Sportive and Audax ride reports 2010.

 Roy Cannon's 'Hubert Arbes', 4 July.

Whilst the Marmotters opted for the gentle undulations of the Alps (only joking boys) Sunday the 4th July saw me take on the 16th, and possibly last edition of the Hubert Arbes.

Hubert a five times tour rider and domestique for Bernard Hinault now owns a bike shop on the edge of Lourdes. I opted for the longer 164km version taking on the climbs of the Col du Soulor and the Col du Tourmalet.

Gathering in overcast drizzly conditions for an 8 O'clock start along with 700 others we were serenaded by the local brass band, who certainly put their heart and soul into it. A few words from Hubert, and the local mayor, and we were of on a rolling "neutralised" start.

Much as Fred and Malcolm describe of their trips abroad I found myself being "neutral" at speeds of up to 30mph as we jostled for position on the way out of Lourdes. Stopping on the outskirts we were all bunched together whilst Hubert said a few more words and greeted many of the riders at the front. Finally after a 15 minute wait, slightly annoying as the timing chips were already running, we were let loose. Speeds were high but fortunately the first climb came at 25 miles and things settled down as we tackled the gradients of the Soulor. Breaking out into bright sunshine half way up we reached the top after an hours climbing and it was then a quick stop for water before the fast descents to the valley below and then along the gorge to the foot of the Tourmalet at about 55 miles.

Temperatures were now approaching 32C and the ascent of the Tourmalet became a slog as I was paying for the somewhat ambitious start. Using both feed stations, and my now infamous granny ring, (ratios supplied on request!!) on the way up I eventually reached the top. Recovering on the way down and having to negotiate cows in the avalanche tunnels I was joined by a lone Frenchman who very quickly organised myself and everybody else we came across into a fast moving group of about fifteen riders to cover the last 30 miles to home.

Silver in 7hrs 22 mins, 564th out of 700 riders. Winner Bastien Sauthier 4hrs 51mins. Good food and a nice display of Huberts old racing bikes and jerseys at the finish.

Roy.

 

 

Mal Davidson's 'La Vaujany', 27 June

It's Sunday June 27th. the day of the Vaujany cyclo sportive held in the Oison region of the French Alps, the morning is bright and sunny albeit somewhat on the cool side
after 3cm of snow 3 days ago but the promise of a good day.

So here I go its 6.30am on my steady warm up ride approx 5kms.uphill to the start at Le Verney alongside the Barrage Hydralec. At the foot of the Glandon/Croix de Fer.

The siren blasts out echoing in the surrounding mountains indicating the mass start, my thoughts 'hope that noise doesn't cause an avalanche'.

The first 5kms is mostly downhill and of course the statutory crashes happen, riders touching wheels as well as not being able to corner correctly on the descents.

At Rochtallee we turn right onto the fast D1091 groups start to form on the very fast descent 16kms. to the turn off at Sechilliene on this descent I realize I've made a very bad mistake putting on a compact chainset 50x34 with a 13 sprocket top.At 37mph I was spinning out consequently I was dropped from a good group working well together.

We turn sharp right off the D1091into Sechilliene it's like riding the T.D.F all the villagers out on the road cheering us along the atmosphere was unbelievable, left on to the first climb of the day the 16km. climb of the Alpe du Grand Serre 1360mtrs.

What a monster, I got stuck in on 34x23 passing riders that had dropped me on the descent and not seeing them again topping out in 47min, a welcome drink station at the top in a little village appropriately named La Morte (drop the 'e' at the point of death).

Followed by a very fast tricky descent to Le Fontagneu, on a tricky left hander a very nasty crash.

The terrain starts to get more rolling now, a group of 4 of us are working very well together each one doing a good turn on the front, it brought back a few happy memories riding in super company each knowing what had to be done GREAT!

On we roll to Valbonais and a welcome feed station, all four of us stopped I think each one realising what a good team we had, and not wanting to go it alone getting caught later after blowing.

Now onto the second hard climb of the day the Col d'Ornon not very steep or tricky from this side, it's a very long drag for approx 19kms. topping out at 1371mtrs.and its starting to warm up now.

We all stayed together to the summit and now for the superb very fast steep and technical descent, passing cars and motorhomes down we plunge at over 40mph. sweeping round the tricky corners, then 'BANG' the puncture fairy attacks and my front tub has blown (now I have been asked by some riders why I ride tubs when pressures have improved dramatically over the past few years) here's why, my tub didn't deflate in a second like a tyre would it went down slowly giving me chance to bring the bike under control and stop, I'm not saying it didn't put the wind up me, I could have cracked walnuts in my arse. I can't understand why my team didn't wait for me?

So quick stop to change the tub, now the down side I couldn't get it off and ended up with blisters on each thumb trying. Eventually I changed it and off I went only to be slowed down by a very bad crash at Ornon village poor guy was nearly at the bottom he didn't look in too good a condition.

