Paris – Roubaix – Amateur Version – June 1997

Part I:

I know this is going back a long way, but I simply had to put this down in print while I was in the writing mood.

Preamble:

The Paris-Roubaix Classic (PR), was first run over 100 years ago and was set up to publicise the completion of an outdoor velodrome in Roubaix, a town in north east France, quite close to the modern Belgian border.

When the PR first began most of the roads in that region of France were of Napoleonic vintage, constructed using granite blocks roughly 6 inch cubes, the notorious pavé. Most of the pavé roads have been paved over since the last World War and the stretches of pavé that remain are now protected and spread over a wide area. Recent PR organisers have had to search far and wide to include as much pavé as possible, which has resulted in the race becoming longer and longer over the years.

Currently, the total race distance is about 255 kms (about 160 miles)*, whereas a direct route between the two cities today would be less than 100 miles.

The first half of the race takes place on beautifully maintained, largely flat modern roads and is quite a rapid; then the stretches of pavé begin. There are some 26 sections of pavé in total and their lengths vary from as long as 3.7kms to as short as 100m.

To mark your card, so to speak, the Paris-Roubaix Classic is also known as “L'enfer du Nord” (The Hell of the North), for reasons that, I hope, will become clear.

The Route:

PR97 started at Compiègne and included the now infamous Wallers-Arenberg forest, as well as stretches of pavé at Orchies, Landas, Saméon, Mouchin and Bachy.

Pre-race Training:

I was going to give you a long spiel about my pre-race training here (mile after mile of cold winter rides), but what the hell. Bearing in mind some of the comments I’ve received recently, I’ll just get on with describing the event itself.

Anti- pavé bike preparation:

The Paris-Roubaix is a road race, and in the opinion of many cyclists, should be ridden using a road bike. Many of the amateur PR participants now use mountain bikes installed with suspension, soft gel seats and special soft handlebar grips. These ‘Softies’ are looked upon with great distain by us ‘Roadies’, but truth be told, they’re the clever ones; racing cycles are really not designed for pavé!

I had decided to use my reserve bike, a second-hand Peugeot racer. I wasn’t about risk the destruction of my favourite triathlon bike; research had shown me that the PR is notorious graveyard for bikes. I had read horror stories of vast stretches of pavé being littered with the detritus of dead and mangled machines (and riders too, I suspected); littered with bits broken off or shaken loose by the terrible pounding the pavé dishes out.

One of our group, Ian, a three-time PR veteran and by far our strongest rider, told us that in the previous year’s race the front forks of his mate’s bike had snapped clean in two on the very first stretch of pavé. His mate had suffered two hurts; one when he was bundled out of the race, the other when he’d come into intimate, face-first contact with granite pavé!

I modified my bike in two ways:

· I fitted a pair of padded handlebar grips – which incidentally, still adorn the old bike to this very day

· I bought a few of pairs of rough-terrain tubs (all-in-one tyres and tubes), as recommended by Ian. I also brought along my spare front wheel – just in case

PR97:

Our group consisted of eight riders and a Support Tem various that included wives and children; about fifteen in all. We registered for the race the night before and set up the bikes ready for the great test the following day.

The PR97 registration pack included a little medal souvenir and a Race Card which outlined the feeding stations, village names and distance markers and locations of the control points (where the card is stamped as proof of completion for those being sponsored). There was even a ‘secret’ marshalling point towards the end of the race to ensure that everybody completed the whole race and was not tempted to cheat by catching a lift with a passing Samaritan!

We stayed overnight in a modest B&B; I didn’t sleep very well and saw race day dawn with a beautiful sunrise.

We split into two groups based on our relative cycle-fitness and strength; I was in the faster group. The ‘B’ group set of with the early starters - 05:30 hrs. My group arrived in time to see the others off, then milled around for a couple of hours, beginning our race at the latest possible moment - 07:30 hrs.

Our thinking was that this would give us the chance to catch the first group towards the finishing line and all ride in together - it sort of worked that way too.

The first half:

Beautiful weather helped us on our way. We were heading more-or-less consistently NE and we had a glorious warm tailwind all the way. I kid you not, a tailwind! How lucky was that?

The smooth near-empty roads were a joy. This was the first time I’d ridden in France, and despite the fact that we were riding of the ‘wrong’ side of the road, things were going splendidly.

