Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tour of Britain
This year has consigned me to becoming a professional arm chair cyclist. The few episodes I've had out on the bike have ended disastrously with a DNF or a chest cold. My training has mostly been competing in the Tour de France in front of the tele, followed by the Vueleta or the Tour of Britain. Stage 5 of the TOB finished in Stoke on Trent about an hour or so up the motorway and I thought I would head up and see it live, in the flesh. A great day out as I joined hundreds of other arm chair enthusiast, mostly overweight eccentric types wearing woolen team strips from the seventies or pushing an original steel framed 6speed Colnago. Avoiding getting flattened by the autograph hunters I did get a few good snap shots of the who's who. I think I could become a professional cycling photographer in the lines of Graham Watson , but I do need to work on my technique, it is embarrassing when Tony Martin of Team Columbia HTC points out that I need to take the lens cap off the front of the camera first
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Time lost
Things happen so quickly in life, one minute your holding your line , the next you find yourself in a wobble and by the time you recover your out of the race. I finished up my SA season with a few short crits and the Amashova. On returning from the States it was clear that I would be heading to the UK for good before Christmas, and The Shova would be my final ride. I put up a great fight, being dropped on the crest of Fox hill meters from the top, had I hung onto the wheel for a few more seconds as we went over the top . . . . who knows, who knows??. I was feeling great on the following climb up Inchanga, I moved to the front of the peleton and set the pace on the climb, dictating the rythm up and around the bends, there was no chance we where coming back to the leaders, they where well gone, but I felt like I was floating on the pedals, singing. I free wheeled with the bunch down toward the finish in Durban. I can still feel the cool breeze off Fields Hill rushing past my ears and the beautifull pain of the short, sharp kick up onto the 45th Cutting towards the finish, and the smell of the sea air on the front. Who knows . . if I had hung onto that wheel over the top of Fox Hill , my Shova could have been completely different. Life is different , I'm looking forward to rejoining the race.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Ranked as the outsider.
Come the tennis season you always hear of "so and so" ranked 93rd upsetting the 3rd seed at this years French or Wimbledon Open. Not that I'm saying I could upset the number three seed on the VA35+ ranking, (Craig Harvey your safe for the moment), but it would make my day to say I've dropped into the top 100 ranking. But not today. . . this month I drop a miserable three place to 101st.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Cannons on the Hill
Sunday 21 Sept: OUTride PTA. "Cannon Fodder" is what I thought I heard someone call out when I joined the VA start group on the line for 7 vicious laps around the Union Buildings in PTA. Historically this cource has seen me, trampled under foot by the big guns on the first steep climb up to the Union Buildings. But this time I was confident the "cannon fodder" tag was aimed at the rider wearing takkie's and a set of draw string cycling shorts , who stood out like the short fat kid in class when it came to selecting the schools basketball team. If he wasn't wondering why he was lining up with some of the countries fastest licensed Vet's , then I surely was?? On the back straight when the first small attacks started to go, I did notice that he was still hanging in there and made a note that maybe your cycling ability was not directly linked to how high up your back your shorts sat.
The first ascent up the short Union Buildings climb onto the flat platoe atop was into a cold polar wind. Predictable the pace up the climb went off the scales as it became a free for all to get to the top first. I turned myself inside out to stay with the group as it crested the climb. If it where not for a few supporters shouting my name, I would never have known who I was , never mind where . . . I was gasping for air!! But managed to stay the group as it rejoined on the descent for a second lap.
Positioning myself for the second time up the climb I found myself elbow to elbow with Jaco Ferreira (TCS), pushing and shoving to go into the first switch back at the base of the climb. The attack was launched and I could hear the artillery firing by the second turn as I started to unhitch from the group. Behind the constant "beep beep" of a team car had started to become irritating as the driver tried to take the racing line up the climb and force his way through to the front. If I had not been in acute Oxygen starvation I would have shouted at him through the open passenger window, explaining why I thought his mother wore gum boots, but that would have been pointless because I suddenly became swamped by a chasing peleton of Elite/ VB / $ and # riders (I even think I saw a blind tandem pair in this group it was that big!!). This group was out for blood, and at it's heart was Andrew Maclain who was lapping the entire field and would go on to win the VB category. Thankfully I joined this cavalry charge over the top of the hill to be dragged back onto the tail of the VA category.
The next lap was complete pandemonium as the various racing categories became one large entangled ball of string traveling at 60km/h along the back straight. By the third climb , the insane pace, the cross winds and speed had seen me unhitched once again to join a small train lead by the Neotel team. They beat out a steady tempo up the climb on the fourth lap but by the fifth had any government official been in office (I think they had all been fired at this point, and the country was in a state of lawlessness) they would have seen a puff of white smoke from the artillery as I surrendered to the hill. For the final two laps I joined a five man train to steam towards the finish collecting 18th on the line.