From here it was an individual time trial for the final 23kms to Vaujany ski station,I climb back up to the Barrage Hydralec turn right onto a monster at 10% average for the final 5kms and its now 35c. down to 34x26 passing some poor souls badly blown, it seemed endless then I entered the village 1253mtrs.seeing the finish but 'mon dieu' up it goes again the final 50mtrs had some walking but not me this trip, after an enjoyable and eventful journey my time was 5hrs.04min.02 sec to finish 2nd in my age related category and 131st overall, Fred's record time of 4hrs 59min 30sec done 2 years ago stays intact.

 National Sportive, 3 July .

Fred Finds Fright on the Fells

Well, another last minute decision to enter, this time the National Cyclo Sportive (Ex Pendle Pedal).

Weather forecast was good – sunny, a fraction on the warm side and a light SE wind – and entries were allowed on the line, so I turned up at Barley village in the shade of Pendle Hill and parked up in the car park as directed – one mile uphill from the start!  Ah, well, at least it was downhill all the way to the start.

Nicely busy with loadsa riders, all looking forward to the ride, but none seemingly having done it before. However, most of the ones I spoke to were locals and all warned me of the hills – many, long, steep and incessant – how right they were.

In fairness the first hill wasn’t too soon – we had covered 400 yards before we started to climb and climb and climb.

Finally, we started to descend, when I got my first fright, as I thought one bend wasn’t as sharp as it turned out to be and I just managed to miss the rear wheel of a guy in front, as I struggled to stay on the road. Interesting is a good word.

Anyway, he said he heard me coming, as my rear brake was squealing like mad – I seem to remember cleaning it with WD40 the day before – oops, that would explain the poor braking power.

Can’t really remember any notable hills (only because I chose to blot them out of my memory) until we got to Waddington Fell, when the longest hill of the day appeared – not too steep, but it went on for ever and you could see riders all the way up in front of you – or in front of me, as it seemed there weren’t many behind me!

Got to the top ok and started to descend, although by this time my wheel was now silent, so didn’t disturb the pewits and sheep strewn all over the moors and the road.

Rapidly got to 40+ and could see most of the way down and it looked like my kind of road (downhill), so judged that a modicum of technical bike handling was necessary for the initial double bend, then dead straight for the next mile or so.

Right thought I, let’s go for it.

First mistake – the double bend was slightly tighter than anticipated but, more ominously, contained a couple of nasty little dips, which weren’t apparent until I hit them, throwing me off balance slightly and adding a few unwanted mph to my already critical speed. So, realising that I was, at that point, technically not in complete control, and unable to brake as I was in the middle of a bend, my blood ran cold and I looked on the blind crest of the final little bend with a great deal of anticipation – i.e. anticipating that I was about to suffer something hard, nasty, painful, long lasting and deleterious to my bodily state and to my poor bike, which had done nothing wrong except to allow itself to be purchased by a complete idiot!

I recall –and this will live with me for ever – that I was frightened, nay, petrified and couldn’t do a thing about it.

Needless to say, by the mere fact you are reading this, I survived, but, to revert to the version of the incident as given to me by the rider just in front and who – bless him - kept to the left, otherwise I would have wiped him out, told me he actually took off on the crest, just as he heard something behind, which he thought was a motor bike, but found it to be me, as I passed him in the air!!

So, realising that I was still in one piece, back under control and facing a dead straight half mile long stretch to the next bend, decided that I wouldn’t let a little matter of soiled shorts put me off, so made up some time and touched 53.4 mph, before braking hard for the last half mile of the hill, where the rest of the bends were.

Then came another long drag, possibly Tatham Fell, before we reached the Trough of Bowland.

Now I heard that this was a beautiful part of the world and realised, some time after, that it was aptly named. A trough is something surrounded by sides and, in this case, hills on all sides or, to describe it more appropriately, you have to climb to get into it and climb to get out of it!

After that - and I’m still riding well - came a feed stop where, true to form, I cramped up. It was so bad that it was 15mins before I could get back onto my bike, whereupon I cramped up again, this time so badly that a rather kind guy had to get my bike from under me and I stood there like a statue, unable to even bend my legs.

After bravely (foolishly?) declining the offer to call the medics – they were wandering down the lane admiring the scenery!! – I eventually managed to remount after losing a total of 40 minutes at the stop.

However, my legs recovered by judicious use of low gears and minimal effort and I even managed to climb Longridge Fell (known and feared locally as Jeffery Hill), which was some kind of achievement as it was another lengthy tough ascent in the heat of the day – now 27c.

Descending into Clitheroe was reasonable, although the old cramp was beginning to niggle away with another 15 minutes lost at the final feed station in getting rid of it.

However, it at least gave me the chance to swallow a stack of bananas (for potassium – good against cramp, apparently) and the last of my electrolyte, before venturing forth for the battle against Nick O’ Pendle – used as the National Hill Climb on occasions.

Well, I got to the A59 where you cross at your peril and the marshall eased himself out of his 4x4 and said ‘do you know where you’re going?’!

I just pointed skywards and he laughed – glad he saw the joke, ‘cos I didn’t.

Pendle Hill is just like Sugar Loaf Mountain (or one of the Thee Peaks, if you prefer) sticking up out of the surrounding plain.

Ah, well, here goes, said I and promptly adopted my hill climbing mode (slow and painful) but, wonders never cease, got up with no problems at all. It was only 16% (1 in 7-ish, after all).