Route markers showing ‘PR97’ and a directional arrow pointed out any turns; only the larger towns and villages, and of course the feeding stations sported Race Marshals. The stencils worked really well and we made sure that everyone in the group kept a good lookout at forks in the road or at major junctions.

As expected, we swept past many dozens of riders in the early stages and soon found ourselves in a large group of some 30 or 40 Frenchmen. We started hammering along at average speed well in excess of 25 miles per hour.

I couldn’t believe how joyous this was, I was strong and fit, and we were tearing along the open roads of France at a massive lick. I took many a hard turn at the head of the group and we bowled along like this for mile upon mile. I was exultant.

Every now and again, Ian, a Rumpelstiltskin on my back, kept warning me to calm down, there was a long way to go. He kept saying “Take it easy, we haven’t reached the pavé yet.” But would I listen? Would I heck!

Our first ‘revitaillment’ (feeding station), was about 2 hours into the race and we stocked up on food and water, checked the bikes and ourselves and continued; the whole stop took no more than a couple of minutes. I did a quick check of my trip computer and was pleasantly shocked to see that we had already covered over 50 miles at a very respectable speed. What was all the fuss about?

I continually checked the welfare of my mates and had some pleasant, if stilted conversations with the French guys riding with us. The group by this time had swelled enough in number to be called a peloton. I was the only French speaker (of sorts) in our team and found myself acting as interpreter along the way. A wonderful time was being had by all. Then my problems started!

The Heat:

As the sun climbed inexorably higher into the clear azure skies so did the temperature, (no apologies for the flowery script here Rory & Matt – you know who you are). I have no idea how hot it was on the roads that afternoon, mid-30s at least I would say, but I was emptying my water bottles faster than the refuelling stations could fill them. I often had to cadge drinks from fellow riders along the way. I was getting hot – disturbingly hot, and we still hadn’t reached the first stretch of the notorious pavé.

About the 75 miles in we found ourselves in quiet countryside; gently rolling, tree-lined roads and hedgerows, you know the type of thing. Every time the trees fell away, the shadows disappeared and the temperature soared. I could feel the back of my neck burning.

At the next major feeding station I borrowed a tea-towel from our support team who were managing to follow us along with the race organisers as spectators and emergency back-up. I doused the towel with water and tied it loosely around my neck for protection.

The towel worked for a while, but ominously, by about 90 miles and despite regularly pouring water down my throat and the back of my neck, I had stopped sweating; a very bad sign. My stomach ached and a headache started thumping. No matter what I did, I simply couldn’t swallow enough water to cool myself down; I wasn’t even thirsty. All signs of heat exhaustion.

Then we struck the first bit of pavé. Oh, my God!

Pavé:

The first stretch wasn’t particularly long, a few hundred metres, but it sloped slightly downhill, causing the bikes to gather speed worryingly; you daren’t touch the brakes on that sort of surface. As it happens, this turned out to be the only stretch of pavé that wasn’t completely horizontal – you can’t use the term ‘flat’ to describe pavé. Potholes of varying depths and long areas of rutted baked hard mud where the pavé block disappeared entirely, were irregular features of pavé, (nothing about pavé is regular).

Before starting the race we’d been told by anyone who knew anything about it that the best way to tackle pavé was to put the hammer down and try to ‘float’ over the surface. Someone actually said “Just trust your bike and run with it,” – yeah right!

Let me try and paint the picture for you:

· Just imagine you’re sitting on the handle of one of those roadside pneumatic drills, you know, the ones that cut through concrete like butter. Got that?

· Now imagine the drill is being controlled by a lunatic who’s playing Bucking Bronco and is desperately trying to dislodge you

· On top of this you’re not wearing any protective clothing - I mean there are no padded cycle shorts

· Now try and imagine that at the same time all this is going on, you are gripping tightly to the collar of a ravening bull mastiff; let go of the collar and it’ll have your face off

· Now try putting up with all this for anything up to half an hour at a time, then you realise it’s going to be thrown at you without warning for the next seven hours!

Got the picture? No you haven’t!

I know I’ve been going on about pavé for a little while now, but it is the defining feature of the Paris-Roubaix, why it continues to be a challenge, and why it is known as L’enfer du Nord!

After coming to a skidding stop at the end of the first pavé stage, I turned to look at my mate, Grahame, another PR virgin. I could see he felt the same as me, totally dumbstruck. I think we both actually felt like bursting into hysterical laughter, but I simply didn’t have the energy; neither did he by the look of him. I flexed my fingers which had already started cramping up; my grip on the handlebars had been vicelike. I knew I was in trouble.

