Retraction.....

Apology:

I've literally been inundated with an email complaining about my apparently insulting remarks about playing boules with the Club de Retraite on Tuesday afternoons.

May I take this opportunity to completely withdraw that comment. There is absolutely nothing wrong with playing boules, whether it be on Tuesday afternoons or any other day of the week. I have in fact played boules with the club on a number of occasions. It is an enjoyable game and I spent time with thoroughly nice people. The wine flowed freely and a good time was had by all.

I was simply referring to my lack of fitness and strength for cycle racing. I apologies for any offence caused.

Just off training now - tail between legs.

Tra, K

La Ange Rousel - Rumengol - 25th July

La Ange Roussel – Remungol - Sunday 25^th July 2010-07-26

Subtitle: “I just knew I should have stayed in bed this morning!”

06:30 hrs. When I loaded my bike onto the club car (see picture), I discovered that my front cycle wheel had developed a puncture overnight. I didn’t take it as the portent of gloom it surely was, but added my spare wheel to back of the car and continued blissfully unaware of the events that were to come. I collected club mate Ian Cushway on the way and we covered the 30 minutes to the race start at Rumengol without incident.

The Start:

Well, here we were again at the start of a cyclosportif – grey skies promised drizzle during the upcoming race.

La Ange Roussel consists of a walk and two cyclosportifs; one of 100 kms, the other 60 kms – both of these races take place simultaneously.

Three Taupont Cyclisme (T.C.) members lined up at the start of the 100 kms race; Andy Shaw, Ian and yours truly. There were 100 kms ahead of us and not a massive bunch of competitors; maybe 150 in all, but I’m not great at estimating numbers.

This was Ian’s first cyclosportif and after our ignominious efforts in the Guilliers Pass’ Cyclisme in April he admitted to feeling somewhat nervous. Andy and I left him to psych himself into the zone and chatted briefly about the fancy satellite tracker that Andy had attached to his handlebars – he really does have all the toys; an advantage of owning a bike shop of course.

We barely heard the Starter’s command and we were off!

Bloody Hell! The leaders (which included some semi-professionals, visiting Koreans, a Japanese rider, and even a young semi-pro from Wales – who was staggered when I greeted him in Welsh when we met in the car part earlier – but that’s another story), went off like an express train. I had to dig really deep just to stay with the bunch along the narrow and winding roads that leading out of Remungol.

I worked like stink to keep with the main bunch for the first 8 kms or so but – yes, you guessed it, we arrived at the first long hill and I was dropped like a greased cannonball.

Now I know I’ve said this before and I really don’t know what’s wrong with me but I can’t climb hills.

I train hard. I actively search out the long climbs around my home during my many training sessions. I try my best, really I do, but I simply cannot climb hills with any degree of competence or ease.

That morning I started feeling ill even before cresting the top of that first climb. This was most unlike me and although I’m not a fast climber, I normally reach the top of hills without feeling like I’m going to lose my breakfast. Feeling that bad that early in the race I knew I’d had it.

Andy, of course, had dropped me just after the start as usual and was mixing it with the leaders. I was expecting this, but when Ian overtook me going like a locomotive at the start of the second long hill I realised that something was wrong. In our few training rides, Ian and I have been pretty closely matched, although he may have been taking it easy on the old-timer. I couldn’t understand that when I tried to put the hammer down nothing happened; I just dropped further and further back.

I managed to grind out the low gears and made the top of the drag with a few other cyclists around me.

Slow, slow, slow:

The next few miles were weird. My legs felt lifeless and I wasn’t really enjoying things at all. When we reached the 30 kms stage I did my usual speed check and was gutted to see that my average was only 31.3 kph (19.6 mph). Although the course was fairly hilly, I didn’t think it was as bad as say, the route of ‘La Bernard Hinault’ at St Brieuc. I can normally manage more than that during the early stages of a race and I look to exceed 33.5 kph (that’s 21 mph).

Today there was almost no wind and it was cool with just the tiniest bit of drizzle so I there were no excuses; I couldn’t blame the weather for my being so damnably slow. I couldn’t understand it; I felt knackered but was only a third of the way round the course.

I soon found myself well and truly alone when I came to a roundabout that was not signposted with race directions. I circled it a couple of times wondering what to do when a group of about ten riders appeared and turned right. I managed to jump onto the back of group and found myself pelting along the narrow, tree-lined roads.

Within the next 15 kilometres I was dropped again on yet another long climb.

Where am I?

It was not long after this that the sun decided it would be a good time to appear and boil what was left of my brains. I was feeling pretty hot when at about 48 kms I arrived at a T-junction.

At the junction there were two race signs, one pointing left, the other right. Neither sign indicated which direction the 100 kms racers should take. I decided to turn left for no other reason than I’d been turning right for a while; the climb continued.

About 5 kms later I found myself back in Rumengol; I had obviously turned the wrong way and cut the route short by about 40 kms! I was angry with myself.

What to do? Retrace my steps and return to the junction to complete the race or give up? Bravely, I turned into the finish and gave up.

60 kms and its over:

I felt rotten. I have no beef with the race organisation, or the lack of adequate directions. No, if I hadn’t been dropped by the various packs I would not have taken the wrong turn and become lost. It was well and truly my own fault.