Although the state presidents artillery was not out today. I had suffered at the hands of the big guns on the climb. They had taken pot shots on the first few laps and I had been unable to withstand the initial volleys. Cannon fodder . . . Ha!! . . I'll be back next year! (wearing takkies and draw string cycling shorts)
The first ascent up the short Union Buildings climb onto the flat platoe atop was into a cold polar wind. Predictable the pace up the climb went off the scales as it became a free for all to get to the top first. I turned myself inside out to stay with the group as it crested the climb. If it where not for a few supporters shouting my name, I would never have known who I was , never mind where . . . I was gasping for air!! But managed to stay the group as it rejoined on the descent for a second lap.
Positioning myself for the second time up the climb I found myself elbow to elbow with Jaco Ferreira (TCS), pushing and shoving to go into the first switch back at the base of the climb. The attack was launched and I could hear the artillery firing by the second turn as I started to unhitch from the group. Behind the constant "beep beep" of a team car had started to become irritating as the driver tried to take the racing line up the climb and force his way through to the front. If I had not been in acute Oxygen starvation I would have shouted at him through the open passenger window, explaining why I thought his mother wore gum boots, but that would have been pointless because I suddenly became swamped by a chasing peleton of Elite/ VB / $ and # riders (I even think I saw a blind tandem pair in this group it was that big!!). This group was out for blood, and at it's heart was Andrew Maclain who was lapping the entire field and would go on to win the VB category. Thankfully I joined this cavalry charge over the top of the hill to be dragged back onto the tail of the VA category.
The next lap was complete pandemonium as the various racing categories became one large entangled ball of string traveling at 60km/h along the back straight. By the third climb , the insane pace, the cross winds and speed had seen me unhitched once again to join a small train lead by the Neotel team. They beat out a steady tempo up the climb on the fourth lap but by the fifth had any government official been in office (I think they had all been fired at this point, and the country was in a state of lawlessness) they would have seen a puff of white smoke from the artillery as I surrendered to the hill. For the final two laps I joined a five man train to steam towards the finish collecting 18th on the line.
Although the state presidents artillery was not out today. I had suffered at the hands of the big guns on the climb. They had taken pot shots on the first few laps and I had been unable to withstand the initial volleys. Cannon fodder . . . Ha!! . . I'll be back next year! (wearing takkies and draw string cycling shorts)
Monday, September 1, 2008
MTN Zoo Lake Criteruim
Sunday 31 Aug: It was a good thing that I turned around and went back to fetch my arm and knee warmers before heading out to Zoo Lake for the MTN criteruim series. On the ride to the start an icy wind pushed me along at 30km/h. . . . uphill!! Dust, dirt and grass blasted across the road making the ride unpleasant. This should have been a warning of what was to come.
Four weeks off the bike due to a chest cold had seen me forfeit 3 races and about R500 in entrance fees. I had rolled out three times this week on training rides in the vain hope of salvaging some form. Last year I had watched the series from the side line, holding a box of tissue's, coughing. There was no chance I was going to miss it again!! even if dark polar winds where threatning to dump snow on the northern suburbs of Johannesburg .
The MTN series is well organised, big prize money and strongly supported. The Vets race had all the big names and I was determined to survive. I had 30minutes to hang in, plus one lap to get to the finish. The cource had a strong climb up past the start/ finish, a right onto Jan Smuts avenue before another right onto a fast downhill section (which should cancell out the headwind) before climbing back up to the start line again for the next lap. A piece of cake . . . . if I could only hold onto the wheels infront. Sixty seconds into the race I realised this was going to be the problem !!
At the first turn the pack was already stretched out into a 5o metre long eschelon with me hanging onto the back. The 6okm/h downhill into the wind, ripped my lungs out and the the climb back up the hill for the first lap was done at a heart stopping 186 beats per minute. A brief slowing up on the second lap was only that . . .brief. . .as the guys on the front sat up to look back and gauge what damage they had done. The hammer was put down again on the second climb past the start/finnish and it was about here that I blew my last gaskett and started to suck in air and sound like my grandmothers 60 year old washing machine on a spin cycle. The next 20 minutes where miserable.
There was no hiding in the 5 man group that had become the ambulance at the rear of the cource. Each lap past the start was broadcast onto a giant screen for friends and family to see and a loudspeaker gave time gaps on the freight train that was about to flatten us from the rear. On my second last lap, I was forced into the siding as the express came barrelling past, kicking up dust to be blown into my face ... aaargghh . . .the humilitation of being lapped so close to the end. But there was little time to appreciate that humilation after finnishing, because I would spend the next hour trying to suck oxygen in through a straw and coughing my lungs up . Who would have guessed that O2 could be in such short supply on a cold, dry and dusty day in Johannesburg? My chest had taken a beating along with the rest of me,and left to battle against the headwind on the long, cold ride home. To add insult to injury, I couldn't even complete the onsite sms entry for the cellphone prize draw!! What a miserable day.
Four weeks off the bike due to a chest cold had seen me forfeit 3 races and about R500 in entrance fees. I had rolled out three times this week on training rides in the vain hope of salvaging some form. Last year I had watched the series from the side line, holding a box of tissue's, coughing. There was no chance I was going to miss it again!! even if dark polar winds where threatning to dump snow on the northern suburbs of Johannesburg .