This was followed by a rapid descent into Sabden, then the rather nasty climb out 18% (1 in 6-ish), which made Nick O’ Pendle seem flat!

Oh, dear, 200 yards to the top and both legs cramped up, but I managed to get off my bike and had to walk the rest of the way up – 20 minutes to walk 200 yards, ye gods!

Another 5 minutes at the top before I could get back on and then it was downhill and I was feeling much happier until I realised that they were sending us away from the direction of the village and down to the bottom of yet another hill.

I was now severely annoyed – you can have too many hills, and this was another one too many.

Discretion seemed to be called for on this last hill before cramp set in again and I joined another half a dozen riders who were equally discretionary.

Finally, the top, whereupon I decided to throw caution to the winds and flew down, uneventfully apart from the loose gravel on a couple of the tight bends, to finish in a disappointing (for me) 7h 54m 43s (just over 2hrs behind a certain Dave Lloyd), although I took comfort from the fact that, although I finished 246th, there were exactly 100 behind me, with the slowest taking 10hrs 12mins!

The main problem with this course is that there is very little time between hills, resulting in this being a strength sapping event.

So, in summary, a very tough and extremely hilly ride, not to be undertaken lightly (or more than once?), although the scenery is beautiful and it’s not often you can (literally) fly downhill – and a great course for suffering and frightening yourself, if you so wish.

Would I do it again? Yes, actually, I would, even if only to prove I can do it properly.

Fred Lyn.

 

  L'Etape Beaujolaise, 12 June.

Fred meets his match in Luc Leblanc

Not sure that a staple diet of red wine was the best preparation for this sportive, but it didn't hurt to experiment (well, it only hurt the following morning!).

After overnight rain, the day dawned bright, breezy and 16c - not bad for 7am - so tucked into a continental breakfast (no fry up), topped up with (non-alcoholic) fluid and set off for the 100 yard downhill ride to the start.

Now, my French isn't too bad (though I say it myself) but I was sure I misunderstood when someone called Luc Leblanc (right) was introduced to the crowd - but, no, there he was, the man himself, and I got a good view of him before he turned round and then I never saw him again, until the prize giving - I reckon he drafted the lead car, or was it the other way round? Either way, he got the better of me - but then he is younger!

The start was sedate by French standards until we left the village (Villié-Morgon), when it accelerated to the usual steady mid 20's. I decided to let the front bunch go, knowing that they couldn't keep up that sort of pace (and I couldn't even reach it!). and settled in with a group of 7 or 8, with 3 of us sharing the pace.

Suddenly realised that I could hear a knocking from my front wheel when I was braking, which was rather worrying, as I wasn't sure what it was, but recalled that I hadn't checked the tightness of my front wheel when I reassembled the bike the previous evening. Decided not to stop and check but, rather, carry on and stop using my front brake - that seemed to do the trick...er...

At around the 30 mile mark, we were passed by the leaders of the short distance event and, just after, were joined by some of their peleton when some bright spark (not me!) decided we should tag on at 26's, so we became a pack of 20 or so, intent on pulling the others back.

I managed to stay with it for some 15 miles then decided I wouldn't (or should that be couldn't?) keep it up and risk blowing big time, so dropped off and continued at a more leisurely 20 or so, on my own, as my domestiques had decided to cycle to Filey rather than Beaujolais!!

Good decision, as I began to haul in some of the group who were, one by one, falling off the back, which continued nicely until, by the 70 mile mark, we were 4 or 5 and, apart from one guy (let's call him Monsieur 96), sharing the work.

I decided to keep an eye on Mr 96, as he seemed to put in an effort only on the hills, when the rest of us were, clearly, beginning to feel the pace, the heat (now 30c) and the pain (oh, the pain..).

We had now finished with the 'Route des Vins' signs and were following the 'Route des Crêtes' signs (a Crête being, literally, a cliff), so you get an idea what the 75 to 85 mile stretch was like!

In fact, the last two hills were absolute stinkers - not steep, but, as with most French hills, incessant. The penultimate one was around two miles long and the final hill some three miles long.

At this stage, I was suffering and, with 400 metres to the col, fell apart and, when I eventually got to the crest, the others were nowhere to be seen.

Actually, that wasn't true - the road turned abruptly left and went over the edge, so that you could see it following the head of the valley, round and down for miles and, in the far distance on the other side, was what I thought was Mr 96, who appeared to have been dropped by the group.

Anyway, took heart from the road sign that said 5km to Villié-Morgon and launched myself off over the edge and flew down the valley, hoping that rear wheel only braking would be ok...er...

Two miles down and I was encouraged by my computer telling me only one mile to go (but why couldn't I see the village?), then immediately discouraged by a sign saying 'Arrivée 10 km'.

Carried on and, just as I entered the last village before the finish, I caught Mr 96, who, true to form, did his usual trick and tried not to let me pass on the climb up through the village.

O.K. I thought, revert to plan Usual and sit on his wheel for the last couple of miles and, as we entered Villié-Morgon, and having done my recce of the final half mile or so, I knew that the last 300 metres were uphill, so timed it beautifully, got out of the saddle, using what little energy remained, and left him for dead, crossing the line for what I considered to be a reasonable 5hr 20m 40s, avge 17.5mph, 131st position and a silver standard.