About an hour after my ignominious finish, Andy arrived just behind the leaders in about 10^th place. A short while after this Ian came in with the second large group, finishing with a very creditable performance for his first sportif. He did say that he was a tad disappointed about not being able to keep with the main bunch. He also said that they too had taken a wrong turn at one stage which had cost them a few minutes. Neither statement makes me feel any better.

Why?

I have no idea why I performed so badly. I don’t think I am coming down with the ‘flu or anything, although I have been feeling unusually tired this week. I’m writing this on Thursday so I’ve had plenty of time to recover.

I can only say that I’ve been pretty miserable since the race. I’ve been and wondering whether I should throw in the towel as far as cycling is concerned. Perhaps I should join in with the rest of the old folk at the Retraite Club (Retirement Club) and play boules on Tuesday afternoons instead.

Must stop now; I’m going out for a ride.

Tra, K

Next race: “La Cyco Morbihan” - Plouay - 20^th August.

Sunday Training Ride & Velo Taupont Road Race

Part I:

Subtitle: Bang! Click, click, click.

Now I don’t normally bother you with descriptions of my Sunday morning club training rides but something happened today that I think was worth a brief mention. Also, as I’m in France, I’ve decide to change tack a little and drop the Imperial measures; it is kilometres and kilograms from now on in.

Anyhoo, the club riders met at the usual 08:00 hrs outside the church at Taupont and the four of us; Daniel, Gerard, Loic, and I, set off at a modest pace aiming to complete about 90 kms. Gerard is the Club’s honorary President, early 60’s and still very strong, especially on the hills. Daniel is a keen hill climber, but works shifts, can’t train as often as he’d like and is therefore is not as cycle fit as he wants to be. Loic is the youngest of us, perhaps late 30s, and quite fast.

Early on, we hooked up with the very strong Yves Oger, still flushed with the success of his first podium finish in a Pass’ Cyclisme race the week before. We mixed it up for a while but he peeled off after about 30 kms saying that he had a lunch appointment. I suspect he was getting a tad bored with our lack of overall pace, but maybe I’m doing him a disservice.

Nothing much happened for the first couple of hours; we gradually built up the speed and took part in the usual hill chases and sprint-to-the-village-signs. You know, it’s the type of thing I have described in the past. I usually fare reasonably well on these training rides and today was no exception – I won a few, lost a few.

At about 40 kms, just before we reached the interestingly named and rather attractive village of Coëtlogon we found ourselves at the foot of a long winding uphill climb. Loic attacked hard trying to drop the rest of us. I tried desperately to stick to his back wheel and was surprised when a fast-spinning Gerard passed us on the inside. I crossed to Gerard’s back wheel and was shocked to drop Loic quite quickly; he was obviously struggling to match our pace on the extended climb; Daniel was nowhere to be seen.

The road we were on was cut through rather fetching woodland and the Oak and Chestnut trees offered dappled shade from the hot summer sun - there I go again being all poetic and soft – back to the cycling (sorry Rory and Matt).

Gerard knew the route better than I did and so I trusted that I could last at least as long as he could ‘on the drive’; I have ridden with him on a number of occasions and so know his strengths. He has experience and knowledge of the local terrain, but I am stupid, like a horse who doesn’t know when he’s had enough until he collapses in a heap. No apologies to any horse-lovers out there, but horses are thick – any animal that permits itself to be run to death by a rider on its back? I rest my case.

Finally, we crested the top of the hill. I expected Gerard to ease up and wait for Loic and Daniel to catch us up, but he just drove right on over the top and down the other side. He even increased his efforts and I realized that he must be going for the sprint ‘points’ into Coëtlogon. I could just catch glimpses of buildings through gaps in the foliage and realised that we were only a few hundred meters away from the village sign. Breathing hard, whooping in great gasps of air we dug deep and drove hard. He beat me by the width of a tyre – excellent effort. I didn’t mind losing to the better man that time, but I would have another go later and this time I’d be ready for him!

We stopped at the top of the village hill, next to the church while the others reattached, had some food and then carried on towards home.

Mechanicals:

At about 80 kms we were motoring along a fast gentle downhiller towards the village of Les Forges, about 15 kms from the gorgeous medieval town of Josselin. I know this stretch of road well as it forms one of my winter circuits. I know, for example, that there was a slight uphill climb before a fast gentle descent into Les Forges. Normally, I am running blind when it comes to the sprints on these Sunday rides so this time I decided to have a real go and jump for the ‘points’ early. I dropped a gear and stood up; Loic and Gerard were ready for me and there was a rare old race up the hill and down the other side. We were really motoring. In my top gear (52/12 for you cyclists) I managed to pass Gerard with about 300 metres to the Les Forges sign and Loic was in my sights.

Quads burning, I started pulling hard on the handlebars as I drove down with the legs to generate that last little bit of extra speed; just like the sprinters do (but without the strong legs, the strong arms or any of the real speed of course). Loic and I were neck and neck as the sign approached. I could tell he was just like me, absolutely flat out, but I was just managing to gain on him. I could tell that I was going to take him well before the line.

