Crystal Palace

London traffic is bad enough. Driving into London in rush hour is never a great idea if you want to get to your destination quickly. So you can imagine how much it added to my nerves when I tried to get from work (Essex) to Crystal Palace (South East London) for a Tuesday night race with a tail-back on the A13 near Tilbury due to a snarl up on the Dartford Crossing (the notorious M25) and further queuing traffic one the same road closer to town due to a broken down car in the Blackwall Tunnel. After a few more hold-ups due to accidents and several wrong turns I was ready to pack it in for a bad job and head home.

But I figured that it would make sense to at least get a flavour for the circuit as a spectator, and familiarise myself with the route there, so I plodded on. On arriving in the car park at nearly 19:00 on the dot I noticed that the Juniors were still racing - perhaps I could still make it.

I got dressed as quickly as possible, and got the bike together while keeping an eye on the Juniors who thankfully kept circulating at race pace. Excellent. A friendly marshall directed me to the sign on desk and soon I was hurriedly pinning my number on with nervous hands.

I barely had time for a quick leak before rolling out onto the track for the first time to suss it out. I was hoping for a few laps to get a feel for it, but basically I got two circuits in before we all stopped at the line. I'd had enough time to work out that the corner at the bottom of the hill would take some learning, but otherwise thought it would be a nice, if demanding, circuit.

The pace was quite quick right from the get-go. Wanting to keep out of trouble while I got used to the track I decided to hang back; in retrospect a bad idea on such a narrow and technical track.

The Cat 3/4 group rapidly became quite strung out, and I found that I was battling through the corner at the bottom of the hill (originally Fisherman's Corner of the pre-war race track) and, to a lesser extent, the hairpin at the end of the start-finish straight. Fisherman's corner is a blind double apex with a huge bush/hedge at the apex which effectively makes the exit completely unsighted. I found approaching the corner at 50+km/h can be quite unnerving, especially as I was unsure of the appropriate entry speed or correct line. These will come with time, but last night it meant I lost ground every time through the corner which I had to make up on the climb back up to the start-finish straight.

The climb, previous known as The Glade, is mean. It is long and steep enough for you to know about it, and you need more than momentum to get up it. So playing catch-up on every lap up this drag really didn't help at all.

After a few laps I was dropped, but I kept the hammer down knowing that some of the weaker climbers would succumb and I'd have a few riders to work with. And so they did, but one of the guys seemed more intent on making pointless attacks to hurt the rest of us rather than working together. Eventually he attacked too hard and dropped himself. The rest of us never really got to cooperating properly and so splinted until eventually I was solo for the last few laps.

So overall, a hard outing on a wonderfully demanding circuit. This is the criterium racing that I've dreamed of since I was a teenager with a silly tan. I'm sure my racing will improve; I just need to learn the circuit, and work on my bike handling. A bit more proper time on the bike, like the hill hunting ride my mate Paul and I did on the Bank Holiday, can't hurt either.

I can't wait for next Tuesday, hopefully with less travel chaos so I arrive calmer, and some get return on the saddle time I plan to put in over the next few days. Of course, it should also set me up nicely for the Smithfield Nocturne which is now a week and a half off.

Onward!

Bonus blog inclusion: Crystal Palace, from the saddle of the Ribble

In the Pre-War period, Crystal Palace Park was also a motor racing circuit. Motor racing ceased in the late 1960's, but much of the original circuit remains. The cycle circuit uses part of the original Pre-War infield track that loops around the fishing lake.

On a bicycle, the lap starts easily enough on the straight on Terrace Straight (top right of the map) roughly level with Pond Hairpin in what is the wrong direction for the original track. The tarmac of this straight must be pretty old because it is quite broken, but is perfectly rideable and adds character.

The Link is now configured the other way around from the original and is fairly quick, but also fairly straightforward once you've sussed it out; only a little bit of broken tarmac at the entry makes it more interesting.

Out of The Link, it is a fast run to Pond Hairpin, which is fairly sharp but drops off viciously at the apex making line choice important - thankfully it is smooth. Because we are going the wrong way, Fisherman's Rise is a fast, full speed, meandering descent which leads down to the blind, double apex corner called Fisherman's Bend.

At the bottom of the hill Fisherman's Bend kinks and then disappears left behind a big fat bush/hedge that completely blocks the view of the exit as well as the large tree and grassy drop-off that wait to punish. This corner spooked me, but I'm sure will become easier as I learn it. I think it is much like T1 at Zwartkops in that sense.

Next up is Fisherman's Bend, a lovely double apex, decreasing radius which drops away to start with, but then lifts up, and can be taken pretty much as fast as you can arrive at it - which is great because it leads onto The Glade - a hard climb back up to the start-finish straight.

Back in action

Thankfully my health has returned, and I've been back on the bike since Thursday. The first day back was mega - the well rested legs felt so powerful and my acceleration was just crazy. The only problem is that I have lost a bit of cardio fitness.

I have two weeks until the Nocturne, so this Bank Holiday, and next week I'll be training carefully and intensively to try to get my form back. It should be do-able - I'm feeling very positive about it.

Of Mice and Men

Good news: I am getting better, even if my GP is still a bit baffled with what is wrong with me.

Bad news: I won't make the Hillingdon GP.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was on course of kick-ass antibiotics that worked well to sort out the flu-like symptoms and the pain in my lungs, but a good deal of tightness and the annoying cough remains. The doctor suspected a viral infection, so that puts be out of athletic action for at least a week or two; which means the Hillingdon GP is pretty much completely out of the question.