One of the nearby French riders we’d become friendly with broke a spoke on his rear wheel; our first sign of the mechanical havoc that we’d heard about in the build up.

Riding Tips – Pavé:

Tip #1: Don’t!

Dinner Stop:

The course resumed on proper roads a good few miles, and Grahame and I slowly relaxed, it wasn’t all that bad really was it? We could cope. Two more pavé segments came and went without incident. We were certainly not getting used the pounding our bikes and bodies were receiving, but we were still in one piece, which is more than could be said for our new French friend. I kid you not, but on the second pavé segment, he lost another spoke from the same wheel which by this stage was wobbling like a child’s loose milk tooth! We all seriously doubted that his machine would last the course.

All this time the temperature rose inexorably higher as did my core body heat. I was deteriorating fast and my position was desperate. My bike speed had dropped and constantly found myself dropping away from the bunch.

About 120 miles in, we reached the main lunchtime feeding station and I knew it was all over for me; I was finished.

I literally fell off my bike, left it where it was, stumbled into the relative cool of the food hall and collapsed in a heap against a delightfully cool stone wall.

The other three members of my team stood over me offering me support and fluid but I couldn’t even summon up the energy to drink. Totally bereft, I told the guys to continue without me. I was done.

All I could think of was that I had failed. The infamous L’enfer du Nord, had claimed another victim. I held my head in my hands and felt like crying.

To be continued..............

Guilliers – Pass’ Cyclisme - 25th April 2010

Guilliers – Pass’ Cyclisme - 25^th April 2010

Sorry, this race report is out of order, but as I’m in the mood, I thought I’d let you know about my first ever proper cycle race - bloody disaster as it turns out.

Background:

They have been hosting a cycle race in my village for a few years, and ever since I bought the house I have wanted to give it a go, but earning a crust and renovating the house has always taken priority. Anyway, there was always next year.

So, after the lounge was finally renovated, and upon receiving a letter of parole from Jan (my beautiful wife) allowing me out on the bike, I finally managed to get a good winter training season under my belt.

At the start of the year I gave myself a target to complete 1000 miles before the end of May and I even reinforced the goal by telling all the family about it just to give me an added impetus. As it happens, I reached that target by 12^th March. It turned out that the winter season, although cold and occasionally snowy, was abnormally dry, allowing me to get out regularly during the week. I work for myself and the boss is very generous with the annual leave (sic).

In actuality, I managed to complete over 2700 miles (4320 kms) within in the target period, so I felt quite confident by the time I joined T.C. and obtained my Cycle Race License – and that’s not a simple in France as you’d think. It necessitated a medical certificate!

So after a visit to the GP (cost: 22€) and, believe it or not, a cardiologist (cost: 109€!), I finally received my Pass’ Cyclisme license to race. Armed with that rather expensive bit of plastic, I entered my first ever race.

The Race (Part I):

Guilliers hosts two races: a long ride of about 120 kms, and a Sprint of 65kms. Thinking that the shorter one would be right up my alley, that’s the one I entered.

The long-course incorporates a large lap out in the country, and finishes with 5 laps of the Sprint Course.

The Sprint Course takes place over 8 laps, and passes right in front of our house every time. Furthermore, the Start/Finish line is about 300m up the hill from us so I had to give it a go, didn’t I? The Sprint Course is designed to start and finish before the long-course riders return and start their laps. No problems then, are there?

T.C. club mates Ian Cushway (English), Yves Oger and Sylvian Doré were also entered in the sprint event.

The start point was just outside the Guilliers Village Hall and T.C. President, Mickael Crete, had given us a little race briefing as we lined up. According to Mickael, the first part of the ride would be quite sedate and would take us from Guilliers, along the back part of the course and along to the actual Start/Finish line. This was a sort of ‘rolling start’, a la Formula 1. Mickael also suggested that the start would be relatively slow, giving us time for a reasonable warm-up – Yeah!

As Ian and I, somewhat nervously, waited at the faux-start line for the gun, Yves and Sylvian, pushed their way towards the front of the waiting pack; about 65 strong. We waited and waited.... then we were off......

Each lap is 7.2 kms long and the course is quite hilly. The day was also windy; very windy.

Bloody hell!