We had just about reached levels wheels when: Bang! Click, click, click! Shit!

I’d bust a spoke on the front wheel and the loose end was slapping against the left fork. Cursing vividly in French I pulled over – there’s no point cursing in English in the middle of France now is there? Loic of course, won the sprint and I was passed by both Gerard, very quickly, and Daniel a little while later.

I was distraught, this was the first time Yvette had let me down during an actual ride. Yvette is what I call my bike by the way; I don’t think I’ve told you that before. I call her ‘Yvette’ even though the French, unlike the British and Irish, refer to vehicles in the masculine. Nonetheless, I refuse to mount an Yves, so Yvette she will always be!

Gerard helped me remove the remains of the broken spoke (I’m useless for close-up work without my reading glasses) and I had to limp gingerly home for the last 20 kms. The guys were really generous and kept with me at a much lower speed although I suggested that they continued without me as I was quite close to home. They wouldn’t hear of it and shepherded me safely to within a couple of miles of home, just in case any further damage occurred to the wheel.

For the technical amongst you, my front wheel is a lightweight Mavic (see the Q&A blog just posted). It has only twenty spokes (blades) and losing one of them places a great deal of strain on the remaining nineteen. So downhill I had to keep the speed down and uphill I couldn’t put any added strain on the handlebars or the wobbling unbalanced wheel would catch on the brakes.

I made it home without further incident and swapped the damaged front wheel with my spare 18-year-old hand-built Mavic Open4CD (sorry again to the non-cyclist out there for the technical detail). The wheel is serviceable enough, still runs true-as-a-bell and will suffice until I can take damaged one to the ‘Bicycle Repair Man’ - Is anyone old enough to remember the Bicycle Repair Man sketch in Monty Python? Anyhoo, as this is France, the shops don’t open on Sundays and ‘local’ shops are closed on Mondays too so the wheel will have to wait until Tuesday! What can you do?

Part II: Velo Taupont Road Race

I didn’t realise it until yesterday, but there are actually two cycle clubs in Taupont, which is amazing really when you consider how small the place is. My club, Taupont Cyclisme (T.C.) concentrates on road racing. The other club, Velo Taupont (V.T.) concentrated on VTTs and has a really strong junior section that fosters the future of the sport. I guess there must have been something of a schism in the past to cause a split, but my French does not allow me to interrogate in anything like the subtle manner necessary to fathom the reason for the existence of two separate cycle clubs in such a tiny village.

During the training ride and before the mechanical incident, Daniel had told me about a Categorie bike race at Taupont which was being organised by V.T. that afternoon. Two club-mates were entered: the fast veteran Andy Shaw (back in my good books – see my comments in the Malestroit blog) and promising nineteen-year-old Sylvain Dore. I promised to pop over and lend my support.

Once home I had a shower, a meal and a brief rest, and then donned fresh cycling kit. As my training ride had been cut short by a few miles, I decided to ride to the race and took the scenic route to extend my day’s mileage.

It took me a while to find the race venue; although Taupont is a small village, its boundaries are quite extensive. I found the Start/Finish line in the middle of a large woodland area. The roads, narrow lanes really, were closed to stop traffic. These are just some of the joys of road racing in France; I couldn’t see them closing the roads in England for just a small local road race!

I didn’t have time to cycle the route as the racers were already lined up at the start so I have no real idea how tough the course was. The race distance was over 80 kms; 14 laps of about 6.3kms winding through the woods on a hot, hot day. I didn’t fancy it myself and I wasn’t invited anyway.

This was a category race, meaning you had to have a Pass’ Cyclisme racing license or better. It promised to be tougher and even harder than the Guilliers Pass’ Cyclisme that had I cut my teeth on in April.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Andy had been worried about the race all morning; it was the first serious non-Sportife he’d raced in for years. The riders around him, including Sylvain, looked uncompromisingly young and keen for the off.

After the usual seemingly interminable wait the starter finally sounded his horn and away they went, nineteen to the dozen, pedals driving furiously, up the short hill to the first left-hander and disappearing into the leafy glade.

With nothing left to do but wait for their first return, I had myself a rather appetising sausage in a gallette (a savoury crepe made with rye flour - yummy), and a beer and settled down to wait in the warm sun.

I didn’t have the foresight to take my stopwatch with me, typical, so I have no idea how fast the guys were travelling, but it looked pretty rapid to me as they sped past me at the end of the first lap. Sylvain was in the lead group of three with Andy towards the front of the pack looking somewhat bemused and not a little grim.

There were a few smaller groups and a long gap to the last couple of riders. I couldn’t help thinking how it must have looked to my wife and neighbours when I dragged my sorry arse around the 8 laps of the Guilliers sprint course in April; gutsy but sad. I applauded their efforts, but noticed that the crowd weren’t very vocal so I subdued my supporting calls after that.

Sylvain continued to battle it out at the front until about lap 10 when the leaders flew past again, but this time without Sylvain. Apparently he had been dropped out in the course. He arrived a few moments after the main pack and abandoned the race at the line.

