Cyclosportif: - “Les Circuits Remy Corfmat” Inzinzac Lochrist – 29th Aug 2010
Subtitle: What a lovely ride!
I thought of returning to my nice warm bed, but after last week' debacle (see the Plouay blog), I dared not cock up my schedule again so I padded downstairs. After tea, toast and the necessaries I loaded my bike into the car and cruised to Andy’s house; the mist thickened.
Club-mate Ian Cushway had cried off this race, he said he couldn’t face the thought of another early morning two weekends in a row. Truth be told, he probably hadn’t forgiven me for keeping him waiting outside his house in the pitch black on the cold and damp morning of the Plouay race. Sorry again Ian!
06:25 - We left Andy’s place in his Renault Espace, there was not enough room in my car to fit both bikes, and hit the road to Inzinzac Lochrist which is about 45 minutes away so we had plenty of time before race registration closed at 08:00 hrs.
07:10 - Once off the dual carriageway we found ourselves on quiet country roads which narrowed and wound generally downhill to the valley floor below. The early morning light enabled us to pick out steep wooded slopes that stretched upwards around us as we descended. I couldn’t help thinking that we'd probably soon be climbing back up these bloody steep hills; I looked forward to the race with some trepidation.
We soon arrived at the picturesque little town of Inzinzac Lochrist where pretty wooded slopes looked down over the sleeping houses. A river meandered through the dormant streets. Not a soul stirred and we searched in the dark for some signs of race organisation. Had I got the date and time wrong?
We eventually found a man putting up race signs who pointed us in the right direction. This was a bit of a relief for me. Just think how I would have felt if, a week after the timing cock-up before Plouay, I had the date wrong for this one! It doesn’t bear thinking about really.
07:20 - Arriving so early meant that we had the place to ourselves. We managed to use the facilities whilst they were still clean and the dispensers still full of paper and soap, and then registered for the race. Now how's about this for value; for the €6 race fee we received a drink, a cake and a free T-shirt (and a good quality one too!) - I doubt you'd get that in the UK.
A grey dawn had lightened the sky but the mist, having thickened, meant that the air was still cold and damp. We could tell that once the sun rose fully it would probably blossom into a nice warm day, but at that stage it was quite chilly. This made choice of race clothing tricky.
I went for a short shakedown ride in just my race top and shorts and I was frozen after a just few hundred metres. Decision made, I put a T-shirt under my club jersey and hoped for the best.
08:30: And they’re off!
The race starter announced that this was a charity Randonée, not a race. He reminded us that we were required to follow the rules of the road, stop at any red traffic lights, and keep to the right-hand carriageway at all times. I took a look at the cyclists that surrounded us (there were a good few hundred expectant riders waiting for the off), and thought, “Yeah, a likely story”.
Our bikes glinted softly in the weak morning light as we waited to be let loose. Most of the others, including Andy, looked fit, strong, determined and ready for the fray; as usual, I felt old and tired and out of place, and we hadn’t even started yet.
Andy gave me a nod of encouragement and we were off, slowly at first as usual, but gathering speed as we wound our way through the small town.
Scary stuff:
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to riding in a big group. You have to concentrate hard to avoid clipping the wheels of the guys in front and make sure you keep your line to prevent those behind riding into your rear wheel. And all this while negotiating narrow streets or winding country lanes - scary stuff but really exhilarating!
A good start:
The pace gradually increased but so not quickly enough for me to be dropped right away and I managed to stay in touch with the leading pack for the first 20 kilometres or so. I was still in touch with Andy at this point, a rarity for me. I actually felt quite sprightly at this stage.
The race wound along the relatively flat valley floor and our average speed rose to 36 kph, unheard of for me, but I was managing to stay in the middle of a big bunch of quick riders.
Here we go again:
The first real hills hit us after 20 kilometres and we climbed upwards along roads that clung to the sides of wooded valleys. The leading group, which included Andy, sped off into the distance, but I managed to stay with the main pack although I did have to dig really deep.
We stayed together for another 35 kms or so until the going became more difficult and the hills more frequent. Here the group began to fragment.
There was little or no wind and by the half way stage the sun, high in the sky, had burned off the early morning mist. The temperature rose steadily and it became almost uncomfortably hot.
I was finally dropped at about 65 kms but managed to hook up with a guy of the same hill climbing ability as me, i.e. piss poor.
We raced along in tandem, taking turns to lead but I’m guessing I did the majority of the work.
I waited for him when he fell back during a particularly tough climb at 80 kms, and he repaid my generosity by taking his fair share of the lead along the flats. We managed to sweep past a few back markers from the lesser races as we closed in on the finish.
Fast finish:
About 8 kms for the end we hit a long, fast, twisting descent. Our speed hit 65.6 kms - I kid you not, we were flying! I dropped my companion (I never did learn his name), half way down the descent. A sharp right-hander at the bottom nearly took me unawares but I managed to keep control, just; then the road flattened out for the run in to the town.
Doing the honourable thing, I waited for my companion to rejoin me for the sprint into the finish. Why? Well I’ll tell you.
A few kilometres earlier, just after we’d hooked up, he called me back when I’d taken a wrong turn at a poorly marked village junction. He even waited for me to rejoin him before powering on again.
Had he not done that, who knows where I would have ended up? I now repaid his kindness and led us both into the finish. We reached 48 kph along the final flat sprint and passed another couple of riders along the way before things sort of fizzled out!
No finish line:
Unlike all the other cyclosportifes I’d completed this year there was no actual finish line on this one.
In keeping with the charitable status of the race, the race simply faded to a stop outside the sports complex. It was a bit of an anti-climax really, but I wasn’t disappointed as I’d had a really good hard training ride and had beaten my best ever average speed over that distance.
I knew I could have beaten my companion on a sprint into the finish, but we’d slowed down and returned to the start line together. We parted with a handshake – nice chap, probably never see him again.
11:10 - When I finally made my way back to the park I found Andy sitting patiently on a wall by the car and asked how he’d done. I eventually managed to drag out of him that he’d finished at the head of the first group home – that’s a win in my book!
He really is a modest soul – I’d have been singing it from the rooftops like a dancing Topol in ‘Fiddler on the Roof’, but then again, the odds of that ever happening are so astronomical as to be non-existent! Bloody good job too, if you'd ever seen me dance!
As it had not been an actual race and no actual finish times or positions had been noted it was a purely unofficial victory, but a victory all the same. I was delighted for Andy.
Unofficial Results:
Andy’s average speed was over 38.5 kph; race duration about 2 hours 17 minutes.
I, on the other hand, completed the 91.2 kms race in a time of 2:38:10, at an average speed of 33.8kph (that’s a little over 21 mph). It was my fastest ever speed over that duration of ride! I was dead chuffed.
The course suited me and I felt really strong for the first two-thirds of the race. Might I actually be getting better? Next up is the Wessex 100 – bring it on!
(Steady boy, don’t get too cocky, the Wessex 100 is nothing to take for granted – Ed.).
There’s that bloody Ed again. Who is he? Why does he keep butting into my blog? Have I started talking to myself again? Where are my tablets?
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