I was barely able to hang on to the very back of the group while we wound our way along the circuitous, hilly and tree lined back part of the course. A vicious and very cold headwind made the going even more difficult, especially on the exposed areas where the trees fell away to rolling fields.

By the time we reached the long drag up the half-mile hill to Start/Finish line I knew I was in trouble – deep, deep trouble.

The group’s speed ratcheted up and up as the line approached. I was dropped instantly. At the Start line I was already a hundred metres back and falling with unseemly rapidity.

You see, I didn’t really know what to expect. I was clueless. It turns out that the ‘Sprint Event’ is notorious locally for being really, really tough.

Hilly and tough and usually windy; oh and did I say tough?

At this early stage I tried to convince myself that I had plenty of training miles in the legs and the others would tire before I did and I would catch them up later in the race – pitiful wasn’t it?

Cycle Racing Tip:

Until that point, I’d almost never ridden in anything like a peloton or large group; the one exception being my participation in the notorious Paris-Roubaix Classic (but more of that another time).

When I competed in Triathlons (1989-1997), it was still classed as an individual endurance event and drafting (riding close to each other or in a group) during the cycle phase was banned. Since that time, partly due to the difficulties of marshalling cyclists over a 25 mile stretch of country road, cycle road racing rules had been introduced and Triathlons have become a very different animal indeed.

I’ve since learned from bitter experience that the effort required to ride quickly is significantly reduced when you are in a large group, especially when riding into a headwind. This means in effect that the peloton will always be able to travel faster that a solitary rider when it wants to, i.e. when the front riders are working together and taking turns in front (see my earlier blogs).

The Race (Part II):

It was soul-destroying.

Despite the fact that I was bringing up the rear, I kept on working my ever-weakening legs off, dumb schmuck that I am. Lap after lap I dropped further behind. The few cyclists I could still see stretched further away from me until on the fourth lap I was totally alone to face my demons - the bloody hills and the incessant howling wind.

Each time I struggled blindly past the house, Jan (who was religiously timing my laps with a stop-watch) and a small group of neighbours cheered me on. Bless them!

I couldn’t give up, not with all that support behind me now could I? No – I bloody well couldn’t!

It turned out that Ian was just one place ahead of me, strongly battling away in the driving wind, desperately intending to finish, but not last – that place was most certainly reserved for me.

The first real ignominy occurred half way round lap 5 when the peloton lapped me; heartbreaking. It was just like being kicked in the stomach, especially when they passed me just outside the house for all my friends to see!

The second ignominious thing was when I was overtaken during the eighth and final lap by the front-runners of the long course! Why not add insult to injury? Hey ho!

Well, somebody had to finish last:

Yep, I did actually finish last, but at least I finished; not everybody did. A dozen or so dropped out, including Yves (see later).

I averaged just under 19mph, whereas the leaders were lapping at just below 23 mph! See what I mean about race speeds and group riding? I later worked out (thanks to Jan’s timekeeping), that the lead group were just about two minutes faster than me per lap. I didn't stand a chance!

To say that I was gutted is an understatement.

Lessons Learnt:

Work your nuts off to keep with the group! Being dropped on a race of that duration and intensity spells disaster. Granted, the other riders were simply better and stronger that I am so the writing was on the latrine wall before the race had even begun.

Excuses:

· Yours truly was probably about the oldest in the race – most of the others were considerably younger than me

· Despite that age differences, the others were, almost to a man, more experienced than me - this was my first (and maybe last) effort at this category of race - Pass' Cyclisme

· I only started training properly last September. I had a good few mile under my belt since then (over 3,000), but very little speed work

· I only joined T.C. in March, and had yet to do any speed work in a group

· My legs are old and weak

· I am carrying too much body fat - I need to lose at least another stone in weight

· Oh yes, finally the kicker - I am absolutely crap at sport, but at least I give it a go, I suppose

T.C Results:

Name	Race Position	Comments
Sylvian Doré	30th	Bloody marverous – and he’s only 18!
Ian Cushway	55th	Like me a first timer - beat me by around 2 minutes, despite the fact that, by his own admission, he had managed very little training in the winter months.
Kerry Donovan	56th	As I said, somebody had to finish last!
Yves Oger	DNF	This was his first time at the Guilliers race. I don’t know what happened to him, but he has since made up for his DNF at Lamballe and other races (see my earlier blog)

In Summation:

So, what could I do?

