Red Rooster

Despite the darkness of the commute home, I got back on my bike during the week. I really need the daily boost to my heart rate and metabolism to keep the weight moving in the right direction. IE ... down.

So having kicked off last week with a 43 miler on Sunday, I added another 30 miles getting to the office and back. Even with my basic maths, a 30 miler on Saturday would top 100 miles for the week. The only thing in the way was Friday night.

A confession. I haven't had a drink for six weeks. It's been part of the plan all along, ever since I got back from Italy I've pledged not to drink until my nephew's 18th on December 10th. To be honest, it's been easy - all I've had to do is not go down the pub. I've had a couple of close shaves along the way, but mostly I've found it easy to say no.

But the end of last week was the toughest moment of all. I really, really wanted a pint, the rugby's on down The Boat and the Guinness is flowing. Somehow - don't ask me how - I managed to stay strong and stick to the soda and limes. But watching the boys downing those beers took me to breaking point, I can tell you.

The good news is that I feel great on Saturday morning and head off for a regular 30 mile route with two biggish climbs book-ending a fast, flat section in the middle. The final climb up to the Beacon is a tough slog, but worth it when I top out on the highest point of the Chilterns.

Having toughed it out on Friday night, I'm back on the straight and narrow for Saturday evening watching the rugby and enjoying 40 pence pints of the dreaded soda and limes, while watching the boys descending into degeneracy.

Sunday, we have a group ride planned with Me, Chris, Kevin, David and Ali. I have a new route mapped out and everyone's keen: until Sunday morning that is. Incredibly, Ali is first to bail out with a text at 5am saying he is still on the sauce. Chris is next - unable to unglue himself from his bed. David's attendance is tenuous at best and is another no-show. Which leaves me and Kev.

Kev hasn't been doing much riding recently but he weighs 10.5 stone, so it makes no difference, plus he's a natural rider, so I'm always playing catch-up. But through the early morning mist we crank out the miles to Redbourn and then on to St Albans in a big loop that goes under and over the MI.

Disaster strikes near Apsley as Kev endures three punctures, but with his last tube we make it up to Bovingdon and the last few miles back into Berko via Whelpley Hill. Fortunately, we're going down Whelpley Hill, because it's a steep bastard. Unfortunately, it's a greasy, slippy death track as I discover when Kev locks up his rear wheel in front of me and I hang on the brakes so hard that I'm pitched into the crap on the wrong side of the road before losing my battle with adhesion and gravity.

It's not too bad. A bit of a graze and a big, dirty smear down my left side, but it could have been worse - there could have been a car coming the other way.

Back in the pub I refresh myself with a pot of tea in the company of David, who has finally shown up and bask in the self-righteousness of starting the new week with a solid 30 miles under my belt.

I've called the route Red Rooster because it goes through Redbourn and it was an early start. Plus, Little Red Rooster is a top blues choon, so there.

Here's the details:

SuperTrooper

There are times when your mind really lets you down.

On a three hour bike ride, you'd think my idiot brain would choose a song like American Pie, Like a Rolling Stone or The Long and Winding to stick in my head all the way round. Hell, even Bohemian Rhapsody would do at a pinch.

But no, instead I get Abba's Supertrooper looping through my bonce, hence the title of this blog post and the ride. I can tell you, the only thing worse than thinking of Bennie or Bjorn singing "oom pah pah, oom pah pah" was the growing feeling of pain and fatigue from my legs. Close run thing though.

I'd been wanting to do this ride for a while. It's in a different direction to our normal rides. Usually we end up cycling westwards towards the Vale of Aylesbury but this 44 mile jaunt aims north east to Welwyn Garden City before looping back under the M1 near Luton.

Out past Harpenden and Wheathampstead there's one of those classic, forgotten bits of English countryside: hemmed in by main roads but like another, older world. Here there are meandering lanes and signs to Ayots St Peter and Ayots St Lawrence and you can smell the old money behind the electronic gates as you cycle past. But its beautiful as only England can be in the low slanting Autumn sunlight.

I don't know why, but I really started to run out of power about three quarters of the way round. Near Luton Hoo, my legs stop responding and the remaining hills become a major trial. Maybe it's the fact I haven't been on my bike all week, or perhaps I'm just tired, or maybe I didn't fuel properly before I left. Whatever the case, by the time I got to Studham I'm calculating the easiest route back, because to be frank, I'm shagged and it's getting dark.

Back home, with a cup of tea in me, the memory fades. Until I try and walk up the stairs and I realise someone has stolen my legs.

Here's the stats:
43.31 miles
Avg Speed: 14.8mph
Calories burned: 2,800 (or thereabouts)

Here's the route:http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/57729668

It's dark out there ...

Monday evening, 5.20pm: The clocks have gone back and my commute home has changed from pale grey to squid ink black.