It turns out that he had become dehydrated and had been unable to load up with water. After the event he complained bitterly about the poor organisation and his inability to find water out on the course but I had seen the van that followed the riders fill up with water bottles at the start of the race, so I don’t quite know what went wrong there. By the way, the following van acts as a sort of ‘broom wagon’ sweeping up the abandoned riders or those with mechanical problems; a safety and support vehicle if you will.

The racers continued for the remaining 4 laps with two riders ahead of the first small group of about ten riders. This group was in turn followed by the peloton which included the gallant and hard working Andy Shaw.

On the final lap one of the two leaders had made a successful break and crossed the line about a hundred metres ahead of second place. Then the 10-strong group rounded the final corner at the bottom of the finishing uphill straight. They were jockeying for position when one of the leaders lost traction on his back wheel when he put the power down on some gravel. He came a cropper and came down hard with less than two hundred yards to go; after all that work he’d fallen in the final straight, how gutting. He lay where he fell and attendants soon rushed to administer 1^st Aid. The rest of the mini-group battled it out for the minor places.

The peloton arrived shortly thereafter, with Andy in the mix, looking tired and hot but still determined. He probably finished mid-race; about 25^th place, but unfortunately I don’t have any results of timings to report.

Given that the majority of the competitors were Young Turks, some having pretensions of turning professional, I have to hand it to Andy. He acquitted himself so well. The fact that he didn’t figure highly in the race just goes to show how good the competition actually was. Andy is perhaps the best rider in T.C. and he had to work flat out just to stay mid-pack. I was so impressed; and relieved that I hadn’t tried to compete myself.

Daniel, who’d arrived to support the racers hosted us for post-race aperitifs ’s and to cut a long storey short, by the time I returned home that evening I had actually completed 160 kms (100miles) in the day. And that’s despite the lost spoke – so not a bad day after all.

Well done Andy; commiserations Sylvain!

My next race a 100 kms cyclosportif on Sunday 25^th July at Remungol – “La Ange Roussel”. Another blog will follow!

Q & A - Just for laughs

Q&A – 10^th July 2010

Subtitle: Just for laughs!

So there I was wandering down the street when a rather attractive young Frenchwoman approached me and said, in French, “You are a friend of Bernard Hinault aren’t you?”

I shuffled my feet in embarrassment as I usually do and admitted that I indeed was.[1]

“Yes, I thought so monsieur,” she batted her baby-greens at me and continued, “I saw you two finishing together in the St Brieuc cyclosportife. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I am a reporter for Sud-Ouest France, and I would like to learn about a foreigner’s take on cycle racing in France. Can you spare me a few minutes?”

I bet you’re really impressed that I could understand her so well and that my French is so fluent. And so it is – in my own mind at least.

She ushered me into a nearby Bar Tabac and offered me a drink as payment for my time. I ordered a Telenn Du, an excellent local brew and sat opposite her at a table outside in the sun. She ordered a vin rouge ordinaire, took out a Dictaphone, placed it on the table between us and began to record our interview.

Q: “When did you first meet the Great Man?”

A: “I thought this was going to be about amateur cycle racing in France,” I made to leave, “my friend Bernard is a very private man and I will not answer questions about his personal life. I am an open book, but this cannot continue.”

She raised her hands, palms towards me in a placatory gesture, and nodded, “I was simply looking for some background colour. I am very sorry monsieur; I will keep the questions about you and cycling, ça va?” She crossed her rather shapely legs, and exposed a little more thigh. I am not immune to the wiles of the fairer sex so I regained my seat and had another sip of the rich dark ale.[2]

Q: “Then do you mind telling me a little about yourself? For example, how old are you? How tall are you and what is your height and weight?”

A: “OK. We’re on safer ground here. I don’t mind talking about myself at all. I’m 53 years old, born in 1957. I clock in at a little less than 6ft 3inches and I currently weigh about 13 and a half stones.”

Q: She gave me a puzzled look.

A: “I’m sorry,” I smiled sheepishly, “I’m very old you see and I still work in Imperial measures. I mean to say that I’m 1.89m tall and weigh about 87 kgs.”

Q: “Oh. I see that is quite tall for a cyclist isn’t it?”

A: “Not nowadays, but I am certainly one of the tallest riders around.” I gave her what I considered a disarming smile and shrugged my shoulders in what I hoped was a Gallic manner. “There’s nothing I can do about my height, but being tall has its drawbacks.”

Q: “In what respects?”

A: I’m heavier than many cyclists out there, I carry a load more weight and that takes its toll on me when I’m hill climbing.”

Q: “But there aren’t many hills in Brittany are there?”

A: I shook my head patiently and sighed; I’d heard that comment before. “You’d be surprised. I grant you we’re not in the Alps or Pyrenees here, but you can still find a few stiff climbs and when the wind is blowing hard it can be really tough just pedalling along the flat.”

Q: “Right then, sorry about that. So, what bike do you ride?

A: “That’s more like it, something technical.” I was on safer ground here. “I race on a Bianchi ‘Coast-2-Coast’....

Frame: Alu-Hydro, Triple-butted 7000 Carbon-T

Forks: Alu-carbon K-VID

Wheels: Mavic AKSUMRACE Bladed spokes.

Groupset: Shimano 105

Gearset: Chain-rings 52/42 and a 11/24 sprocket set”

She looked at me a little blankly, and then asked.