I could either give up racing altogether and just cycle for fitness or try something else. Believe me, for a little while I was considering the former. Then Daniel Dunot told me about Cyclo Sportifs and the rest, as they say......!

Next Race:

Malestroit, 130 kms, 4^th July!

Guegon – Cyclo Randonée - 20^th June 2010

So, there I was, standing outside Daniel Dunot’s house, 08:00 hrs, Sunday morning; the day after the wondrous events at St Brieuc.

The previous night, as he dropped me off, Daniel had invited me to participate in a Randonée at Guegon the following morning. I of course, refused; I was knackered after the St Brieuc hills and my legs had stiffened up after sitting in the back of a car for the 80 minute return journey.

Daniel insisted, saying that the Randonée was only 45 kms (28 miles) and our club, Taupont Cyclisme (henceforth to be known as T.C.) would be well represented and no-one would be at our usual Sunday-morning meeting place. I relented and agreed to attend; after all it was only 28 miles and would be a good post-race ride to shake off my stiff leg muscles. Yeah!

Sunday dawned with a brilliant blue sky and a warm mid-summer sun peaking over the wooded Guilliers hillsides, promising a hot morning in the saddle. The dawn chorus shrilled loudly and a gentle steam rose lazily rising from the grass of my back lawn as the heat from the sun evaporated the overnight dew. All was right with the world....... Ooh err, that sounded a bit poetic; better get back to business and my usual bald prose......

As I said, the weather was brilliant, sunny, warm and still. I deal for a gentle Sunday morning shake-down ride with friends. I was stiff-legged but relaxed about the whole affair.

Now, for those that don’t cycle or live in France, let me tell you what I’ve learned about Randonées. They’re a little like Fun Runs back in the UK. Semi-serious affairs which can include, cycle road races of varying distances, Velos Toutes Terraines (VTT’s - off-road cycling), and even some country walks. This one at Guegon included all three so there were a great many competitors milling around the Guegon Sports Centre. We paid our €5 entrance fee, which included a much-needed feeding station (more of that later), and a post ride drink and sandwich.

Randonées: the skinny.

Now, Randonée cycle road races are strange semi-serious affairs; you just turn up with your mates and 'go for it' at any time you fancy after the ‘official’ start time of, in this case, 08:30. My group started at 08:45hrs; there were about 30 of us on a rolling start out of the venue

As this was only going to be 28 miles, a distance I can do ‘standing on my head these days, I decided to ride light and took only a small water bottle and carried no snack bars.

Back to the ride:

We started off really slowly, no more than 14 -15 mph which suited me greatly and gave my aching legs a chance to loosen up.

After about 20 kms with the speed slowly being ratcheted up I mentioned to the T.C. rider next to me, Vincent (nice chap, loves VVTs), that we were already over half way and the going was really comfortable. He gave me one of those quizzical looks, shook his head in that particularly Gallic way, you know, where the shoulder shrug is included for free, and said that this was a 90 kms ride!

Well, I nearly fell off my bike!

Had I misunderstood what Daniel had said – not out of the questions considering my miserable French language skills? I confirmed what Vincent told me with a couple of the other guys, just to make sure I wasn’t being the victim of a ‘wind-up’.

When I mentioned that I was ‘sans repas’ (without food), a couple of guys immediately reached into their back pockets to offer me a food bar – have I mentioned what great guys they are? Anyway, I accepted a rather appetising and energising apricot food bar from my old mate Mickael Crete (previously mentioned in the Lamballe report), and was set fair until we reached Taupont, where I knew there was a refuelling station waiting.

The course was hilly (more bloody hills), but, despite the misunderstanding, I managed to stay with the bunch. At one stage we worked together in a chain-gang for a few miles. We were on the D764 (if you have your Morbihan roadmap handy); a major road into Josselin with a long, slightly downhill stretch of straight road which today was downwind. We really built up the speed here and cruised along at speeds in excess of 30 mph. At one stage, the speedo clocked 66.4 kph (41.5mph) and we weren’t exactly descending the Alps either!

For the non-cyclists who think 41.5 mph is a bit sedate, try sticking your head out of a car window when it’s going at that speed and feel what the wind is like as it drives into your face. That’s the power of chain-gang road cycling.

I have to mention here that during this stage all of the work was being done by the T.C. riders, seven of us in all, working the chain, whilst the other 12 or so riders in the group clung onto our coat-tails. Wheel-suckers, they’re sometimes called (at least they were in that great 80’s flick with a pre-stardom Kevin Costner – America Flyers – one of the ‘best’ sports movies ever made in my humble....).

