my house once a week or so, and I used to exercise the dog on it, but the longest ride I ever did would be an hour max. Obviously, off-road riding is nearly always more energy sapping than tarmac riding. I also know some horrific trails and paths, up some pretty steep hills, and when it's wet, the tyres just bog down and slip. But, the point is, if you had told me 10 weeks ago that I would regularly be doing rides of between 3 to 7 hours on the road, I would have guffawed loudly. and then laughed some more. How would I find the time? Impossible.

And yet, here I am, in the twinkling of the eye, transformed into a road riding machine.Sort of. You wouldn't believe the kit I've acquired.... here goes.... shoes, cleats, overshoes, long-legged Assos suit, short-legged bib thingy, leg warmers, arm warmers, base layers..long and short sleeved, gilet, gloves, helmet, pump, inner tubes, tyre levers, saddle bag, toolkit, a computer, a heart rate monitor, tons of special sports drink powder, two jerseys, two saddles, one bike and a pot of Assos anti-sore-bum cream.

PLEASE, PLEASE do not state the obvious and point out that I would have raised a lot more money for Prostate Cancer if I had added up the anticipated cost of all this kit and simply donated it to the charity.
So I'm ramping up the money raising effort. I'm not happy so far... less than £500 in the kitty to date is pathetic.

I've raised the bar to a £1000, and I'm going to get there.

First off, I've got some signed copies of the biking film Cobbles Baby! to give to the people who make the biggest donations. AND they're signed by the dude who made the film, Scott Coady. Check out his website on http://www.thetourbaby.com/ or http://www.cobblesbabymovie.com/ .
So come on you lot. Help me spread the word. Tell your mates at work, let the old fella know, and email my blog address to 10 people in your address book.

The Bike. It's serviced it, cleaned, polished and equipped with a new saddle. I've had 2 days (essential) rest, because Saturday's ride really took it out of me. Tomorrow will hopefully be a 20 mile speed session, weather permitting. Then 30 miles on Thursday. Next Sunday I'm riding The Hampshire Hilly 100.

Some more stuff about prostate cancer.

This image is taken during a procedure that I do at work called 'percutaneous nephrostomy'.

One of the nasty things that prostate cancer does is grow insidiously around the base of the bladder and slowly destroy the structures in the vicinity. There's quite a lot of important stuff in a man's pelvis. Unfortunately this commonly includes the ureters which are the tubes that connect your kidneys to the bladder. It's usually painless, strangely enough, but the result is slowly progressive kidney failure which creeps up on the patient. You've got two kidneys, so usually one side goes first silently with no signs or symptoms. The 'good' kidney takes up the strain until that one eventually gets blocked too, and then you're in big trouble. Soon it will becomes obvious that the patient is 'ill' and blood tests reveal renal failure. Without treatment you're dead in a couple of weeks, unless the blockage can be relieved, or you have dialysis. We're not talking about really ancient old codgers here.... these are otherwise fit and active men as young as in their 50's. Just normal blokes who work, play golf, dote on their families, people like you and I.

We can bypass the blockage in two ways. The surgeons usually try and pass a tube up through the bladder through the holes where the ureters insert. This is not always possible because the cancer has caused so much damage and distortion. The other way involves radiology, and that's where I come in. Using ultrasound and X-rays I've inserted a tube through the skin and into the middle of the kidney where the urine is collecting, so that it can drain out through the tube and allow the kidney to hopefully function again. I would normally then pass another tube called a stent down the ureter to the bladder and get it across the blockage to leave the lower end in the bladder. I'm not blowing my own trumpet here. I've been trained to do this...it's my job. It's a team effort too, involving radiographers, nurses, anaesthetists etc.

The point is, 50% of us on the planet have a prostate. Men are rubbish at reporting embarrassing symptoms to their doctors, and ridiculously self-conscious with regard to being examined. I hope there will be a cure out there for prostate cancer, maybe not for my generation, but what about my son? Without lobbying, research and publicity it won't happen.

I've done this procedure twice in the last three weeks, so it give you an idea of how common this problem is.