Q: “How long have you had it?”

A: “I bought it in April 2008 out of some money I received after an accident in a shop. Since then I’ve ridden over 8,000 miles on it.” Again with the look, “Sorry, that’s 12,800 kms.”

Q: “That sounds like quite a lot of kilometers,” she asked moving on swiftly.

A: “Not really. For the first year my wife and I were still renovating our house, but we’ve pretty well completed the major building work and there’s just a little decorating and maintenance to do now. I really started training after a 12-year break in about September 2009. That’s when the mileage started creeping up; all through the winter, on my own.”

Q: “Do you want to talk about the accident in the shop?”

A: I smiled “I refer you to the answer I gave a few moments ago.” I know, I can be insufferable sometimes can’t I? (Only sometimes? Ed.)[3]

Q: “Is there an interesting story about why you didn’t cycle for over a decade?”

A: I smiled again, “You can be the judge of whether it is interesting or not but I suffered a training injury a few months after completing the Paris-Roubaix in 1997 and couldn’t exercise for a few months. Then I started University and my spare time just seemed to evaporate. I actually got out of the habit of training, put on a bit of weight and soon found that when I did try exercising, I was too fat and unfit to enjoy it. I was getting a bit older too, so the little aches and pains that you get became more and more difficult to shake off.”

Q: “Wow, now I’m really impressed monsieur, you rode in the Paris-Roubaix! Not many people can boast that accomplishment.”

A: “You can read about it in my blog if you wish,” I shrugged again and indicated that she should move on with the next question. It was nice being the centre of attention like this, but I was becoming a little embarrassed talking about myself to a complete stranger, pretty as she was.

Q: “What was the accident and what injury did you have?”

A: “I came off my bike during a Triathlon training ride and suffered a lower back and a partial rupture of my right hamstring. Pretty well knocked me off my stride I can tell you. The hamstring injury still gives me pain, especially in the winter cold and the back injury is OK but I have been diagnosed with osteo-arthritis. It was probably caused by the accident and general wear and tear. The discomfort is acceptable but I don’t expect it’ll ever improve.”

Q: “When you started cycling again were your goals?”

A: “I had two prime goals at this stage. Firstly, I simply wanted to improve my fitness levels and loose a bit of weight. Secondly, I wanted to get fit enough to join a local cycle club to become more involved in the social life of the region, and maybe to start racing.”

Q: “How did you get on?”

A: “First I set myself what I considered a stiff mileage target of cycling at least 1000 miles, sorry, that’s 1600 kms, between 1^st January and 31^st May this year.”

Q: “That’s an average of 80 kms a week throughout the winter. Did you make the target?”

A: “Yes, I exceeded it quite comfortably as it happens. I completed the 1600 kms by 12^th March. You see, although the winter was long and cold with a few snaps of snow and ice, it was relatively dry and I was able to get out on the bike very regularly. In fact, by 31^st May, I had actually completed over 4,300 kms.”

Q: “Well done, that’s really impressive.”

A: “Not really,” I responded bashfully, taking another glug of beer. I’d nearly finished my glass and gratefully accepted the refill she offered. “Compared to really serious riders that is a drop in the ocean, but it did give me the confidence to join Taupont Cyclisme.”

Q: “Why did you decide on Taupont Cyclisme?”

A: “Now this was a tough one. There are a number of really good clubs in the area and I was a little spoilt for choice.”

I thought about telling her that excellent Groucho Marx quote, you know the one “I wouldn’t want to join a club that would have me as a member,” but I thought that would be lost on a member of the French 4^th estate, so I simply replied, “Taupont Cyclisme are a great club and were kind enough to allow me to join. They’ve been very welcoming and supportive and are really well organised with a team car that takes us to a d from races and a good sponsorship infrastructure.”

Q: “You said that one of your goals was to enter some cycle races this year. How did that go?”

A: “Well, in order to answer that question I’ll have to refer you to my blog where I publish reports about all my races. I’m sure your readers would be interested in learning how a complete novice gets on in your wonderfully well-organised cycling events......”

Q: “Briefly then monsieur, how many cycle races have you done so far?”

A: “Altogether, including a Randonée and a Pass’ Cyclisme, I’ve entered and completed five.”

Q: “In that case can you tell me the differences between racing in France and racing in England?”

A: “Unfortunately not. I have never entered a cycle race in England. I did a few time-trials and a load of triathlons and runs; you know Marathons and the like, but never an actual cycle race. And of course, Triathlons during the 80s and 90s were individual time-trial events with no drafting allowed on the cycle stage.”

Q: “Merci monsieur, can you give me your overall impressions of cycle races in France now that you have had some experience of them?”

A: “Briefly, they are superbly organised and professionally marshalled. The riders, at least at my level, which is middle-of-the-pack, are generally a friendly bunch. I particularly love the fact that you have stationary and roving marshals protecting the racers from other road users. Even in relatively small local races all the major junctions are marshalled and traffic is stopped when cyclists approach. Now that simply wouldn’t happen in the UK.”

Q: “Really, why not?”

A: “UK drivers wouldn’t stand for it. There’d be ructions.”