Where was I? Oh yes.... I was a bit pissed off later in the ride when a couple of the wheel-suckers who had managed to keep with us until the end, tried to out-sprint us to the finish line. You might call it good race tactics; I call it a bloody cheek, almost cheating – never done it myself, never would either (if you believe that,....).

Once through Josselin (a picturesque town with a beautiful old Chateau that clings to the side of a steep valley, and yes, you guessed it, more bloomin’ hills), we made it to the refuelling station in Taupont where the group magnanimously agreed to stop and allow me to wolf down a couple of slices of cake and load up some cereal bars and more water.

By this stage (32 miles), our group had dwindled down to ten or so riders; 7 from T.C. and 3 ‘guests’; the others, including Daniel I noticed, had either been dropped, or had decided to take a shorter route.

I won’t bore you with details of the rest of the ride, but the second half of the course was even hillier than the first. We worked hard, with the usual little hill sprints and fast descents; including a climb up the tortuous and extended hill into Quily, and on until the final long climb into Geugon.

I kept up and eventually finished 4th of the bunch - not bad for me considering the terrain. We had a nice post-race beer and sandwich and I toddled off home to my ice bath and afternoon snooze in front of the TV.

“Ice bath?” I hear you guffaw! Yes, ice bath.

Training notes:

The theory has it that post-exercise ice baths speed up the removal of lactic acid from the muscles - the effect of blood-shunting facilitating transportation of waste material from muscle cells - see my upcoming exercise physiology blogs (you know I’ve a doctorate in exercise physiology don’t you?).

If you have any training questions or tips, please feel free to post a reply on this blog-site.

Generally, I run a cold bath, put a few of those freezer packs in the water and sit there for the length of time it takes me to finish a cup of hot tea (10 – 15 minutes). Try it, it’s not as devastating as you might think – and it works.

I utilised the same treatment after all my long summer rides although I find it unnecessary during the winter; the legs are cold enough after a long winter ride!

Anyway, that’s all for now, my next race is a 130kms Sportif at Malestroit on 4^th July. I guess it’ll be an independent sort of affair (see what I did there?).

Keep visiting this site for the next race report and the occasional bits of training advice.

By the way, I can't tell you how well I slept that night after a total of 130 miles of cycling at race-pace that weekend.

Take care, and Bon Velo!, K.

St Brieuc - La Bernard Hinault – 19^th June 2010

Subtitle: Hills, hills and yet more bloody hills!

The day dawned overcast with a light mizzle falling; not at all promising. We arrived at the race venue at about 09:00 in two cars. Four of us were registered for the race, Daniel and I were set for the 120 kms Sportif, and the other two Jean and Thibault were registered for the 90 kms race.

Another club mate, Englishman Andy Shaw, one of the Club’s very best riders, registered for the 195 kms. Andy has a young family and a very nice camper van, so spent the night before the race in St Brieuc.

Now, St Brieuc is on the northern coast of Brittany about an hour and a half away from Guilliers. It is a low-lying coastal town, fairly industrial and not very attractive. It is surrounded by hills; all the roads leading into it go down steeply. Conversely, all the roads leading out of it rise sharply, fabulous when you are starting out on a long bike race; just what you need.

The race starts were staggered in an attempt to co-ordinate the finishing times and Andy’s race had already started by the time we arrived and began setting up our bikes. Our race started at 10:30 hrs, so Daniel and I had plenty of time to set out for a couple of miles shake-down ride to loosen off our legs and make sure the bikes were operating properly; tyres fully inflated, gears working etc. etc.

Now for the good bit:

Daniel and I arrived at the start point with about 20 minutes to go and filtered to the front to get a good start position.

The race is organised by Bernard Hinault’s charity ‘La Bernard Hinault’ I think it supports Disabled sports – a disabled race started just before ours. I was expecting the Great Man himself to turn up just to start the race, but to my great surprise he and a number of his relatives (they all had the same Hinault name in the results sheet), arrived just before the start. They all looked really smart in their brilliant white kit and riding stonking white ‘Hinault’ bikes.

He was actually riding in the race with us! I couldn’t believe it. For those of you who don’t know who Bernard Hinault is, try Googling him – 5-times Tour de France winner, World Cycling Champion, French sporting hero, etc. etc.

