Detour De France (Pt 2 next stop Macdonalds Paris)

Ready to rock

Day two dawns, it's cold but the sun is starting to rise. We've just had a good night in St Omer and now we have to get to Paris. There's just the small issue of the 160 miles of French roads that stand in our way.
We don't fuss about this morning, I'm actually distracted by the lovely old Rolls Royce in the hotel car park. So as soon as the bottles are in the cages we set off. Today we have Toby joining us, if I'm correct Toby has only ever ridden 65 miles max? so this is a bit heroic.
We leave St Omer bouncing over the pavé and head out into the countryside. It's just fantastic. The roads are great and quiet giving Craig and Joe plenty of time to race for towns. We can even afford to split up into small groups, I ride with Derrie at the back then chat with Jason as with glide through the Somme. And even with miles to go I play chase with Craig and Joe. Things couldn't possibly be better on a cycling road trip.
Even our part time guide is with us.
Because this is a big day we are breaking it down into 45 mile legs, it's a distance everyone seems happy with. At 90 miles we take a 'proper' food stop knowing we've gone past the half way point, and we think we have what amounts to a Sunday 100km ride left....we thought.

En route and still together

We set off with that 'it's all downhill from here' attitude. Then we hit a small not very well known French town. Our guide stops us and points out that our next stop is Breteuil and we are to look out for it. I'm suddenly overcome with a sense of worry, erm we are in Breteuil. But hey the guide knows best, this is what his getting paid for right? We're not so sure. Vince rides along side of me and points out that we have the sun on the wrong shoulder. Not only that, but we are heading for some horrible looking climbs. This isn't right. Jason tells me we are on the wrong road, or more to the point not where we should be. We hit the hills and Derrie starts to suffer. Toby is also suffering, this wasn't on the route plan. The hills come alive with the Tourettes version of the 'Sound of music'. Some of the riders are rightly cheezed off and we get a puncture as well. Like true Brits we carry on. I don't know where our guide has gone, but with a little help from the locals we reach our support team, waiting for us in a very pleasant French square. The support crew get it right again and fresh coffee is on hand to supplement the road food.
One of the last things our guide told us was that Paris was a mere 40'ish miles away. And although Derrie was feeling it, this news was music to his ears. It sounded about right, we'd done 120 miles after all. Toby at this point gracefully bailed out for the day with a whopping 120 miles under his belt, more that double he'd ever done before.
Then came the bad news. Poor Iain had to deliver it. It wasn't 40 to Paris it was nearer 70. Derrie was not a happy bunny, although he was riding on he needed to know what was going on, our guide had taken us on a hilly detour it wasn't what he needed.
We fitted our lights and left the square. It was all a bit heads down and press on, not really the way we wanted to enter Paris. We did all pull together making sure every man was in. Then as dusk drew in we stopped. We stopped under the pretense to check if we needed anything. In reality we'd stopped because our guide was lost. And as it was getting dark he couldn't read his map - game over.
Now I'm a well known luddite, but this guy had nothing. No sat-nav, no GPS and so it seems not even a torch. I didn't hear the 'discussion' going on, but that was my last sighting of the guide that day.
You know how they say 'If you want a job doing properly' well say hello to the LBRCC support crew. After a quick cabinet reshuffle we set off for Paris. This was it, we're going to get there, even if we were following the ex guides route. We reached the outskirts in total darkness and suddenly hit a bitch of a hill, not only was it a climb it was also poorly covered pavé. And sadly at this point after riding so far Derrie climbed into the support car. I felt so sorry for him to come this far and have to bail because of our guides cock up.
The rest of us press on silently after losing Derrie. Though we catch up with him again as we regroup to follow the lead car into the town itself. What follows is pure purgatory, we are stopping every 20 metres for the lights. It takes us 90 minutes to travel the final 7 miles. And more worrying is that my knee is killing me from all the clipping in and out, the downside of choosing my race bike to do this on. Finally we pull off the main streets and roll up to our hotel. We meet our guide here who greets us with food, when in reality it's the cold leftovers from the next group he is guiding - good luck with that. Tom our back up man arrives to find that no arrangements have been made for vehicle parking, and lets rip with both barrels and rightly so.
We mooch about before getting everything secured then head off for a well deserved shower. It's gone midnight now and the restaurant is shut, so we head of out to Macdonalds. We are in blindingly good spirits, and sit down in the streets to a sumptuous meal of burgers and chips. Still hungry and with Macdonalds now shut we head over to the nearest 24 hour garage and stock up with Haribos and fizzy pop and chomp our way back to the hotel for a well earned sleep. Ahh Paris by night.