A hard, hot, hilly, sportive, with beautiful scenery and enhanced by a freebie cycling bag containing a good quality polo style T-shirt, water bottle and bottle of Beaujolais-Villages wine with commemorative label.

The pasta party had what seemed to be an unlimited supply of Morgon red wine on the tables, although, to be fair, I don't think I drank too much of it, although I can't really remember - but my head hurt the following morning (must have been the heat!!!).

Guys (and gals), this is one sportive I really can recommend and one I shall do again, if I'm in the area at the time.

And I don't even begrudge being beaten by someone called Luc Leblanc (and 1 hour 14 minutes!!!).


Fred Lyn

 Discover Rutland CiCLE Tour, 24th April.

I had quite fancied riding this sportive as soon as it was announced last year. It covers many of the roads on Britain’s most unique, challenging and spectacular Elite single day cycle road race, the UCI 1.2 classified East Midlands International CiCLE Classic, a race I have watched in awe since its inception in 2005. But, as usual, real life had proved hectic and, to top it all, my sportive buddy Chris Beetham was due to be sunning himself on a fortnight’s jolly in Majorca on the day, so I had never got round to entering, having arranged family pursuits instead.

Imagine my surprise then when, on the Tuesday before the event, Chris rings me to ask if I fancy riding, as his flight has been cancelled due to the Icelandic ash cloud shenanigans, and he was therefore at a loose end for the foreseeable future. I explained that, in the circumstances, I would be keen to ride, subject to the requisite grovelling to my better half that would be necessary beforehand. Chris duly entered online and booked his hotel room in the start/finish town of Oakham.

The very next morning, however, I received a text from Chris saying that the ash cloud was predicted to lift, his Majorca holiday was back on and he would be flying out the next day. A true gentleman, he kindly offered me his entry into the sportive should I wish to do it alone, which I gladly accepted. Sadly, the Met Office’s powers of prediction were once again found wanting, and the following morning Chris texted me to say that his holiday was now definitely off. I logged on to the event website to discover that entries had closed the previous midnight....

So, completely against my principles you understand, I decided to ride without registering, in order that Chris would not have to endure the course alone. Well, what would you have done?

The weather on the morning of the event could not have been nicer, with a warm sun and little breeze to speak of. A gentle, rolling 100 mile parcours was in store for the 400 or so riders gathered on the eve of the professional slugfest. Or so Chris and I had predicted...

Don’t let anyone tell you that Rutland, Lincolnshire, Leicestershire and Northamptonshire are flat, ‘cause they ain’t! The first 25 miles or so from Oakham to near Grantham comprised either flat or gently undulating roads with the occasional brief venture into the small chainring. The route around Belvoir provided increasingly stunning scenery, whilst the hair raising, pot-holed, twisting 50mph descent from Belvoir Castle down into the Vale below would surely have tested even Fred and Malcolm. A short respite along the valley floor before the road turned back from whence it came – straight back up the short, sharp 1-in-6 escarpment face. Another fantastic descent through Stathern got the pulses racing once again, followed immediately by an inexorable two mile drag up Harby Hill and the much awaited first feed-station at Waltham-on-the-Wolds after 43 miles.

Fuelled up with flapjack and bananas, the next 13 miles to the second feed station at Owston were a relative breeze. Now, I realise that 13 miles between feed-stations may appear somewhat generous to some but, to be fair, we were not complaining. More of the same on the carbohydrate input front, and we were off again - over half distance now, and surprisingly untroubled. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, for starters, the 40mph descent along what Chris and I had just agreed was an idyllically deserted long, straight road from cycling heaven was cruelly interrupted by an enormous horsebox, which decided to join our carriageway from a farm siding, and whose width in mathematical terms was approximately 99% that of the road itself. The smell of burning rubber, and thankfully that is all, will stay with me for some little time yet...

Almost 60 miles are now on the clock and the general consensus in the regular Team Meetings is that we are largely untroubled and, to be honest, well, this is a piece of cake compared to a day out in the Yorkshire Dales with Roy and Kevin. The first sign that all was not as well as it seemed soon followed, when we passed some Smart Alec who announces that it’s been easy until now, and that the route would get decidedly lumpy from here on in.

He was not wrong.

I would be surprised if we saw another 100 yards of flat road in the next 40 miles to home. Add to that the ubiquitous and apparently ever-increasing headwind, regardless of the direction we were travelling, and you might understand why the fun factor evaporated quite quickly.

The ascent out of the immaculate grounds of Launde Abbey had more walking than riding, whilst the long climb out of Drayton at 71 miles was pure purgatory. On one hill we were somewhat embarrassingly passed by a young lady out trotting on her horse, although we did manage to pass her again on the subsequent descent! Some respite from the increasingly sharp undulations was on offer as we skirted the pretty Eyebrook Reservoir, but the peace was shattered once again by the hellishly steep and apparently never ending climb away from the water’s edge towards Stoke Dry.