It was obvious that M. Hinault was not cycle fit though, he was carrying a few extra kgs compared to his racing days, but he was no more than 10 feet away from Daniel and me when the starting gun went off.

Now, here’s my first mistake:

I determined to stay with the Great Man for as long as possible, despite the fact that working too hard too early could kill me off and ruin the race for me. But, what the feck? How often am I going to be able to say that I cycled with a true sporting great?

I managed to stay with the leading peloton for all of 5 miles before we reached the first of the steep hills outside of town - the peloton split in two. I just knew that was the last I would see of M. Hinault until after I had hit the showers, so to speak.

So many bloody, bloody hills.........

I am simply too big and heavy to be a good climber. Most race climbers are tiny little chaps with no body fat, weighing in at around the 65 kgs mark. Daniel tips the scales at 62 kgs if his clothes are soaking wet, and he just loves the hills – I don’t know whether you have gathered this, but I do not.

All the way around the first part of the course Daniel kept ‘nipping at my heels’ until about the 30 mile mark when the first really, really tough hill climbs started; we became separated. I didn’t see Daniel again until the finishing line.

Throughout the race I kept being dropped by the peloton on every climb and had to work like the devil the catch up on the flats and the descents. Fortunately, my weight and size do help on the descents and I can usually generate speed quickly enough to overtake people on the descents, so long as the roads aren’t too circuitous; my bike-handling skills leave a lot to be desired. I have also discovered that I can ratchet up the speed on the flats and the slight inclines. Now I’m not saying I’m at all competitive, but I do seem to be able to stay with most groups so long as the climbs aren’t too steep – at least during Cyclo Sportifs anyway.

At about mid-way, the roads became quite narrow and reasonably devoid of traffic and the peloton kept bunching up at the frequent turnings.

I have discovered that after a sharp turning, say after a junction, everybody drops a gear, gets out of the saddle and builds up the speed again if the road conditions allow. It helps to keep alert at these times or you can find yourself dropping behind and having to work really hard to get back in touch.

I have also discovered that, for some reason, I find it more difficult to negotiate tight left-hand turns than right-hand ones. I have no idea why that should be; whether it is a result of my cack-handedness or not. I’d be interested to know whether right-handers find right turns more challenging. (Send answers please - on the back of a ten pound note)

There was one hairy moment at about 50 miles when an oncoming car had stopped, half on and half off a verge, around a sharp bend in the road. We were bowling along at over 20 mph and I was in the middle of the pack at the time and suddenly a shout came out and all of us had to ram on the anchors! My back wheel skidded a little and I thought we were in trouble but luckily the roads were dry and we managed to avoid an almost inevitable collision.

I haven’t given you a weather update for a while, but anyway, the weather improved before the start of the race and by this time the sun was out; although the wind was still gusting quite strongly at times.

Things settled down for a few miles and the roads broadened out and the terrain became less hilly and only gently undulating as we turned for home. Once again, when we turned homeward, we suffered a bloody great headwind. Why is it that the run in to home always seems to be accompanied by a bloody headwind? Send answers please - on the back of a ten pound note) – sorry, I’ve already done that one.

The attack:

Following my reasonably strong finish at Lamballe the previous weekend, I had determined that should the opportunity arise, I would try to attack on the run in to home, just to see what would happen. Well, at 60 miles or so, I had positioned myself within about twenty places of the leaders on the outside of the peloton. I can’t tell for sure, it’s difficult to judge what is going on when you are in the middle of a large bunch of cyclists, but I’m guessing that there were at least a hundred riders in the group at this stage.

I gathered myself and waited for the right conditions to attack. I was hoping to go at the next long, gentle ascent when two riders surged past on the outside of me, flirting with oncoming traffic.

I didn’t stop to think, I just reacted and jumped onto the rear wheel of the second rider and kicked hard. We sprinted past the leaders of the peloton before they had time to do anything and soon got down to some chain-work – that’s where each rider takes turns at the front to protect the others from the wind. You can increase the speed but reduce the individual workload. It worked!

After a couple of minutes I took the opportunity to glance behind and couldn’t see the peloton – it had fallen back and was hidden behind a long curve in the road.

We’d done it!

We’d stolen a march on the peloton and were driving hard for the finish with only about ten or twelve miles to go! I felt great. I’m guessing that was what it must feel like to those breakaway stage leaders during professional races. It really felt like we had made a decisive break.