It wasn't so noticeable getting out of Apsley and Boxmoor, with enough ambient light to see the holes in the road by, but as the old A41 twists upwards from the Complete Outdoors to the church on the corner of Little Heath Lane it's like being plunged into tar. There's a crest of a hill here and beyond that a void where the road pitches down onto the flat, half mile run to the gates of Berkhamsted.

The speed limit changes from 30 to 60mph too, so the unlit road ahead might as well be the Mulsanne Straight at two in the morning. As I roll up to the crest, silhouetted by headlights, all I can hear is engines shifting down as drivers prepare to punch through the next 500 yards as quickly as they possibly can.

'Scary' is the word I would use, or 'fucking scary' if I'm allowed two words, because although I'm lit up like a christmas tree there's a nagging feeling in the middle of my back that someone in too much hurry is going to to make a mess of things.

I don't mind riding in the dark usually, but it's the way this bit of road twists and surges up towards the blackness that unnerves me.

Wish me luck.

A good start to the week

It's good to start the cycling week on a Sunday. Starting on a Monday is a real temptation when you have even a small commute but not kicking things off with a good chunk of miles under your belt is a shame.
Last Sunday I had a great ride with The Chris in the October sunshine. Those 33 miles really set my week off and with the 40 miles from commuting and another 33 miles with Milord yesterday, my total over 7 days topped 100 miles. I'll take that.
So I was determined to get my Sunday miles in today, really determined. In the end though, I watched the rugby, did some tidying up outside, went down the tip, did some shopping and before I knew it it was gone 4pm.
It would have been easy to let it go: let the sofa take the strain, but instead I had a rummage in the HTFU locker and pulled on the lycra and hit the road.
I chose a route I'd been planning for a while too. A longer commute, which I wanted to check for distance and time. You can see the details on MapMyRide below.
In the end it was just 24 miles but it was great to get out there, even with the brutal headwind for half of it. I'm definitely feeling stronger - all I need to do is shed some of the bastard pounds.
Tomorrow's commute will feel better for today's ride, for sure.

Come on then, if you think you're hard enough!

In my old job I had the shortest commute ever: 0.66 miles, three minutes, give or take. By the time I got the bike out of the shed, I could have walked there. Even worse, I was still late into work.

These days I'm working in Apsley - a whole five miles away!

It ain't much, but it's something: 20 minutes down the A41, dodging the cars and vans and getting the heart rate up. How quickly I do it depends on the prevailing wind (behind, going) and how the lights are running.

Red lights and queues of traffic are a pain and there are a couple of junctions where it just makes more sense for me to run the light and get out of everyone's way. It's amazing how some drivers get riled up though - pathetic twats that they are. There's something about seeing a cyclist pedalling past a queue of traffic that really gets on some driver's tits. Next thing you know, they're roaring past, shaking their fist, pounding the horn, WTF! Get a fucking life, loooozer!

All I can do is either give them the finger or gesture in their rear view mirror to maybe pull over so we can have a proper 'chat' about it. Funny, but when they realise the size of the thing they've just given a load of shit to, they're off into the distance. Wimps.

Look, I know jumping red lights is bad, but honestly, there are times when it's just safer for a cyclist to be away from that queued-up mass of metal - it's not as if I'm holding anyone up is it?

Anyway, the mapmyride route for the commute is below. Yeah, it's only 10 miles a day, there and back, but it's better than nothing. Bloody uphill on the way back too!

Oh my .....

I had one of those emails - you know the ones that offer, guaranteed weight-loss, unbelievable highs and very stiff muscles ...

Yes, it's an invite to cycle the whole of the 2012 Tour de France route, eight days in front of the pro peloton. A lifetime experience if ever there was one. This is 20 Etapes, one after the other!

Can I do it? Can I raise the money? Can I get the time off work (WGAF about that!).

Check it out:

http://www.tourdeforce.org.uk/tourdeforce.aspx

Video says more than words!

A great little film that perfectly encapsulates the romance and brio of L'Eroica.

Registration opens in February - be ready!

Loving L'Eroica

I first heard about L'Eroica from Chris.

After one of his regular one-handed Internet searches he said he'd found a mythical bike race in Chianti, Italy over the old, gravel roads of the region using only 'retro' road bikes. I was sold. The costs of only 35 Euros to enter was too good to pass up, so we registered and worried about how to get there and where to stay later.

In the end four of us - Luigi, Jayne, Ali and Chris - schlepped the 1100 miles to Gaoile in Chainti (Tuscany) in the company Astra with four bikes on top, while David and Becky took the train to Florence. Fortunately it was Becky's birthday so we ended up in a swanky Tuscan villa, complete with pool and stunning views for ten days: perfect prep for the ride.