After nearly missing a badly placed direction arrow at Lyddington, we were beginning to wonder where the third and final (and increasingly necessary!) feed station had disappeared to. It finally showed its face after 89 miles, but the wait was worth it, as the kindly village folk had laid on more bananas, gel bars and SIS drinks than I have ever seen in one place before in my life! Strangely, this was the first and only intermediate timing point of the ride – 89 miles into a 101 mile jaunt!

The last 12 miles back towards Oakham were amongst the most mentally tortuous that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Short, sharp digs followed by similar troughs and then more, inevitably harder digs. The nerves were fraying, and after 99 miles (99, I kid you not!) Chris was convinced that we had taken a wrong turning, and was becoming decidedly frayed. One last, horrible half mile drag up what felt like the North Face of Everest, and the cathartic vision of the finishing town of Oakham lay before us in all its splendour in the valley below. One last, glorious, 45mph descent was savoured before finally, another mile or so later, the finishing line was crossed in euphoric fashion.

Riders and supporters repaired to the idyllic, thatched Sun Inn in nearby Cottesmore (pic above) to share tales of heroism and cold beer in equal measure, late into the evening.

The next morning, Chris and I met again in Oakham’s Town Square to bask in the afterglow and watch the pros slug it out along much of the same course. Good luck to them, we agreed, with a wry smile...

 Richmond '4 Dales' sportive, 29 May.

Well, there I was, Billy No Mates, waiting at the start for the rest of the Seacroft Wheelers team, ready for our attack on the 4 Dales 80, watching all the other riders start off, gradually emptying the start area.
A quick 'phone call to my mate, Mal, revealed that he was ill and unable to ride but suggested that I get off and try and keep that bit ahead of the weather, which was forecast to be horrendous - wet and windy - not hot and oppressive!

Decided to give it a bit longer, as it hadn't actually started raining - despite the torrential downpour on the way up to Richmond.

Eventually set off half an hour after the agreed time, with still no sign of the Seacroft Peleton.

Coincidentally, the Richmond CC team decided to set off with me and I thought I was in for a nice tow round, but that wasn't to be, as they took a short cut just after the start to avoid most of the first steep climb out of Richmond and I was able to see them disappearing into the distance as I grovelled up the last 100 yards of the hill.

Still, I was able to pass a few slower riders and 'enjoyed a cold, damp, lonely ride along the valley to the bottom of the Stang - the first major climb of the ride - whereupon I fell in with (actually, behind but, hey...) a couple of guys who came past me on the lower slopes of the Stang, but who then realised why I was pacing myself (yeah, right).

For those who don't know the Stang - don't wonder, just avoid it - it starts hard, gets worse, then the tough bit kicks in, just when you you've had enough - and, believe me, plenty had, judging by the number walking up!

Anyway, caught up the two remaining guys and we enjoyed a nice descent down to the bottom of Tan Hill and started the interminable grovel up to the pub. (right, on a nice day).

It was surprisingly easy up the five mile climb but, when we turned at the top to drop down to Keld, the weather really turned from chilly and breezy to cold and windy, although the real rain held off and I thought of taking my rain jacket off, as I could cope with the bit of drizzle - am I glad that I didn't!

The descent into Keld was exhilarating, with a few serious bends that demanded caution and not helped by the number of cars and motorbikes climbing up to Tan Hill for lunch and certainly not helped by the copious quantity of sand and gravel on the bends.

Quick feed at the bottom, then a climb up to the top of Birkdale Common, ready for the long drop down to Nateby village.

Now, personally, I don't think drop is quite accurate, but, if you imagine a big dipper, with the vicious acceleration off the first rise, that'll give you an idea of the physical feeling you get as you start the descent.

I had forgotten just how quickly you can go from around 15mph to 51mph, within what seemed like 50 yards (but was probably less!).

After that first glance at the computer, it was all I could do to hang on for grim death and I'm not sure who was more surprised on the nasty bends in the middle of the descent, me or the poor rider who I frightened to death when I went past them into a tight bend at roughly twice their speed.

However, we survived the experience and two of us remained together at the bottom.

I checked my computer afterwards and had recorded 53.8mph, so, I suppose, it did constitute a drop!

The we really got to the hard bit - an interminable grovel from Nateby over Mallerstang to the Moorcock and into Hawes, against the gale. It was rather worse for me, as we had worked hard to catch a small group just after Nateby, and I clung on until I blew up at the Moorcock, suffering a lonely, cold, solo ride into Hawes.

A rather lengthy stop to recover, then set off on my own for what I thought would be a reasonable ride along the valley to Leyburn and tail wind finish from there to Richmond, but which turned out to be some 25 miles of suffering, as the weather turned vicious, with heavy rain, even colder than before and little respite from the wind.
The only saving grace was that I clung onto a group of riders that caught me at Askrigg and, despite my, now customary, onset of cramp, dragged me along to the finish although I found, later that they had all started half an hour or more before me, so it showed how badly I'd blown.

Hey, ho, crawled across the line for a poor bronze standard (missed silver by two minutes!), finishing in 5hrs 42min 02s and 41st place out of 158.
It was indicative of the day that even the winner (sorry, fastest - it isn't a race) got only silver, missing gold by some 4 minutes.