Yesterday I did 67 miles. We had a gig last night. I'm tired! It's tipping with rain, so I won't be cutting the grass (again).
So, I'll be busy fitting my new saddle, checking my bike over after cleaning it, and then it's time to watch Wolves put 3 or 4 goals past West Brom... I hope.

Did I say it was windy yesterday ? I was wrong.

I made a pathetic plea for a show of support on Thursday. As I type on Saturday afternoon, I've had 12 responses which is 1 more than I expected. So, I'm happy.

Big thanks to those regular responders... Mark, JackH, nmcgann and Jacko. Hi to John Colv.

JackH has pointed out the lack of any serious hill work in my riding and he is quite right. I'm aware of this and it's making me nervous. I have been scanning the wall planner at work trying to see if I can get a week away between now and early July for a week of serious hill climbing. But I don't think I can do it. Too many commitments, things to do, weddings, gigs etc.

And yes, I think the climate is changing. I must take a photo of the banana plant which I've grown from seed in my garden.

Last night was a bit hectic. We went out for a pizza to belatedly celebrate my daughter's birthday, and then I got a text telling me we were supposed to be in Cowes so that my son could attend the end-of-season awards night for his football team. Off we dashed, arrived just in time, and he picked up a medal. I also picked up a small memento for my input as a coach. I managed to restrict myself to a half of lager. That's willpower.

I'm at the stage now where I have to plan my rides up to 10 days or so in advance. A week on Sunday is The Hampshire Hilly 100 (miles) so I need to taper for that. Ideally I would have gone for a big ride tomorrow, but the forecast is pants with a wet capital P, so I had to go today. I felt tired last night, so I passed on an early start and set off at 9-ish after endless mucking about getting my gear together. AND my iPod shuffle wouldn't work. I think it has died after being drenched twice this week. I thought these things were supposed to be bomb proof?

Anyway, off I went, and Boys Oh Boys, was it windy? Absolutely honking, from the south west. You know it's windy when the spume reaches the road at Compton Bay, and as I passed I got a big faceful of grit and salt. I struggled to steer at times. My mind was whirring as I tried to think of a route to protect me from the worst of it, but due to where I live I was only too aware that wherever I went, I was inevitably going to be heading back into the wind for at least the final hour or so. Over Brading and Mersley Downs it was horrendous. It was all I could do to reach 12 mph on the flat into the wind, and the gusts from the side as I descended had me all over the road. Good bike handling practice, though! Thanks to those car drivers who realised I was struggling and gave me a wide berth.

If it wasn't for L'Etape, I would have been out there kitesurfing today. I am 'enjoying' getting cycling fit, and some of my rides have been a real pleasure. But, faced with the prospect of 4 or more hours of pedalling hard-yacca (particularly in these conditions) versus 4 hours of kiting, the latter would win every time. Not today though.... I've got to be dedicated if I'm to have any chance of completing the course in July.

Something else.... after completing over 1000 miles on this bike, I got my first puncture today. Have I mentioned I've been carrying a spare inner tube, tyre levers and a carbon mini pump? Plus, a pair of plastic gloves so that my hands don't get covered in oil. Therefore I was able to change the inner tube, remove the bony spike which had caused the puncture (looked like an animal tooth) and pump up the rear tyre to a reasonable pressure and continue, as opposed to getting on the phone to the missus and begging to be rescued. Smug. (By the way, I've had gazillions of punctures on my mountain bike, usually from riding over gorse or from flint shards cutting through the tyre). My ebay bought Barbieri pump weighs in at only 60g and it really did the job. Good design.

One strange thing .... the tyre had an awful lot of water inside it, between the tyre casing and the inner tube. There must have been ingress during my rides in the wet, but surely that shouldn't be happening? Has anyone else encountered this? How can it get in with pressures of 120psi? I don't know. I suppose this means I've been carrying the weight of that water around with me, not to mention the extra rotatory inertia as I pedal. Not good.

So, I ended up doing almost 70 miles, and arrived home feeling really ker-knackered. Extremely. The wind made it so tough, but I take some strength from the fact that cycling into a 25-35 mph wind on the flat is equivalent to climbing a hill when it's calm. I hope I'm going to feel better than this during the real thing, because there's no way I could have done another 50 miles including two Cols on the basis today's performance. Worrying.

