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

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.