All in all, a rotten, character building day and a fine example of those with good sense deciding to leave the suffering to those who should know better!!

Fred

 Pennine Challenge, 22 May.

OK - had to choose between a training day in the Dales or the Pennine Challenge.

Decided at 07.05hrs Saturday to do the Pennine Challenge - if only to try some different hills - so drove over to Chadderton, near Oldham, to sign on the line.

The web site said:

"Stunning scenery, quiet good quality roads. The event uses the same roads as the Milk Race, Tour of Britain and Leeds Classic "

It didn't mention that the first and last five miles were through heavily built up areas with dozens of traffic lights (all of them on red when I reached them!).

Nor did it mention that, with very good weather, the whole of the Greater Manchester conurbation was out enjoying the same stunning scenery, quiet good quality roads. Although, to be fair, it did warn of the road works necessitating cycling along a building site and it did mention the stretch of pot holes and cobbles following on from the extremely rough mile of missing tarmac.
The first direction sign at the start was there, as was the second a couple of hundred yards later.

Then - nothing for the next four miles, as the local toe-rags had taken them all down.

Only when we got to the first real climb - Buckstones Road - did some of the signs survive.

However, this at least gave me the opportunity to catch up all the early starters, who were gathering in (stationary) groups to get directions by mobile 'phone from the organisers.

It was only due to the warnings re cobbles and road works that we knew we were on the right route.

Fortunately, somewhere near Padfield, Glossop, I happened to be with a rider who knew the area and he was able to identify a right turn off the main road, otherwise, we would have sailed straight on.

This is not the area in which to get lost!!

After that, I knew the subsequent climbs of Holme Moss, Digley reservoir (yes, I know reservoirs are flat, but the road next to it certainly isn't), Wessenden Head and then through Saddleworth and up to the Horse and Jockey and the final climb over the Moorcock, where I cramped up so badly, I had to get off and when I got back on I cramped up again, so decided to descend on one leg and see how it went.

Well, as it was down a steep hill, I thought I could manage with one leg hanging out.

Now, that was different, unable to balance properly and sparks from my cleat when I went round a bend made for an interesting descent!

Anyway, got my foot back in half way down and got rid of the cramp, ready for the flattish ride back towards Oldham, but then the signs ran out again and had to ask directions.

I recommend that you don't ask directions near Oldham - no-one knows where anywhere is and three of us ended up being misdirected twice, ending up near Rochdale and losing one hour and adding some ten miles, before we finally reached the finish.

A hot and sunny, hard hilly ride was totally spoilt - and not even a T-shirt to compensate.

Not a happy bunny and this is one I shan't be doing again and, I regret to say, one I can't recommend.

Fred Lyn.

 "Squires and Spires', 2 May .

Rather than a Sunday club run, yours truly drove half way across England for an 80 mile sportive in the wilds of Northamptonshire.

The coldest and certainly the windiest sportive ever, although, thankfully, the rain held off.

None the less, there had been very heavy rain until just before the start and the roads were pretty damp but, more importantly, subject to much debris, gravel, etc., resulting in more punctures than I've seen in a sportive.

However, the route was quite picturesque and all the hills were in the last 20 miles (exacerbated by a strong headwind), making many regret the fast pace for the first 55 miles or so, which were, in the main, flat, although, once again, the organisers managed to find a route that seemed to have a tail wind for 1/3 and head for 2/3 of the distance.

Hey, ho, there to be done.

I couldn't seem to get with any groups for any meaningful distance, as everyone seemed to be either slower or faster, not surprising, I suppose, when they set everyone off in groups of 20 at 2 min intervals, so a relatively lonely ride and having to work most of the time!

I started 28 mins after the first group (so 260 riders in front) and had a good number of others to chase (and pass!) and faster riders to cling on to for a (short) while, as they passed me.

The facts:

A 700 strong entry field, with 570 managing to make the start line, and the last riders rolling over the finish line at around 6pm!!

344 finishers in the longer 80 and I achieved 31st place in a time of 4h 08m 08s, but, as ever, would have been a little faster if I hadn't had my usual attack of cramp.

However, no complaints.

So, another day, another sportive and another T-shirt.


Fred Lyn

 Fat Rascal Charity Challenge, 24 April.

On Saturday 24th April, in my continuing quest to combine large piles of food with long distance cycling, I completed the 125 mile Fat Rascal charity challenge. Organised by York Pedallers this starts from the Betty’s in York at 7.00. Next a flat 30 up to the Northallerton Betty’s for double bacon sandwiches and coffee, followed by rolling down to Harrogate – Betty’s at Harlow Carr – for fat rascal and coffee. A very lumpy crawl via Fewston and Timble to the Betty’s at Ilkley for coffee, more fat rascal, cake, quiche and sandwiches. Finally, via Otley, Farnley, Leathley, Castley and the awful Kearby cliff to Wighill for coffee and scones at the home of one of the York Pedallers. A slow roll down into York racecourse took us back to Alan’s car.

