Cyclosportif: - “Les Circuits Remy Corfmat” Inzinzac Lochrist – 29th Aug 2010

Cyclosportif: - “Les Circuits Remy Corfmat” Inzinzac Lochrist – 29^th Aug 2010

Subtitle: What a lovely ride!

05:00 - The insistent buzzing of the alarm clock disturbed my deep, peaceful sleep. I tumbled quietly out of bed to avoid waking Jan. A quick peek out of the window showed silver light from a Gibbous moon reflecting off a thin mist; it looked cold. “Why do I do this to myself?”

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?

La Cyclo de Morbihan – Plouay Friday 20th August 2010

La Cyclo de Morbihan – Plouay Friday 20^th 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 12^th Sept. This will be my longest ride of the season and promises to be the hilliest. I’ll be in touch.

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.

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.