The MTN series is well organised, big prize money and strongly supported. The Vets race had all the big names and I was determined to survive. I had 30minutes to hang in, plus one lap to get to the finish. The cource had a strong climb up past the start/ finish, a right onto Jan Smuts avenue before another right onto a fast downhill section (which should cancell out the headwind) before climbing back up to the start line again for the next lap. A piece of cake . . . . if I could only hold onto the wheels infront. Sixty seconds into the race I realised this was going to be the problem !!
At the first turn the pack was already stretched out into a 5o metre long eschelon with me hanging onto the back. The 6okm/h downhill into the wind, ripped my lungs out and the the climb back up the hill for the first lap was done at a heart stopping 186 beats per minute. A brief slowing up on the second lap was only that . . .brief. . .as the guys on the front sat up to look back and gauge what damage they had done. The hammer was put down again on the second climb past the start/finnish and it was about here that I blew my last gaskett and started to suck in air and sound like my grandmothers 60 year old washing machine on a spin cycle. The next 20 minutes where miserable.
There was no hiding in the 5 man group that had become the ambulance at the rear of the cource. Each lap past the start was broadcast onto a giant screen for friends and family to see and a loudspeaker gave time gaps on the freight train that was about to flatten us from the rear. On my second last lap, I was forced into the siding as the express came barrelling past, kicking up dust to be blown into my face ... aaargghh . . .the humilitation of being lapped so close to the end. But there was little time to appreciate that humilation after finnishing, because I would spend the next hour trying to suck oxygen in through a straw and coughing my lungs up . Who would have guessed that O2 could be in such short supply on a cold, dry and dusty day in Johannesburg? My chest had taken a beating along with the rest of me,and left to battle against the headwind on the long, cold ride home. To add insult to injury, I couldn't even complete the onsite sms entry for the cellphone prize draw!! What a miserable day.
Monday, July 28, 2008
One last spin before home:
24 July: Had my ass well and truly kicked today. I had so enjoyed the Mallory Park circuit that I decided to give it one more go before heading back to SA. Flying out the next day I was in no mood to pack my bags and could not resist giving the bike one more spin. I felt good on the ride out to the circuit, so was surprised when a five man break went from the gun. By the second lap I was struggling to stay on the back and was wondering why I was running out of steam. By the third lap I resigned myself to slipping off the back and coasting to the finish. It was such a beautifull evening I was not worried about the humiliation of being lapped and opted to take a slow ride home. With the sun setting behind me this was the perfect end to a great UK trip . . . now to get this bike back to JHB is going to be fun!!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Riding country lanes
About 30km from here, to the west of Leicester is the Mallory Park racetrack used for motor sports.Every tuesday evening the track holds a circuit race and I felt it was close enough to ride to as a warm up before the race. I found it on the map and the British cycling federation website easily, and had done a short recce / training ride the day before in the area. With a photocopied map in my back pocket I did a 50km zig zag trip, through the back roads and country lanes. I got completely F#&* lost, all the lanes look the same and I recognised nothing from the day before. The following tuesday I did the same warm up and also got completely lost, my mental compass has gone for a ball... the lanes twist and turn, leading me past the same old boy sitting at a bus stop for the third time!!
Thank goodness I arrived at the circuit and was reassured that there was little chance of me getting lost during the race as long as I followed the same direction as all the other riders!! The racing at Mallory Park starts at seven in the evening , with a smallish fields of 30 to 40 starters. The late evenings make for cooler conditions with the heat being kept up by the one or two man breaks going off the front. The pace is high but not as aggressive as the racing in the US. I find it fairly easy to go across to the breaks and manage to stay away for a lap or two before being brought back by the group. Im surprised to see a SA national jersey in the peleton, and we get chatting in (poor) afrikaans as to who to watch in the breaks. Turns out the youngster picked the jersey up in Cape Town and has been in the UK for sometime.
The race conditions are perfect and even though I did not contest any of the final sprints, the racing left me feeling I had had a good work out , either that or the three weeks of holidaying, late nights, sight seeing and fast food has taken their toll.
Thank goodness I arrived at the circuit and was reassured that there was little chance of me getting lost during the race as long as I followed the same direction as all the other riders!! The racing at Mallory Park starts at seven in the evening , with a smallish fields of 30 to 40 starters. The late evenings make for cooler conditions with the heat being kept up by the one or two man breaks going off the front. The pace is high but not as aggressive as the racing in the US. I find it fairly easy to go across to the breaks and manage to stay away for a lap or two before being brought back by the group. Im surprised to see a SA national jersey in the peleton, and we get chatting in (poor) afrikaans as to who to watch in the breaks. Turns out the youngster picked the jersey up in Cape Town and has been in the UK for sometime.
The race conditions are perfect and even though I did not contest any of the final sprints, the racing left me feeling I had had a good work out , either that or the three weeks of holidaying, late nights, sight seeing and fast food has taken their toll.
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