Then the hills returned and I was stuffed!

A long, steep, winding uphill put paid to me. My legs buckled and thighs started to burn and for the first time in years I could tell that I was working at my maximum heart-rate. The other two guys in the breakaway soon left me for dead; I never saw them again.

I drove on as hard as I could, desperately trying to make the summit before being swallowed up by the bunch, but with a lull in the wind, I could actually hear the drone of the peloton as it inexorably closed in. Then, one-by-one they started passing me at speed. I don’t know how many overtook me before I reached the top of that damned hill, but it seemed like dozens.

At this stage, I genuinely thought I was done and might not even be able to reach the finish. There was only about 8 miles to go, but such was the heartache of being swept up by the pack I was distraught and this was after only being away for a few minutes. Just imagine how it feels for those Tour de France breakaways that have been away all day only to be caught within a couple of kilometres of the line – heart-breaking.

At the top of the hill I rallied a bit and a long descent had me sweeping past a few of those that had just overtaken me. The group had begun to fragment on the run in to home and I could see a large bunch of riders with stragglers behind about a mile away on the other side of the steep valley I was currently descending at over 30 mph. The group and the stragglers looked like they were almost stopped and as a result I was rapidly closing the gap.

As an aside here, have you ever been on a cycle ride and you are at the top of a hill looking down and you can see the ribbon of road stretching away, winding up to the top of a hill on the other side of the valley? Well, often the ascent looks really fearsome but turns out not to be as bad as you think. I guess it is something to do with perspective that makes the uphill look a lot worse than it is. Well, that is not always the case and this was one of those times where the reality of the climb was a great deal worse than it looked.

I was closing rapidly on the descent because the cyclists ahead were nearly at a standstill! This was the steepest hill I have climb in many a long year. It wasn’t all that long, perhaps a half mile, but it was damnably steep and we had already covered 71 tough miles; our legs had already taken a hell of a pounding. Up ahead, towards the top of the hill I could actually see some of the riders had dismounted and were walking up! I kid you not, some were actually walking – as I said the hill was steep.

I dropped down to my lowest gear, I almost never use this one – I keep it in reserve for just this sort of emergency (it’s a 24 toothed sprocket with a 42 toothed crain-ring – for the technically minded amongst you). I gritted my teeth, literally, and drove hard for the top.

For almost the first time I began passing cyclists on an ascent; I must be stronger that I think. I drove past those who were pushing their bike and noticed a few of them were dressed in gleaming white. I did a double-take and sure enough, it was the Hinault team! One had obviously cramped up pretty badly and was limping big time. Near the top of the hill I passed a large pool of vomit – somebody had really blown his or her lunch.

Then I nearly fell of the bike. In front of me was the Great Man waiting at the top of the hill for his team-mates! I swear to God, I had actually caught up with Bernard Hinault! He must have been taking it easy to stay with his ‘family’, but what the hell, I was cycling with the World famous Bernard Hinault!

There was a round-about at the top of the hill, which my new best mate (sic), M. Hinault and I and a few others circled twice, allowing time for his team to catch up with us.

I swear to you by all that I hold of value that I am not making this up!

After the team had joined up, we all rode the last few miles quite sedately, to the finishThe group was about 15- strong. Out of respect for his stature, we allowed M. Hinault to cross the line first, none of us dreaming to force a sprint finish.

I shook hands with M. Hinault at the end and I am certain that any photos taken of him finishing will include me; I was within touching distance of him when we crossed the line!

The race was followed by a nice, civilised meal. A truly wonderful day, especially after the weather warmed up and I found myself cycling with the Great Man!!!!!

The results:

Race distance – 195 kms		Total number of competitors – 231
Name	Time	Race Position	Percentile	Comments
Andy Shaw	5:19:54	32nd	13%	I told you he was good! And he swears he doesn’t have time to do that much training! He’s small and light and obviously a very good climber

Race distance – 120 kms		Total number of competitors – 479
Name	Time	Race Position	Percentile	Comments
Kerry Donovan	3:48:43	222nd	46%	Toughest cycle ride I have ever done – apart from the Paris-Roubaix way back in 1997. I might write about that sometime.
Daniel Dunot	3:58:36	152nd	75%	Kept ‘nipping at my heels’ until about 40 miles, and then must have dropped back.

Jean and Thibault also finished their race, but I don’t know their surnames so cannot find their results.