Q: “Ructions monsieur? Comment cela?”

A: “I mean there’d be a terrible fuss made, a controversy. Some drivers might even ignore the marshals and there would be accidents. I’m actually entered into the Wessex 100 in England in September and I’ll be in a much better position to compare race organisation between the two countries after that.

“Now I’m not saying French drivers are perfect by any means with their timidity and penchant for tailgating, but the vast majority of French drivers are respectful of cyclists. It’s your national sport after all. They are far more aware of cyclists than the average British driver who is aggressive and obnoxious, but that’s a different rant for a different place and time.....”

Q: “When and where are you racing next?”

A: “I have entered three more races this year, the Wessex 100 in England on 12^th September, La Cyclo de Morbihan on 20^th August, and finally La Benoit Vaugrenard on 18^th September. After that it’s down to more serious training through the winter in preparation for next season when I hope to be a little better prepared and a little more competitive.”

Q: “Well now monsieur, the final question I have is why do you race?”

A: “Good question. What you mean is why do I bother racing when I’m obviously not very good at it and I’m really too old to improve?

Q: “I would not have but it quite that way, monsieur,” she responded somewhat coquettishly.

A: “Well, whereas most people train to improve their performance during competitions, I actually compete to give me a reason to train.

“You see I rather like to feel fit and training of itself can sometime be a little boring. So I spice up the training by entering the occasional race. This in turn encourages me to train. It’s as simple as that really. As I put it in the title of my first blog, “Someone has to finish last,” and I really don’t mind being the one who finishes last, on occasion. You believe me don’t you? It does spur on my training though.”

With that, I finished my beer and, somewhat reluctantly, took my leave of her.

Ends.

---

[1] This man is a liar! He’s not a friend of Bernard Hinault. Just because you spent a few minutes on a bike next to the Great Man doesn’t mean that you are his friend. I bet he doesn’t know you from Adam! (Ed.) *

*Ed? – Who are you kidding – as if this blog has an Editor!

[2] This is starting to sound like a blooming Mills & Boon novelette – can we continue with the interview please, Ed.)

I know, I know, there’s that fellow Ed again!

[3] OK, the joke has gone far enough, let’s forget the editorialising shall we?

Reply to the first comment ......

Hi Rory,

Thanks for the kind comments (my fist one); I sometimes wonder if I'm the only one reading these entries.

To answer your question, cyclosportifes are an open category - participants are of all abilities, are male and female, and range in age from early twenties to early sixties.

One of the guys in my finishing group for 'La Coeur de Bretagne' was a 61-year old Englishman, another was in his twenties - I managed to beat them both in the sprint finish - by the way!

In 'La Bernard Hinault’ (St Brieuc) we actually had some current professionals in the 195 kms race. I guess they were doing it for training purposes or to catch the eye of M. Hinault who is still heavily involved in the professional scene - see him on the coverage of the Tour de France - ITV4.

By the way, my next race is likely to be 'La Cyclo Morbihan' on 20th August. But watch out for a Q&A entry this week sometime.

Cheers, K

La Coeur de Bretagne

Here’s a picture of me during the early stages of the race – before we reached the first hill probably as there are still loads of cyclist around! (I found this on the official race site!)

Malestroit - 'La Coeur de Bretagne' – 4th July 2010

La Coeur de Bretagne – 4^th July 2010

Malestroit – ‘Cyclo-sportife’ – 130kms

Subtitle: “Alone Again – Naturally”

Target:

Looking at previous results over this distance, my target time for the race was 4:15 – see how I did!

Arrival:

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny, promising a hot morning in the saddle to come. I managed to cadge a lift with T.C. club mate and vastly experienced rider, Andy Shaw. He has one of those rather nifty and very useful motor-homes. It’s absolutely ideal for travelling to and from race venues – comfy seats, well appointed and roomy enough to carry bikes and race gear and afforded the luxury of for a post-race shower!

This was the 5^th Edition of ‘La Coeur de Bretagne’ - (The Heart of Brittany), and as the name suggests it takes place in the middle of the beautiful part of France I now call my home.

The event includes the cyclosportife (130 kms), a rando cyclo (a 95 kms), and a rando pedestre (a 50 kms ramble). Andy and I, along with the competitive Yves Oger (see my ‘Lamballe’ blog) were entered in the cyclosportife. A number of other T.C. club members rode in the rando cyclo.

This year the course consisted of three different circuits with the Start/Finish line, marked by one of those inflatable archways, in the beautiful medieval market town of Malestroit.

I knew what lay in store for us I had checked the route out beforehand and I felt confident that there was nothing scary in the way of hills or technically difficult bits. I knew I would be able to manage the distance and the terrain, the only thing I had not accounted for was the heat!

Preparations:

I carried three cereal bars in my back pockets and loaded the bike with two large bottles; one contained a weak solution of fruit juice, the other plain water - at least this time I was prepared (see me earlier ‘Randonée’ entry).

Our race started at 08:30, and we arrived at the starting archway in good time to pay two minutes silence in honour of a rider who had died in the previous year’s event!

I kid you not!

In 2009 a rider had died during the race, I don’t know whether it was due to an accident or an existing medical condition (that wasn’t the time to ask), but it had us all a little subdued at the start of the race.