Tomorrow, it's Walk The Wight, an annual charity event where 5000 people walk the Island from Bembridge to Freshwater. It's about 26 miles, over the chalk downs, and given tomorrow's forecast for rain and wind, it will be a real hard test for most. Last year over £200K was raised. Good luck to everyone, and I hope the rain holds off. I won't be doing it. A bit of kitesurfing in the morning, then I'll be watching Wolves beat the West Brom.

The garden has been neglected this year because of all this cycling, so I need to get the mower out if it stays dry. I also need to check my bike over, clean it, and have a look in the tyres for more water!

Finally, thanks to mucker smooth-legs Jackson, who has sent me a new saddle (130 mm Toupe) and a pair of slightly smaller shoes. Cheers.

Is anybody reading my blog?

One of the most disconcerting things about blogging, is the thought that there is nobody actually reading all this drivel. Well, not literally, because I definitely know of.... oooh , at least 8 people, or maybe 9, who are regular readers, mainly at work. At least they tell me they read it. Then there are a couple of fellow cyclists and bloggers, particularly Mark, who has been a source of support and advice in the last few weeks. And top Northern pro racer, and mentor, Jacko. But that's it. It's annoying that the blog software doesn't have one of those devices which could log all the visits to my blogpage. On the other hand, it could be embarrassing as the counter lamely ticked over the 23 mark after 10 weeks of effort. Have you ever listened to the radio at 4 in the morning? No, of course you haven't. There are all these radio jocks sitting on their lonesome in some dusty studio babbling away to themselves. Very Alan Partridge. At least they're getting paid. My saving grace is the money I've raised for the old Prostate Cancer Charity. That can't be bad. And of course, I'm going to put in the effort whether or not anyone out there actually cares.

But then again, do I care? YES! So, here's a plea. I want those of you who read this daft blog on a regular basis to leave a comment .... please. Anything. I need at least 10 responses. So, come on. This is a test. Go on, go on, go on, go on. I dare you. It's easy. Just click below on the bit that says... 'x comments' ...and do it. Thanks.

I got home from work at 4-ish and as usual I was starving. I had a bowl of cornflakes and some tea, then got my cycling kit on in order to set off an hour later when my stomach emptied. I told you I was going to go for a ride irrespective of the weather. I started in the dry, but within 30 minutes it was tipping it down. The wind was Force 6 and gusty. Climbing up Blackgang Chine was murder. Hats off to the gang of old fellas and lasses on their bikes coming up the hill from Niton. I think they were still trying to do the Randonnee. They all looked in a bad way. Guess what... the blokes were at the front and 30 yards behind were their ladies. Why do they do that?

The wind was horrific on the top by viewpoint car park. These lightweight road bikes are really flighty in strong side winds, and the wheels with their flat spokes make steering almost impossible at times. My ear-bud headphones wouldn't stay in my lugholes again, so I had no music. I actually enjoyed the sound of the tyres zipping along the wet tarmac with the whirr of the chain and gears.

The final score was 27 miles at 17.8 mph. Which even Lance could not have done today. Honest. Not a chance.

Plan A and a go-faster haircut.

Be careful what you pray for. It's blowing a hooley out there with wind and rain coating the house with salty spray. I'm having a rest day, nursing some tender muscles and achey legs. I've just had a go-faster haircut from the lovely Lorraine at Cut'n'Run in the West Wight Sports Centre, who cut off the gay quiff, and skillfully removed any vestiges of middle-age. She actually snips the stray hairs protruding from my ears and eyebrows. Does anyone think I should get some sort of special hair-cut just before the Etape? I've never dyed my hair blond ...... a sponsored hair-do or a sponsored leg shave?

We've waited all year for a decent blow from the south west. Those of us into kite and windsurfing had practically given up all hope of ever getting wet again as our kit gathers mildew in the garage. Even the reliable storm-chasing spring equinox has come and gone with nary a puff of wind. The gardeners are complaining already about the lack of rain, and it's only the second week of May. Perhaps we're in for another summer like that of 1976, when I had the misfortune to be doing my O-levels. Those halcyon days of flares, tank tops and The Osmonds. The Government of the day became so desperate that they appointed Denis Howell to be The Minister of Drought, and then three days later the heavens opened and the drought was broken. That was either good luck or an inspired appointment. What did the Chairman of a premier football club famously say.... 'Given the choice of a brilliant manager versus a lucky one , I'd take the lucky man every time.'