L'Eroica (The Hero) was dreamt up as a conservation project. It seems the rough, gravelly white roads of Chianti - the Biancha Strada - were gradually being tarmaced over. This was a bad thing. The people of Chianti like their traditions and to prove that the roads were perfectly adequate as they were, decided to hold an annual ride featuring pre-1987 road bikes. More specifically, bikes that have their gear shifters on the downtube. In its first year, L'Eroica attracted around 200 riders. This year 3,500 enthusiasts crammed the tiny streets of Gaoile - testament to the power of a great idea and an awful lot of Italian passion.

There are four routes: 38km, 76km, 135km and 205km. The latter two are now permanent routes and are way-signed so you can do them anytime you like. Most first-timers like us opt for the 76km version, which sounds like a ride in the park for most club riders, until you factor in the heat and the hills of Tuscany and of course the perils of the Biancha.

We had pulled our 'retro' bikes from a variety of sheds, garages and other cobwebbed places and prepared to tackle the bruising Biancha with minimal maintenance and practice time. If I'd spent more time on my rusty old Peugeot I might have noticed the colossal buckle in the front wheel. As it was, it only came to light halfway down the dirt road from the our Tuscan villa. Nothing else for it, I would have to buy a new wheel on the day from one of the 'retro' bike stalls in Gaoile. The gnarled old Italian bike wizard I showed my bike wheel to the next morning said "No!" to my request for a new wheel. "Si, Si!" I countered. "No, No!" he shot back before attacking my existing wheel with a lump hammer. "Ecco" he said, arms outstretched, which I took to mean, "there you go matey - fixed!". He was right, the buckle was gone and it didn't cost a thing. Good job I was running a steel wheel.

And so to the ride. On our day of reckoning it reached 34 degrees, which is way too hot for a big lump of lard like me. My bike's paltry 10 gears didn't help either as I lurched up and down the rutted, hilly Biancha. But despite the pain, the stellar views over Tuscany and the camaraderie of fellow riders helped keep me going. The white roads were a massive challenge. Sometimes they were like smoothish fire roads here in the UK, other times they resembled a downhill MTB course. To stop my tyres rolling off their rims I quickly realised that I needed to pick a straight line through the worst of it and stick to it no matter what. Easier said than done when its steep and there's a bend coming up.

We reached the picturesque village of Raddar and promptly fell into the nearest bar. It was tough to leave but we were only two thirds of the way round so off into the Tuscan sunlight we went. In the end, I punctured at the bottom of a massive climb and had to admit I was glad of the breather. There was a 7km short cut back to Gaiole and I'm not ashamed to say I bailed at that point with mate David as company.

Chris and Ali pressed on but soon realised that they had taken the wrong route and also ended up in Gaoile just as we arrived. There was nothing else for it but to sink as many beers as we could before the 'support' team picked us up.

One thing's for sure, you really do need to be a Hero to finish either the 135km or 205km routes of L'Eroica. Even the 76km is tough enough and bike prep and practice is a must.

Would we go back? You betcha! For the rest of the holiday, all we could talk about was making plans for next year. The whole event is a blast and superbly organised: all you need is a mouldy old 1980s racer and you're in!

For more pics, see the slideshow by clicking HERE.

Little 'n large

OK, this is what I up against.
I have a serious medical condition called 'Rugby Player's Body', which means not only am I stupidly heavy but my bastard body refuses to ditch any of its mass without severe prompting.
It's a legacy of years spent training to play prop, which meant doing only just enough cardio to get round the park without ever losing the pork.
The result is plain to see.
Those are my mate Alistair's legs on the right. proper cyclists' legs, lightweight, defined, capable of transporting his skinny frame up hill after hill. Mine, in contrast, look like my fucking Nan's (well, they would if she was still with us) to the point where I look like I've got 'cankles'.
Now I know I will never have legs like Al's but hopefully they will get a bit more like cyclist's legs in the future.

Looking for L'Eroica

I set this blog up a while ago, but haven't gotten round to doing anything with it yet. But sitting in a Tuscan hilltop villa a few days after taking part in L'Eroica, I thought it was time I started using this space as a kind of incentive-cum-training aid to keep me riding over the upcoming winter months.
L'Eroica was very cool. Bloody hot, but in a cool, retro way if you know what I mean. I really enjoyed it but I know I would have had more fun if I'd been a lot lighter and a lot fitter.
I really struggled on the hills in the 30 degree heat and there wasn't anything I could do about it. We were only doing the 76 km version and that sort of distance would have been a breeze back in my native Chilterns, but out on the Bianchi Strada - the white, gravel roads of Chianti (above) - it was pretty brutal.
So, even though I enjoyed the event from beginning to end, I felt I should have done better with the training and subsequent performance, hence the beginning of this blog.
I'm going to jump back and forth a bit over the next few posts because there are some memories I want to get down, like the London to Paris in 24 hours bike ride I did last year, so bear with me.
Mostly though, I hope that by documenting the highs and lows of my cycling life, I will be be motivated to strive harder.

The pic right shows me and my great mate David at the finish. I'm the big one in the red in case you hadn't guessed. Next year's pic of me will look a lot different I promise you.