Circuit 1 (33 miles):

We made our way slowly through the town, nearly two hundred of us squeezing along narrow roads, twisting and turning through the outskirts of the town, narrowly missing street furniture and roundabouts – I’ll never become used to this and it’s typical of all the race starts I’ve had so far.

We crawled along at about 13 mph for about a mile until we had finally cleared the town and the race was on! A gentle but steady uphill climb into the village of St Marcel (2 miles), saw the peloton fragment. I had started alongside Andy and had stayed towards the front of the race for all of a mile but was now being rapidly passed by all and sundry.

The gentle incline continued past St Marcel and on around narrowing lanes up into Bohal (6 miles). We continued uphill into Saint Goyarmard (11 miles), past the church on the sharp hill, then found ourselves on a short downhill before climbing again towards Sérent (16 miles). The general inclination for the first half of the circuit was always upwards.

Although I had ridden the course the previous week, this was different; riding at race pace makes the hills tougher and somehow longer.

The road between Saint Goyamard and Sérent is a continuous uphill slog for 5 miles and this is where I was dropped.

There I was “Alone Again, Naturally”, (Gilbert O’Sullivan c. 1970s). I swear would have started singing the song aloud if I’d had the breath, but the long, long uphill drag had taken it out of me. Only 12 miles into the race and I’d been dropped. I hung in a limbo between the front pack and whoever was still left behind me.

So, what should I do now? Battle on alone and try, probably in vain, to reattach to the fast boys in front or take it easy and try and latch on to the next group that passed came along? Of course, I might have been passed by the whole race already. Was that the case? In those situations, you can never be sure just what was happening behind you.

I continued on trying my very best when a small group blew past me; we were still driving upwards, ever upwards. I dug deep and jumped onto the wheel of the last rider and took a quick look at my trip-computer. My speed had jumped from a steady, grinding 17 mph to 20 mph. We were still climbing, but it wasn’t particularly steep so we were able to keep quite a high tempo.

This is a classic example of group riding. Not only was I now drafting behind a bunch of guys, but the psychological effect of working with others was a real fillip; I felt instantly better and the speed continued to climb.

I counted fifteen in our group. This was better, I rested at the back for a mile or two then slowly made my way to the front and took my turn in the lead; we even started to chain-gang on the way up into Sérent (16 miles).

I checked the computer again and was amazed to find that, despite the ‘Alone Again’, segment the average speed ticked off at 20.6 mph, even though we’d been travelling steadily uphill for the vast majority of the race so far. I felt quite good at this and knew that in a short while we would reach a lovely 3 mile descent that would take us into La Roc Saint André (21 miles). I took the lead again and started working just a little bit harder.

We hit 36 mph during the descent; with me freewheeling in the aerodynamic heads-down position, and the others pedalling hard to keep up. We blew through La Roc, (a lovely little town where they brew the excellent local ale Telenn Du), and soon found ourselves climbing again towards La Chapelle Caro (23 miles) and along steeply undulating, tree-lined country roads into Monterrein (27 miles).

The sun was high in the sky and there was little or no wind; I was starting to heat up and my water bottles were emptying fast.

I ate my first food bar during a descent and dropped off the back of the group as I lost a little concentration during a particularly twisty section. I had to work really hard to regain my place.

Eating tips:

When eating a cereal bar during a cycle race:

· Open the wrappers before the race; it makes it easier to get at the bloody thing while travelling downhill at 30 mph on twisting roads

· Don’t inhale in through your mouth while eating; you can breathe in some fragments of food too - not the best thing when you’re trying to fuel muscles with oxygen, not oat flakes!

· Make sure you eat regularly, before you start feeling hungry or feint – it helps, believe me

Back to the race:

We were really motoring now; all of us into our stride and of a similar standard. As always, I struggled a little on the hills, but made up time on the descents and maintained my position on the occasional flat bits. I often took a lead and encouraged a chain-gang effort. There was a good fast stretch between Monterrein, through Missiriac (31 miles) and back into Malestroit again (33.5 miles) where we flew along a quite a lick.

Circuit 2 (27 miles):

We were through the empty Malestroit streets in no time and headed out on the second circuit; towards my favourite place name in the whole world – Pleucadeuc (say it out loud – it’s great).

Before Pleucadeuc though, there was a nice, largely flat run alongside the River Oust; a picturesque river plain with tree-lined valley hills on each side.

We were through St. Laurent-sur-Oust (38 miles) in no time and headed generally south and west towards Pleucadeuc (44 miles) via the lovely little village of Saint Congard (40 miles).

The speedo showed an average of 21.9 mph for the race so far; the fastest average speed I’d set over such a distance. I felt good and we were already about half way round; it was all downhill from then on – so to speak!

A stiff little uphill climb into Pleucadeuc was followed by a fast lick down into La Bugerais (48 miles) and on into St Gravé (51 miles) - tempted though I am, I’ll not rise to any puns on this one; not after the 2 minutes silence at the start of the race.