I have to say the fine weather has been a real help to my training. I know I've got to be prepared to ride through anything on July 16th, but there is no doubt that calm, dry conditions with a bit of warm sun on your back makes it all a lot easier. I understand that it is possible to freeze your nuts off even in mid-July on the top of those Pyreneean Cols, but there is no need to suffer unnecessarily on the Isle of Wight in mid-May. I want as much heat as global warming can chuck at me right now. Any day now the mackerel will be arriving in big numbers in the inshore waters around the Island, encouraged to move with an advancing front of warmer water pushing up from the West. With the mackerel come the bass, which has become an incredibly expensive and fashionable fish in the last few years. They are a great sports fish, plentiful and relatively easy to catch, and obviously also great to eat. I'm going to have to sacrifice a few fishing sessions in the next 9 weeks and get out on the bike instead. That will be a tough call, but I really have to knuckle under and keep racking up the miles.

The forecast for tomorrow is more wind and rain, so I don't think I'll ride to work, but aim to do a 20 mile speed session in the evening whatever the weather. A week on Sunday, I'm entered in The Hampshire Hilly 100, which will hopefully be a benchmark to see how I'm progressing. I need to think ahead about my training to try and make sure my legs will feel fresh and strong. I think I'll concentrate on intensity rather than distance in the next 10 days and see if I'm OK. If not..... I'll revert to plan B.

Let's Go For An 80 mile Ride

Today we're going to do an 80 mile ride on the Island, and you're coming with me.

Preparation begins the night before. I need to make sure that my bike is ready with no annoying faults. I always check that the wheels are secure and that the brakes aren't binding. I also pump up the tyres to their correct pressures, and pack my saddle bag with my puncture repair kit, door key, £5 note, multi-tool and a spare inner tube. I reset my cycle computer and fix it in its holder on the bars.

I try and make sure all my cycling clothing is together so I can find it in the morning because I don't think the wife will be very happy if I wake her to ask where my shirt is. I'll make my mind up in the morning exactly what I'll wear depending on the weather. I mix some SIS energy drinks in my bottles, leave them in the fridge, and weigh out some spare 50g sachets and wrap them in foil. They go in the saddle bag, with some pieces of homemade flapjack.

I also need to load the iPod shuffle with a playlist. This can take ages....Do I go for music or podcasts, a mixture, a random shuffle or what? It's important because I'm anticipating a 5 to 6 hour ride and I'll go nuts if I have to listen to my own brain for all that time.

Early to bed, hopefully,having avoided any spicy food for tea. I also try and ensure I'm reasonably well hydrated with clear looking urine (as opposed to yellow). No beer.

Up at 5-15 am. Creep downstairs, feed the cats, kettle on. I often feel a bit nauseous when I get up this early and today is no exception. We're low on milk; I can't have cereal. So breakfast is a lemon curd sandwich, a banana and 3 mugs of tea. The gastro-colic reflex kicks in on cue, so after the bathroom, I get dressed. It looks grey and cold outside, and it's windy, so I opt for my warm Assos long-legged trousers and an intermediate jersey over a long-sleeved base layer. I would rather be too hot than too cold. This turns out to be a very wise decision.

Last things before I leave, empty the bladder, grab helmet, gloves and shoes, gels and energy bars in my jersey back-pockets and finally stuff my mobile in its neoprene protective case. You never know when a phone could save the bacon.

Off we go. Computer on. I'm cold, particularly my arms. I head up the steep hill from my house in Brook, then right towards Carisbrooke. The first half hour is always a little uncomfortable getting into a rhythm, and I'm still feeling slightly sick. There is always a feeling of low grade trepidation, knowing that we've got 6 hours of effort ahead of us. Arctic Monkeys on the iPod....oh NO, they're singing Mardy Bum!