There were sixty riders in total, most taking the 80 mile route which cut out Northallerton and some of the nastier hills, with 11 of us being daft enough to complete the 125. Excellent company and brilliant food again. Marvellous to find that, for once, I wasn’t the tallest or heaviest rider, although Alan and I were the oldest.

So, another wonderful Saturday on the bike. Made all the more wonderful by advanced gluttony – we did stop at Tesco’s in York, on the way back to the car, for a small drink and a pork pie. And then home to watch the Paris-Roubaix highlights and to wonder how Fabian Cancellara managed his victory without fat rascals!

Ian Wood.

Mirfield to Bridlington, 17 April.

JJ, Colin Abbishaw, Ian Wood and Alan Bodell

Ian Wood reports,

Fabulous organisation, a ton of food, a sunny day, the excellent company of the Port Sunlight Wheelers and a send off from Brian Robinson himself – all made for a pretty perfect cycling day. This was the charity ride from Mirfield (John Cotton works) to Bridlington (Bridlington Town FC ground) on Saturday 17th April.

The event was superbly organised by Sue and Alan Bodell – Alan’s the road captain for our September E2E ride – for a children’s adventure farms charity and was designated the Port Sunlight Wheelers club weekend. The ride began with a lumpy climb out of Mirfield, followed by the long descent into North Yorkshire, a fast flat road train (doing 25s) towards the Wolds, a steep climb up them, the final descent into Beverley – past the minster,  to the delight of the Sunlight – and a final flat 20 into Brid.

Amongst the riders were Andy and Jill Wilkinson – he holder of the national 12 record (302 miles I think) and she 10th placed finisher in the Florida international ironman triathlon. Two more easy- going and modest folks you couldn’t wish to meet. A great thrill to be on the front doing 25s followed by those two!

So, we finished with 93 miles in and had to leave for our lift back (graciously provided by Norma Davidson) before the promise mixed showers took place. As it turned out the mixed showers consisted, not of the wished for male/female combination, but of a mixture of club cyclists and Bridlington Town footballers!

A fine day marred only by Malcolm Davidson's absence (because of a virus infection) and Fred Lyn's early exit (because of a split tyre). As an object lesson in cycle spare carrying, JJ (one of the Sunlighters doing the E2E), produced a spare SPD pedal from his bag when his fell off just before Ferrybridge. As you can imagine he was the butt of some ripe Wirral humour!

 

'La 77', Melun, France, 11 April.

Malcolm Davidson and I survived the weekend in France - oh, and the sportive, as well.

A gentle 30 miles loosener from Melun to Fontainebleau and back on Friday and a 10 miler on Saturday to sign on.

Sunday dawned bright and fresh, with a growing N.E. wind, which didn't auger very well and so it proved - it was one of those courses where head/cross head winds exceeded tail/cross tail winds by a large margin.

However, a one mile ride out to the start and off we went - like greyhounds out of the traps - I thought the Laurent Desbiens, last August, was fast, but this was absolutely manic.

No way could you go slow, otherwise you would have been mown down - and it was bad enough as it was, with idiots flying in all directions and 'tant pis' (that's French for tough luck) if you got in their way!

First smash we saw was around 3 miles out - three riders being seen to by the paramedics.

A couple of single rider crashes followed, but the third solo smash looked bad, as the guy was clearly unconscious, with two medics attending to him.

The next chap was doing a good imitation of someone with a broken collar bone and there were obviously several more crashes, judging by the blues and twos flying around.

Tried to keep with Malcolm for protection, but he lost me at around five miles - and I couldn't turn round to see where he was, otherwise I would have been a casualty as well.

It turned out Mal (left) was having a bit of a struggle for the first 50 miles, but picked it up after the feed staion for a faster second half.

It was all I could do to keep up with whatever group happened to be around and, once or twice, came off the back but was able to pick up the next lot.

The few hills were most welcome (for once), giving me the chance to have a breather from the incessant pace and prove, once again, that the French seem to struggle on hills.

I was able - around the 70 miles point - to do my good Samaritan bit and actually help a guy who was struggling, by giving him my wheel and then pacing him into the wind at 18s, for some three miles, collecting a few singletons along the way, until we were like the Magnificent Seven riding into the desert.

Once I got the group going, we were able to hold it together pretty much the rest of the way.

The (my) only incident of note, was two miles from the finish, when we were sauntering along the banks of the river Seine at 23mph and had to negotiate half a roundabout - i.e. go straight across.

Checked around and there was a guy each side, so steered a careful path around the RAB and was emerging nicely, when the guy on my inside (to my right) decided that he wanted his front wheel to get intimate with my rear wheel.

A heart stopping wobbly second or two, but then contact was lost, very closely followed by an awful thud, clatter and bang, which I assumed was the poor guy hitting the road.

Must admit, I didn't stop to see how he was (or wasn't) for several reasons:

- There were Marshalls there and I'm not au fait (don't know the French for that!) with broken bones (ooh, err..)

- only two miles to go and I'm still going well (pic right, sat on as usual).