It was around this stage that I was mortified when a large group of riders, dozens of them, blasted passed us at a furious pace. I waited to see whether there would be a reaction from my group but our pace remained at a steady 23 mph along a bumpy but flat road. I reckoned the other group must have been travelling at over 26mph to pass us at that rate.

For a second I contemplated trying to jump onto the back of the new pack, but after studying the race numbers pinned to their jerseys I realised that they must have been the leaders of the 95 kms Cyclo rando race. After the big pack had disappeared into the distance I confirmed my suspicions with one of my group and felt a little easier.

There followed a few miles of flat roads into St Martin-sur-Oust with our road-sped bubbling around the 25 mph mark with. Then we headed out into quite countryside again along undulating, dimpled roads towards Ruffiac (60 miles).

It was along this stretch that a strange thing happened.

Dropped on the hill:

I knew what was coming up between St Martin-sur-Oust and Ruffiac; a steady ascent then a nice run downhill into Ruffiac, followed by quite a fast stretch before a sharp little climb into the hilltop village of Caro (66 miles).

From its foot, I could see right to the top of the hill, which looked quite tough after the distance we’d already covered, but I knew there was a rest coming so I dug deep and drove hard; I literally put my head down and went for it!

My quads were on fire by about half way up, but I felt my group-mates faltering and I gritted my eyebrows. My heart was pounding and my breathing rate nearly maxed out.

There was one of those false brows near the top where the hill looks to have finished, but continued upwards for another couple of hundred yards albeit at a shallower pitch. This nearly did for me, but the descent arrived just before my blackout. I tucked down into the aerodynamic position again, whooping in the onrushing air. A well-marshalled left-turn at the bottom of the hill barely slowed me down and I drove along a flat road at over 25 mph.

I finally found the time to look around me and was astonished to see that the fifteen-strong group that had been together for the past fifty-odd miles had been whittled down to just eight. I’d actually led the way to the top of a hill, and had broken the group up with an attack! I had actually climbed the tough little hill faster than some other cyclists! I was elated for a bit and also stunned, but managed to keep the pedals turning.

The remains of the group formed another chain and drove onwards, but I started feeling the effect of my attack and had to rest at the back for a couple of miles ahead of the hills into Caro. I managed to wolf down my last cereal bar without incident and we settled down into the final circuit of the course.

The trip meter showed an average speed of 21.3 mph. This was nothing to write home about for real cyclists like Andy and Yves, and even though we had slowed down since the last speed-check, it wasn’t by much and I was really pleased with myself.

Circuit 3 (23 miles):

At Ruffiac the marshals pointed us towards Caro (66 miles - we’d looped back on ourselves), and on towards Monteneuf (73 miles). I ran out of water before we reached Monteneuf which meant, of course, that I started feeling really thirsty. The temperature had been climbing steadily all morning and by 70 miles it was really hot!

I was sweating profusely (must have been a lovely sight), but as there were only a few miles to go I knew I would survive.

I managed to blag a swig of water from one of my generous companions on the run in to home, but a raging thirst was occupying my thoughts for the final 10 miles or so.

On the way in to the finish, between Monteneuf and Ruffiac, we began sweeping up riders and our group grew again in size. By the time we’d climbed through Tréal (75 miles) there were about a dozen of us and when we powered through Ruffiac for a second time (78) we’d picked up a couple more for the fast lick down a long straight drag into the finish.

Sprint finish:

The final run into Malestroit was just about needle straight for the last 3 miles; straight and flat or gently downhill.

The speed ramped up as we closed in on Malsetroit with riders jockeying for position. Little breakaways were formed but sucked back in. I tried an attack with about half a mile to go, but was passed by chain of three going hell-for-leather. I managed to attach to them; legs pumping, quads burning again.

The speed wasn’t much 27/28 mph, but it felt fast to me after all the ground we’d already covered that day.

The guy in second place of our little breakaway jumped clear and burned it to the finish, but I saw him change gears and was ready for him. I was in my top gear (52/12 – for the techies amongst you) and we had a rare old battle for the last 500 yards or so. I never did manage to attach to his wheel and the beggar beat me in by a couple of bike lengths, but I didn’t mind; really I didn’t.

I was quite tired at the finish, but mainly thirsty. I managed to cadge a bottle of water from a marshal and glugged the whole thing down in three long pulls. I don’t normally drink water you understand, but it was hot and I was absolutely parched!

I made my way to where we’d parked the RV and ran into Andy who was already showered, changed and looking rested and as fresh as he did before the race.

“I was getting worried about you,” he said, “was thinking of sending out search parties!”

I think he meant well, but you can go off people you know!

The official race results:

Race distance – 130 kms		Total number of finishers – 198 The Website states that nearly 300 riders started so quite a few must have pulled out due to the heat!
Name	Time	Race Position	Percentile	Average Speed	Comments
Andy Shaw	3:13:00	18th	9%	25.6 mph (40.4 kph)	Say no more! 1.5 minutes down on the winner.
Yves Oger	3:13:00	25th	13%	25.6 mph (40.4 kph)	Finished in the same group as Andy
Kerry Donovan	3:52:29	166	83%	20.97 mph (33.6 kph)	Interesting – my best ever average speed, and my favourite race, but my worst result! Shows you how fast the others were – or rather how slow I really am.