7 miles and I head north to Porchfield, and then hang a left to face due west. Immediately the strong south-westerly hits me and my speed drops. I tuck down to minimise wind resistance. I try and drink regularly, a little and often. Overfilling the stomach will make me sick, and you can only absorb a limited amount per hour. I'm feeling good now, the legs are strong and I've warmed up. I hunker down and try and enjoy my music as I spin towards Yarmouth, and then on towards the extreme western tip of the Island, the Needles. I climb the hills past the no entry sign, and go right up to the coastguard lookout. 15 miles. Not much of a view today, but this is what it looked like last week.

We speed away with a tail wind and head for the Military Road which runs along the south west coast with the surf on our right. It's a 16 mile run to Niton, with 2 biggish hills to climb at Freshwater and Blackgang. The wind is pushing me along, Force 6 and so we really give it the full monty treatment. I'm flying along at 25 mph, and it feels good. Geoff Lynn sings Mr Blue Sky, but the sky is looking increasingly overcast.

From Niton we take the undulating undercliff road with its subsided road surface, and I hit a bad patch. It starts to drizzle, and my bum starts to ache. We've done over 30 miles by now. 2 hours. Time to eat. I reach behind and grab a power bar and try and open it... to no avail. I virtually come to a standstill trying to rip through the wrapper with my teeth, and I almost give up and do a Basil Fawlty. Eventually we're into it, chewing laboriously, making my ears pop. I have to wash the stodgy stuff down with lots of fluid but I do seem to get an energy buzz 20 minutes later. It's just as well, because we're facing a gruelling climb out of Ventnor. I've deliberately taken a circuitous route through this Victorian seaside resort because I want to get used to horrible hills, and so I force myself to do a bit of an up and down circuit. That's commitment. Bring on the Pyrenees.Only joking.

Unfortunately it's now pissing down, to coin a phrase, and I'm not happy. Geoff Lynn is onto Horace Wimp. A number of things run through my brain. My bike will get wet. I'm going to get wet. Will my phone be OK? Will the tiny revolving CD's in my iPod get rusty? As the water gets thrown up my back from the rear wheel I gradually get soaking wet. I feel as if I'm sitting in a wet nappy as the water soaks into my seat padding. I start downhill towards Shanklin and I'm feeling cold. It's time to dig deep. I'm also very nervous of throwing it down the road. The slick tyres are starting to skip a little on the manhole covers. Years of riding a motorbike has prepared me well, as I scan the road surface ahead for rivulets of rain, the telltale rainbow signs of diesel, and those little treacherous patches of matted leaves, blossom and gravel on the corners. Scary time on the descent.

We climb out of the side road from Shanklin towards Godshill, then take the Canteen Road. The wind blows me along at 30 mph on the flat so I forget the discomfort for the next 15 minutes. I do a loop through Newbridge and head up the downs towards Robin Hill. I'm in the clouds up here. Left to Arreton and do the loop again, but this time, hang a right after Knighton towards Brading. A long climb, not too steep, but my feet are squelching every time I push down on the pedals.

We're on the brakes,descending gently, through the driving rain which is stinging my face and blinding me. Drop into Brading on a 14% gradient before turning right and heading back to Yaverland, Sandown and Shanklin beyond. I'm cold, tired and so wet. My perineum is feeling raw on the wet saddle. Now I know why babies cry when they fill their nappies. I briefly think about bawling, but decide it won't make any difference. On the Pod, we've got Queens of the Stone Age. Pedal to the metal.

This is the toughest part of the ride with 30 miles to go, which amounts to 2 more hours. Through the back of Shanklin on autopilot then begin the utterly dreadful climb at Cowleaze. It's not so much the gradient as the appalling rutted road surface near the Rec, and the wind is relentless. My thighs are feeling tender now, but there's still plenty of ooomph in them. I've been munching my energy bars and flapjacks, and refilled my water bottles from a petrol station (NO..with water..not petrol). I'm so glad I've got wind protection from my Assos gear.