- The other French guy called me something in colloquial lingo (which I can't put into print), so honour dictated that I steer over to him to, should we say, firmly suggest he retract his comment (as this Englishman can understand a few French swear words, too), given that I was taking the correct line and the other poor guy went in too tight and drifted out across my line. Funny how the blood suddenly drained from his face. Let's assume he was beginning to feel the distance - less painful than a smack from the back of my hand, I suppose. Ah, well, vive l'entente cordiale!

So, results:

Fred: 4h 30m 27.1s (33.7kph) for 455th out of 1,066 and 23rd in the Old Fogeys category
Mal: 4h 52m 59.1s (31.7kph) for 665th and 37th in O.F Category

We were both awarded silver standard (me missing Gold by less than two minutes - tant pis, Fred) and somewhat chastened by the fact that the winner did it in 3h 47m and the 1st O.F. 3h 55m!!


Fred Lyn.

Evans Cycles Harewood sportive, 21 March.

It was meant to be a gentle introduction to the sportive season, even more so once the billed long route of 90 miles was cut to just "73" miles and, according to Ron Kitching medal winner Dave Smith, went the 'easy way' around, neutralising all the major climbs. And hadn't Fred and Sarah made light work of a similar route just last September. But on the day it proved to be a surprisingly hard 79 mile ride for members Dave, fellow Ron Kitching alumni Chris Beetham, Richard Barker, Roy Cannon, Pete Dickinson, Fred Lyn, Malcolm Davidson and Kevin Warr.

After a deceptively easy downhill tailwind start along Harewood Avenue to Collingham the route then turned at Linton into the wind to begin the long rise up towards the Dales. It soon became clear that the cold westerly was going to make it heavy going, it not helping for Pete being still hampered by a nagging knee injury and Malcolm suffering with a bolshy back. Climbing up past Almscliff Crag and on to Bland Hill the promised sunshine was proving elusive and the endless uphill drags were only relieved by the plummet down Darley Head, aptly described by Richard as 'hairy' in the buffeting cross-wind and where Fred (who hasn't got a Ron's medal) was no doubt picked up on the Menwith Hill radar doing well over 40. From Dacre it was a slog across the moors to Thruscross, hill after hill after hill until the drop down to the reservoir where Malcolm upset the local boy racers in a GTi who were frustrated they could not pass him on the steep descent, who can?

The wind neutered the long drop off Kex where Dave lost his pump and had to ride back up the hill to retrieve it, he'd just located it, miraculously intact in the road, when some motorist (I won't tell you what Dave called him) promptly flattened it. Roy reckoned it was jettisoned on purpose in a desperate attempt to lighten the load before the looming hills, Chris just looked down again and again for reassurance at his 36x26 bottom gear in a bid to bolster now wavering morale. By the climb out of Bolton Abbey towards Barden Tower everyone was feeling frayed and we were barely half way. Burnsall looked as pretty as usual in the now emerging sunshine and, delirious or in denial, Fred assured us it was now "pan flat" to Greenhow as we crossed the Wharfe to begin the return. But whenever Malcolm shouts 'left' it's usually not good and time to look for some large sprockets. The big name hills may have been missing but there is hardly an inch of flat on this ride and the little known climbs out of Hartlington, quickly followed by Dibbles Bridge and Stump Cross prompted Mal, who's done them all, to pronounce in a difficult moment, it to be harder than La Marmotte!

Greenhow Village brought a tail wind at last and a 30+mph chase down Duck Street, straight past the drinks station, to Blubberhouses whereupon the hurt duly resumed up Church Bank, Fewston, Bland Hill and to the top of Norwood Edge which Dave had waited all day to descend rather than climb and Malcolm clocked over 45mph to claim the day's Kamikaze award. By now we were picking up wreckage from the short and medium routes but the worst was thankfully over and notwithstanding the climb out of Castley only the particularly appropriate grovel up Harewood Bank remained for a 'mountain top' finish.

A very well organised event and, for a sportive, very good value at just £10 including well stocked feed stations, a free go-gel and cheese pasties at the finish. Although reasonably well supported there were nothing like the numbers seen at other local sportives costing two and three times as much. Maybe it's too early in the year or the promotion is wrong, or perhaps everybody else knows just how hard it can be.

 

Jodrell Bank, Sun 14 March.

Fred Lyn's observations on the 80 mile sportive in the shadow of the famous space telescope.

"Mostly flat, largely cloudy and very windy - not to mention fast.

Very well signed course and good feed stations - although I would have preferred icing on the fairy cakes!!

I was on 19s by half way, having got with a small group of decent riders and then flayed myself for a few miles with an elite bunch, before deciding that I would blow up big time if I tried to keep that up, so eased off.

Then suffered the consequences and got cramp at 50 miles and suffered from there on - which, coincidentally, was the 'hilly part'.

Took it easy and managed to get rid of it at around 70 miles, when we hit a couple of stretches of pavé and a level crossing and the banging about brought it back.

However, held it together and finished with 4h 39m odd for an official 17mph and 43rd out of 272 (incl 4 DNFs) finishers and fastest in the (unofficial) 56 and over category (20 finishers in that category - 8 in the 60 and over)

Pleased with it, really, as I wasn't lacking in energy and, had it not been for the cramp, would have carved several minutes off."

Fred

 

2009 Sportive and Ride Reports