Detour De France (Pt 1 heading South)

To Paris - using the Polocini sat-Nav method

Or to call it by it's official title 'London2Paris2London' a cunningly named ride from our great city to Paris and back, and all in aid of the carers Trust.
I should mention all those that made this ride a goer and kept us going, but I'm not going to. I'll just say that those, and they know who they are were great.
Anyroadup to the ride. Day one was a 70 miler from Greenwich to Folkstone, followed by a 45 mile leg from Calais to St Omer for our overnight stop. Our day was looking like a cracker, the sun was out, the wind was in and spirits were high. But before we could get going we had a bit of PR to do. This meant a quick 5 mile dash across town to meet with representatives from the charity, a geezer from the press and a smiling politician, sadly we didn't have a baby for him to hug! I must add that we had shit loads of well wishes from the London cycling crowd on the was to the start. And they say Londoners are miserable?
With the shoot done and tyres squeezed one more time we were off. Jason set the pace, plus he was the only one with a Garmin so no choice really. He was going at a fair old crack, but I put that down to him exorcising the frustrations of the months and months of planning.
Just miles in we lost someone. No one important like, just the bloke who was meant to be guiding us, handing us drinks, carrying spares and wot nots. I won't mention his name or company, but he was on a fair old bung to do this job. There's a word in the English language 'omen' this was the absolute dictionary definition  of that word. So off we set all alone in a sort of point South and follow the sun type of way, a way that coincidentally followed that ancient well trodden path called the A20. Following the A20 wasn't that bad actually, until we hit the paralympics! and had to follow a hilly detour where a nice policeman on a motorcycle guided our way. Where our motorcycle guide was I don't know? But at the end of the detour we found Tom and Toby waiting for us with food and drink laid out, chairs at the ready. Even at this early stage it was nice to see the guys that were keeping this thing going. We sat and chatted, took on food and waited for the whole team to assemble including the AWOL guide before making a dash for Folkstone. We moved on quick sticks and in good order, and hit the town of Eurotunnel in no time. We had a five minute sarnie stop where Craigs rear tyre went pop. Rather than repair it we stuck him on the van and the rest of us rode to the shuttle. Even though the crossing is a quick one myself and Joe managed a good nap....age you see.

Follow me I'm right behind you!

Then before we knew it we were in France. We had a quick re group, a good chat and set off for the hotel.
Something felt wrong. I've ridden this coast line may times and the wind has always been in my face when heading south so why was it in my face now? Answer = because we were being guided the wrong way. After a quick turnabout we blasted it to St Omer. Sadly the poor guiding and detours meant we were riding to our overnight stop in darkness. Never mind though we were all in great spirits. Then I saw it, the hotel but no it couldn't have been our one because we sailed on right past it. On we went along a great road with the river beside us and up into our first town to give us a chance to ride on Pavé. If you haven't ridden pavé the novelty wears off in the first few feet. We are then brought to a halt by our hapless guide, seems we have missed the hotel.....no shit Sherlock, could it be the one we passed a while back? So back along the pavé down a one way street the wrong way and we see our support team waving us home. With the evening drawing in we shower quickly and head to the restaurant. Tom gets a round in which is more than welcome.
All done in we sit down to some great banter and wonderful food. We are all hoping that the next day is going to be as good as or better than today, it's the big one, the 160 miler to Paris and we need the weather Gods on our side. Food, drink and scenery all taken in we hit the sack.

Today France tomorrow the world

Until tomorrow gentlemen.

Racing, racing, racing and more racing

Come in number 34 your times up

Well the good old British weather came good....finally. And it meant that racing could once again resume.
No more cancelled races due to flooding, or in some cases washed away courses. No racing was back.
So full of eagerness I set off for an evening crit at the National Bowl. It was all looking hunky dory during the practice laps, even the deep dust on the course wasn't a problem. So with three minutes to go I got ready on the starting grid.
I didn't expect the deluge! within those few minutes riders were slipping over on the start line as the dust had become lethal slime.  You see there had been a concert there earlier, the Swedish House Mafia (no me neither) and the hoards of concert goers had dragged mud all over the place, you've seen Glastonbury. The riders had a quick chat and arranged a gentlemen's  agreement to set off steady just in case it was too bad. I can tell you it was bad, 20mm tyres, 100PSI, fast downhill corners and muddy tarmac were a real test and I was nervous every lap. I wasn't having fun and I could see riders pulling out. This was dangerous and not worth it. Then Psssssssssss puncture, result. Back to the car to think about next week.