The climbs through Ventnor are not too bad, then we go out the back way to Whitwell, and head to Chale. Like Steve McQueen,a fast machine. Sheryl Crow...she's brilliant. I could be home in 10 miles from the Spar, but I need to do nearer 20, and so I head out the back way towards the Chequers at Rookley. It's all about determination at this stage, and keeping upright through the puddles, avoiding the boyracers on their way to work. Why do they stick those waste-paper bins up the back of their cars where the exhaust pipe should go? I guess they think it looks cool? You want a cool car?

Ford Capri circa 1983. That's rear wheel-drive class. I always wanted the 2.8i, but living in Liverpool it would have been a waste of time. Scally car thieves couldn't resist them.

I'm without music as I head out of Rookley, taking the back road to Carisbrooke Castle, and Michelle's horses. My ear drums are so wet that the ear-bud headphones won't grip the skin of my ear holes ( external auditory meatii actually) anymore. I hardly notice the effort of pedalling, which is a measure of my fitness after 10 weeks of training. From The Waverley, to Shorwell Shute, and I'm out of my seat giving it a bit of welly. Ralph Cook in his tipper truck. I nearly lose the front wheel on the gravel by The Crown, then it's a drag through Brighstone to Brook into the full teeth of the wind off the Back of the Wight.

We've done 86 miles at 16.5 mph in about 5 and a quarter hours. A sense of satisfaction.

Fall through the back door, peel of the sodden gear, hot shower. Food. Mugs of tea.

I hope it's days like these which will eventually pay off in July. If I can cope with the wind, rain and cold today, it can't get much worse..? Can it?

Jacko..get me a 130 mm Toupe , please.

Let There Be Rock

If you've ever watched a group of kids playing, you quickly notice that they are really good at just mucking about. They laugh and giggle, find fun in the smallest thing , and generally enjoy themselves. Sadly, most adults have forgotten what it feels like to just have a good laugh and it becomes difficult to do things purely for the hell of it. I know there are exceptions to the rule, but most adults will understand the gist of what I mean. The gradual onset of an ever increasing combined burden of responsibility.... job, mortgage, parenthood, debt, etc slowly chips away at the carefree hedonistic 'feelgood' factor which we used to feel in our early twenties. Then there is the inevitable physical decline, even amongst those of us who are lucky enough to be healthy. The hair ...what's left of it, goes grey, the eyes slowly fail, achey backs and joints, indigestion, hangovers, piles, droopy bits, incontinence; need I continue? Depressing. The point is, it gets more difficult to act like a child, to just get out there and have unbridled fun. However, most of us find things that we enjoy doing and try and get around to our pastimes as often as possible. We also tend to find hobbies which match our income and social class. Which brings me to the subject of greasy leather-clad bikers. Here's a group of people who haven't forgotten what it's like to have a good time, doing what they like best, riding their bikes and partying hard.

There were two rallies less than 5 miles from our house this weekend. One is called The Over The Edge rally, the other The Gurt Gallybagger. Over a 1000 scary grebos on their bikes camping in a couple of fields. They're a sight too. Choppers, rat bikes, trikes and every other conceivable smoke-belching noisy machine. Then there's the Nazi helmets, goggles, rough-hewn skin cuts, boots and lots of black leather. It's probably true to say that some of them are not the most athletic chaps on the block. I would imagine that this vision of hell puts the wind up middle-class England? No need. What do you think they get up to ? Fighting the locals, rape and gang-bangs, orgtastic drug taking, knife fights, theft, thuggery and general mayhem? Well, no actually. Nothing of the sort. Most of them are as soft as pussy cats. They may look like an unruly bunch, a little scruffy and unkempt, but they are no worse than the semi-naked ladettes with their tattoos, short skirts and low-cut tops who stagger around most town centres every weekend drunk as skunks.In fact they are probably better-behaved and less of a problem to our police force .
The bikers are just a normal cross-section of society who happen to be united by their enjoyment of motorcycles and haven't forgotten what it's like to meet up together with their mates, tents and camping gear and have a great weekend. By day they laze around chewing the cud, take the bikes for a ride, and visit some of the Island villages. They eat a lot of food, and drink some beer. By night, it's more beer, music, dancing and general high spirits in the confines of a marquee in a field a few miles off the beaten track. OK, the odd spliff may be passed around, but that's about it. And they have a really good craic. Just because they can.
Hopefully Riptide contributed in a small way to the fun. We really enjoyed the gig.
The top 5 songs from our set list I hear you ask?

