La Cyclo de Morbihan – Plouay Friday 20th August 2010
Subtitle: At least I finished this time!
Alarm cock-up:
So, Daniel Dunot called to confirm that I was due at his place at 06:15. I said I’d be there and hung up to continue my pre-race preparations, toast, tea and toilet (and not necessarily in that order). Then I glanced at the wall clock – 06:15! Duh – Daniel had actually phoned me to ask where the hell I was as it was already past the time for our rendezvous. Dammit, I really must learn to speak French!
Panicking, I hurried Jan (my wife) along, dived into the car and raced to collect my other team mate Ian Cushway; I was supposed to have been at his place by 05:40. It was now 06:21 according to the dashboard clock!
Profuse apologies later, we finally departed Daniel’s house, with a very unhappy team-mate Loic, in tow at 06:34, some thirty-four minutes later than we should have. Jan and I followed the others in our car. I simmered gently behind the steering wheel. The delay was entirely my fault, I had set the alarm one hour later than I should have and we were racing towards Plouay, desperate to arrive before race registration closed. We had just over the hour and my auto-route planner told us the journey would take just about an hour and ten minutes!
To cut this part of the story short we managed to avoid traffic snarl-ups and made the start without too much distress. None of us had time for our usual pre-race warm-up, but at least we had arrived in time. I was embarrassed and apologetic and not really ‘centred’ for the start of the race. Then, almost before I knew anything about it, we were off!
The Plouay Cycle Weekend:
You’ll notice from the title that, unusually, this race took place on a Friday. This was to allow for the historic Plouay race weekend to include other events. The first professional race here took place in 1933 and the event has since expanded and has taken on great importance. Nowadays there are two professional races, the Women’s is on the Saturday and the Men’s race follows on the Sunday; both events are part of their relative World Cycling Series. A number of other races are included to amuse the crowds.
As is fitting in this cycling-mad country, a number of amateur races are scheduled for the Friday. There are three cyclosportifs, (153 kms, 105 kms, and 81 kms); a couple of Randonées, a VTT and a Walk. Daniel, Ian and I were entered in the 105 kms Sportif, Loic had entered the 105 kms Rando as he had not booked in advance. Andy, here with his family in their very civilised Camper Van, had entered the 153 kms, Big Boy’s race.
The presence of Andy’s family was the reason for Jan’s appearance that day; she actually planned to spend the morning exploring the area with Andy’s wife and daughters; having absolutely no interest in the cycling or my efforts, of course! Typical of the support I receive from my family, but that’s a sad story for another time and place - maybe my memoirs.
The race:
La Cyclo Morbihan at Ployay is somewhat notorious in that it is hilly and almost as tough as the previously blogged La Bernard Hinault at St Briuc; and you know what that means as far as my performance is concerned!
The day was overcast, grey and a strengthening wind threatened to bring with it some light drizzle.
After the usual steady start, the pace gathered until we were ploughing through the lush Brittany countryside at quite a healthy pace. I managed to stay with Ian and a large group, (I was using Ian as my target man), and after about 30 kms our average speed had reached 32.8 kph. Then we hit a really long drag uphill through a windy road, forested slopes and all. The hill ground upwards forever.
Near the top I felt the gorge rise in my throat, but managed to avoid throwing up and, more to the point, as I crested the top of the climb I was still with the group! I was pleased; I’m normally dropped quickly during a climb of intensity and duration. I felt leg-weary and my lungs were bursting, but at least I was still in touch. The ensuing downhill stretch was as welcome as a drink to man dying of thirst in a desert.
My mild euphoria did not last.
I barely had time to consolidate my recovery when the next hill reared its ugly head. I finished this climb alone; the others had dropped me long before I crested the top. Gutted, I cycled on alone for the next 45 minutes, watching my average speed slowly fall away.
The threatened drizzle arrived and the wind seemed to strengthen; I was alone and without the protection of other riders. At 50 kms I was down to 32.5 and I knew this would only worsen unless I could latch on to another group.
The going became harder and I felt like the last rider in the race. As in previous races, I wondered whether to ease off a little and wait for the next group to pass; that way I might recover enough to be able to stay with them. This was not really an option; for all I knew I was the last rider on the road. I couldn’t wait for a possibly non-existent pack to join so I dragged on, working as hard as I could.
It took another 10 kms before a group of about 20 riders finally caught me. I managed to dig deep and, legs burning, suck to the wheel of the group's last rider. I clung to this group for the next 15 kms, watching my average speed inch up once more. They pulled me along nicely until about 25 kms to the finish when I was dropped again - you guessed it - another long, sharp climb.
The end game:
The final stages of the race are a bit of a blur really. I worked as hard as I possibly could; burning legs notwithstanding. Although I couldn’t hope to regain the group I’d just been dropped from, I did manage to catch and pass some other riders on the long run in to home. This was a bit of an ego boost. I didn’t even care that some of those I overtook were probably duffers from the Randonees or even the VTT, (yes, some were on mountain bikes).