I didn't have to wait another week, there was a mountain bike race at the very same venue. The damage done  by the concert goers was having an effect  on this race as well, even the off road bikes had to be diverted. The good thing though was the summer evening sun and dusty trails.
So back on the grid, this time with the Grand Veterans. I was gagging for this and when the gun went I was off. I was making up ground almost straight away. The road legs were keeping it fast on the straights and the cyclo cross legs were doing their stuff on the bends. This was great, this is why you train. This was just too good, it really was.
She was only a little'un that lady rider that got the best of me on the twin uphill singletrack. Little but a World Cup rider. She cut past me and I had to slam on the brakes, I didn't dab and tried to pull away again, but the huge effort on the very steep climb snapped my chain. Race over.
In fact it not only snapped the chain, it tore teeth off the cassette and chainring, bent the gear hanger and destroyed the rear gear.

So to the next race four days later, another evening crit. Nothing is going to go wrong tonight. And nothing did. It was a great little race. I even got it going by trying to get a break, but it didn't work. However it did set the scene. Break after break went and was caught again. I was having fun and all the time working out where I needed to be to get a good finish. We got the bell (one lap to go) and all the lazy buggers that hadn't done a thing all night started to roll to the front. We, the ones that had been 'racing' muscled back to the front. Boom, the sprint finish came a split second sooner than I thought and caught me in the wrong gear. A quick drop and I clung on to 11th place in the main bunch.

The last race to date was the final vets race at the Bowl. Again the weather held and we had a race on our hands. It was a different story this week though. A five man break had got away from the start and was keeping ahead thanks to the younger race that night blocking us. Five of us got a chain going, but no one else would help, so when we tired it all slowed down. Fed up with this I told a fellow worker that I was going to overtake the younger race and to hold my wheel. We got past and I'd towed the whole race past. The gap started to close, but no one else but us five would do any work. So I found myself lapping the younger race again. The effort to pass was far harder this time and I had to swallow my own sick, I was cooked and struggled on the back. That left just the other four doing the work, so the gap once again opened!
Why people enter a race and don't race I don't know. Perhaps they just like to say they race and wear all the kit?
The bell lap was a repeat performance of the previous week with the shirkers moving up. One guy even had a pop, but went to early and had to sit up. That's what happens if you don't work in a crit, you won't know what to expect when you get out in front. Then shirker number two went, again far too early, so I chased and got on their wheel...thanks mate. Then I just waited until I saw the line and passed. I got another 11th, though the leading five where 30 seconds ahead.

So that's that for now. No more road racing. Some big miles in France then it's cyclo-cross season. Bring it on.

LBRCC Club '10' and the Wiggo effect.

Leighton Buzzard Road Cycling Club held it's inaugural ten mile time trial on the F12 over the Leighton Buzzard bypass this weekend - August 4th.
Though not riding myself as I was on time keeping duties. We still fielded probably the largest 'Teamgreen' squad for any event so far. And the abilities were very mixed. From experienced road and criterium racers, to 'old hands' at testing and right through to those competing in a sporting cycle event for the first time ever.
The overall turnout was pretty good as well, considering the weather wasn't sure what it was doing. So it dumped rain on one half of the course and left the other half bathing in sunshine, but still chucked in a good dose of mixed wind conditions for good measure. That in mind short 'twenties' weren't going to be coming in thick and fast. Out of the 82 strong field only two riders looked like they could do it including our celebrity tester for the day a certain Mr Ian Cammish, nine times holder of the 'British Best All Rounder (BBAR).

However taking in the times at the finish flag it was evident that the course was being demanding. And only the zero numbers recorded fast times. I could feel for my team as I sat in the time keepers car...I really could. Especially those testing for the first time, with no idea of what to expect.
Anyway as someone once said 'I counted them all out and I counted them all back'. Including Adam, Teamgreens current fast man who went out last man. And true to form came in the fastest clubman.

He probably wont see this, but I really want to thank Andy from Spirit Racing for his invaluable  help with the organisation of the event....cheers mate.

Ian Cammish, back in the day

I'll update with results when available.

A quiet month for me, not for these guys though!

Sorry, but it's been proper shite out

New G3 riders earlier today

                                                      

                                                                        That is all!

Calais - Boulogne - Guines -Calais

Just ridden the third running of the 'Gentlemans ride' over in France. Starting in Calais we rode south into fierce headwinds toward Boulogne. Once there we stopped for a traditional bowl of Moules et frites before heading inland and up toward Guines. And from there back to the port at Calais.
Here's the obligatory piccy of the group at Sentier du Blanc Nez. Apart from the whippersnapper they're all in the 50's 60's and 70's.

old boys and one youthful interloper.