1.Motorhead....................Ace of Spades
2.The Proclaimers...........I'm Gonna Be (500 miles)
3.Shania Twain................Feel like A Woman
4.AC/DC...........................Let There Be Rock
5.The Darkness...............I Believe In A Thing Called Love.

Eclectic. You bet. Variety keeps it interesting.

Sadly, I'm not anticipating much variety during my next bike ride. I think I know every inch of the Island roads by now, but I need to keep racking up the miles if I'm going to complete this Etape route with any modicum of comfort. I'm definitely a bit bored of the long sessions over the same routes, and wish I could cycle across a bridge to the mainland and have a go through The New Forest.
Fellow Blogger Craig http://www.cstewart.net/blog/ has unnerved me by posting his account of a trial run along the Etape route. Quote.. 'On this week’s form I could certainly make it, but it will take superhuman effort. L’etape du tour is no cakewalk. Make no mistake.'
We're reaching a crucial stage of my training programme when I can still make big improvements as long as I continue to push myself. There are 9 weeks to go. Not very long is it?

Not enough hours in the day?

I love the May Bank Holiday weekend. There are a combination of factors.... the prospect of the summer ahead, a long weekend, the start of the fishing season and all the things happening on the Island to make life more interesting.
Obviously, being a dedicated cyclist my first thoughts had to be of planning my training around the family's needs and other commitments. I decided not to do the IOW Randonnee on the Sunday, mainly because I don't feel that I need to do another 80 miler at the moment. I've already got two long rides under my belt in the last 3 weeks , and at the moment I'm aiming to increase the intensity of my rides, rather than the distance. It's a difficult balance to strike, but it's also important that I don't totally knacker myself. Riptide are playing at the Over The Edge biker rally on Sunday night, so I need to be on form, full of vim and energy, rather than feeling ready for bed.
Saturday afternoon I got my first chance to try out the heart rate monitor (HRM). I planned to do a 20 miler at just under 20 mph and aimed to try and keep my rate between 70-80%. I sellotaped a small note on the crossbar with the target rates written against 60, 70 and 80% rates which I had calculated from one of the formulae on a HRM website. It was interesting to see that when I started and settled into the ride, my rate wasn't high enough. I had to consciously pick up the effort to get over the 7o% mark and then I had to push it the whole way. So straight away I can see the the HRM ensures that I'm putting in the right amount of effort and getting the most out of the session.

Up at 5 am Sunday morning. I can promise you it took real dedication to force myself out of the house. I had to sneak into the bedroom to pick up my mobile just before I left, and I was so tempted to change my mind and slip under the nice warm duvee next to my nice warm wife. Another two hours sleep or two hours on the bike? The bike won...now that is true grit.

I needed to back within a couple of hours so I aimed to do about 40 miles or so. It was cold, misty and windy. Again I wore the HRM and went a little slower keeping to about 65-70%. Unfortunately I had terrible reflux towards the end of the ride and felt quite sick by the time I got home.
I'm deliberately not mentioning my mardy bum, in case you're all becoming besotted with its well being.

10 am and my mate helped me to relaunch my boat in Yarmouth Harbour. The town was brimming with recreational cyclists doing the Randonnee. This is an 80 mile ride around the Island. Congratulations to everyone who did it, or even attempted to do so. I saw a huge variation of machines and ironically the people who had the worst bikes also seemed to be the least fit.
One observation. Many man-woman couples were clearly riding 'together'. But, time after time, as I overtook them in my car, the man would be about a third of a mile ahead of the woman, while she puffed along in his wake, red-faced and exhausted. Why do blokes always do that? Couldn't he ride at her pace, or even lead her by a metre or so to enable her to take it slightly easier in his slipstream? It must be so demoralising to be constantly playing catch-up, and surely doesn't do much for the sense of togetherness.

Finally, lets hope and pray that Madeleine, the missing English girl in Portugal, can be recovered, alive and well. It's a horrible situation, a nightmare.

Well done to the Wolves. Bring on the Baggies.