I was heartened when I finally reached the 5 kms to go sign on the outskirts of Plouay. I managed to increase my cadence, despite the growing headwind and the increasingly tired legs. Then it happened!
A small group had formed by the time we were a couple of kms from the finish. We negotiated a sharp left-hand turn and were immediately faced with a steep hill about 500 metres long. The hill had been hidden by trees before the left-turn and I wasn't prepared it's severity. I found myself in completely the wrong setup - big ring and a high gear. Dammit!
Half way up the hill I ground to an almost complete stop; I had to sit down to drop to a better gear. By the time I was moving freely again I had been passed by half a dozen riders; one of which was a tiny little woman who seemed to fly up the slope. This time I got mad - I may have even growled out loud!
I finally crested the hill and, instead of the expected finish line, I found that the road stretched gently downwards into the distance. I thought that if I worked really hard, I might be able to regain some of the places I’d just lost, so I dropped into my biggest gear, stood up, gritted my teeth and punched the pedals hard.
That last kilometre into the finish was interminable. Flags and bunting hung over the road in preparation for the weekend’s professional races and if I’d had the time or the energy I could have imagined being in the pro race, challenging for the win. Truth be told, I was simply too knackered think about such things at the time. However, I was determined to catch the small woman who had passed me so easily on that last tough little climb.
My speed exceeded 40 kph on that final sprint finish.
The finishing straight was long, slightly downhill but into the wind. It was the wind that finally made the difference. I battered my way through it, but the ones I passed found it too much for them. I caught and overtook all but one of the guys who had beaten me to the top of that final climb. I eventually passed the woman (whom I later found out was Carol from Guernsey), just before the line.
It was little enough, but I did manage to assuage the male chauvinist in me by catching her at the death so to speak. I later discovered that five women had beaten me to the finish – so much for my chauvinist piggery!
My legs were dead, my lungs were raw, my water bottles were empty, and I could barely walk back to the parking spot with Ian. He on the other hand, had had enough time to finish his race, ride to the club car, stack his bike, have a lie down (probably even a cup of tea and a sandwich), and return to the finish line to await my sorry arse. Grrrr!
I honourably managed (through gritted teeth), to congratulate him for his strong performance when Loic arrived, fresh as a daisy. His Randonée had started 20 minutes after our race, had covered the same distance and the same route and he’d still managed to finish within 5 minutes of me! Damnit, why am I so slow? Hey ho!
Daniel rolled in some 14 minutes after me – but he’s not in full training so it doesn’t count.
Excuses/Reasons:
Well, the answers to that final plaintive question above are obvious really:
1. I’ve not been training for that long; I only started cycling again seriously last September. I need quite a few more miles under the belt before I can really call myself a cyclist
2. I’m old now, 53 yrs, and my recovery rate between efforts, both macro (training rides) and micro (hill climbing during rides) is much slower than the younger Turks
3. I am tall and heavy, not good for climbing; I’m still losing weight, but less quickly now (86 kgs currently down from 96 kgs last September)
4. I’ve discovered that the beloved Yvette (my bike), seems to be about twice as heavy as those of Ian, Loic and Andy. I know it seems like a cop-out to complain about one’s equipment (bad workmen and all that), but it really is a bit of a handicap to ride a heavy bike when I am already carrying more weight than most other cyclists on the planet. The trouble is I can’t really justify spending the €3,500 required to buy a significantly better bike, so I’ll just have to grin and bear it. I’ll train harder, try and lose some more weight, and see how things go. It’s only a game after all, not my living! (Thankfully as we'd soon starve to death).
N.B. – No more moaning about hills or heavy bikes (I promise, really I do)!
The results:
| Race distance – 156 kms | Total number of competitors – 288 | |||
| Name | Time/Average Speed | Race Position | Percentile | Comments |
| Andy Shaw | 3:51:45 39.6 kph (24.8 mph) | 19th | 7% | There was a small accident on the run in to the finish which held Andy up and cost him a few places. He was really sanguine about it though – I would have been spitting nails, but I would never have been in that position in the first place! |
| Race distance – 105 kms | Total number of competitors – 246 | |||
| Name | Time/Average Speed | Race Position | Percentile | Comments |
| Ian Cushway | 3:13:38 32.5 kph (20.3 mph) | 154th | 63% | Late into the race he suffered from cramp and actually had to stop and stretch his legs. He still managed to produce an excellent average speed and came 45th in his age group (68%) |
| Kerry Donovan | 3:24:54 31.4 kph (19.6 mph) | 191st | 78% | I finished 32 in my age group out of 51 (63%). Not that bad, but I still lost too much time on the hills. |
Daniel Dunot | 3:38:25 28.9 kph (18.1 mph) | 217nd | 88% | He suffered from cramp in his quads but considering his training has been curtailed this year due to work commitments, he did himself proud. |
NB: The results of the Randonée have not been published so unfortunately, I don’t have Loic’s stats.
Next race: the Wessex 100 in the UK (Bath – Salisbury – Bath) on 12th Sept. This will be my longest ride of the season and promises to be the hilliest. I’ll be in touch.
Tra, K.