What this means is that my plans for the run up to the Smithfield Nocturne are quite thoroughly scuppered. I haven't worked out what I'll be doing in the time I have available, suffice to say that I'll be taking it very easy over the next few days to make sure I have no relapse and that I am at least healthy on the run up to the Smithfield.

Now, where did I leave those vitamins...

All those years ago...

My darling wife found this picture while unpacking after our move - and it has been on the dresser waiting to be scanned in since...


It was summer 1992 and I was still a Junior. I was completely nowhere and none the wiser. I dreamt of winning mountain top stages on a Bianchi crafted from Columbus SLX tubing. And Paulina Porizkova.

The race was the Milky Lane from Durban to Scottburgh - 60km and with a tail wind. As usual, my Dad was there to lend support and help with all the logistics. It was practically sprint race, especially with the usual tail wind. On this day, I'd done something terribly daft like leave my helmet or gloves at home. I can't remember how this got sorted, but my Dad probably went home to fetch them (after kakking me out) - I am eternally grateful.

The race was perfect, I felt brilliant. Ryan and I were both quick that day, sticking close to the front of the bunch. At the mid distance hotspot (was it 'Toti?), I tried to contest the sprint, but inexperience had me forced into the gutter.

Towards the end of the race, about 2 or 3 km out, one of the fast riders attacked, I managed to hop onto the break for what was one of the most thrilling finishes I've had.

As we came up the final hill, the group began to splinter. I've always been good at sharp climbs, and so I started picking off riders on the run in. I saw my Dad looking down the road, trying to find the best vantage point for a run in photo. By the time he'd realised I was in amongst the leading riders it was too late - the lens cap was still on.

The result was great, 9th overall, and if I recall correctly, 2nd Junior. Total race time? About 1 hour 10. Absolutely brilliant. What a day!

The Drugs Don't Work

A few days after writing my last post, I read that Davide Rebellin tested positive for using CERA at the Olympics - something that made me quite sad. I am tired of riders I enjoy being identified as cheats, the new order in cycling can't come soon enough.

Which leads to my drug taking; you'll be assured to know not of the performance enhancing genre. After the Reading race, the head cold came back with a vengence and then developed into a full blown, super nasty chest infection that has kept me largely out of action for the last two weeks.

To make matters worse out of desperation to get well quick, I succumbed to the doctor and a course of weak antibiotics that appear to have served to simply strengthen the offending infection making me worse rather than any better.

Having started down this route, I guess I have no choice but to ride it out to its conclusion. So back to the doctor (a different one) yielded a course of kick-ass antibiotics that should kick this infection into touch.

I'm not sure how this will affect my racing; I have an entry to the Hillingdon GP which I am loathe to let go to waste but, given that my goal is a good outing at the Smithfiled Nocturne, if I'm not substantially better by Monday, I'll have to consider if competing at Hillingdon makes sense.

There are a few other races in the calendar that I can use to warm up for Smithfield, so the situation isn't dire - just not as I'd hoped.

It's in the head: Reading Spring Race 2009

When Davide Rebellin crossed the line to take his 3rd Fleche Wallonne on Wednesday, he pointed at his head. The 37-year-old rider proved once again that experience is as important as having the legs taking wins in difficult races. Ok, by no stretch of the imagination am I trying to compare myself to Davide Rebellin, but today I once again learned an important lesson about myself and bike racing.

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. The night before, I'd stuffed myself full of every synthetic and natural cold therapy I could get my hands on, the combined effect of which seemed to have nipped my annoying head-cold in the bud. I didn't sleep that well through; I think the excitement of the race as well as trying to devise strategies kept me restless. But it looked like a perfect day for riding, so I hardly even considered my tiredness, and simply couldn't wait to get out.

The format for the day saw the E/1/2 race run separately from the 3rd/4th Cat race I'd be racing in. Our race would be over 4 laps of a 15km circuit (6 laps for the elite race). After the elite group started we would wait for them to complete one lap before our start. I was feeling really calm, just itching to get out and turn the cranks.

Before long it was our turn and we were being blown by a South Easter along the A4074 at silly speeds. In the middle of the peloton there was a strong smell of frizzed plastic, so I wasn't surprised that on the longer gentle downhill stretches I was brushing the brake almost constantly. All good things come to an end, and soon we were climbing what really is a short hard climb, but in the middle of the peloton it felt more like a minor bump as we pummeled it at +40km/h.

A rather hairy left turn took us heading south on the B4009. Now the wind was malicious, whacking us across from the left. On much of the stretch I found myself jammed on the left with no shelter to be found. The pace was still high and I was hurting a little, and now we were turning left onto a small lane back up to Woodcote.

To be honest, it really isn't such a bad climb, with a little lump before the main feature. It gave me a nice chance to catch a breather and check out the finish line, which would also be the line for the Prime on the next lap.

The second lap was more of the same, just faster. My computer recorded a max speed of 67.5km/h on the first lap, on the second this was 73.6km/h. I'm really glad I didn't read any of these numbers while I was actually riding, because the idea of riding centimetres off a wheel, with similarly small margins between handlebars and the like, is faintly insane. But well and truly a lot of fun.

Just before the climb I was in trouble. I'd found myself pushed to the left again and was suffering a bit from bludgeoning my way through the wind. Fortunately then, there was some sort of traffic issue and we had a forced stop for a few minutes.

Getting away from the stop I had a terribly embarrassing fumble for my pedal with meant I was once again towards the back end of the group, rather than at the front where I could keep an eye on what was going on. Largely buoyed by my prime sprinting success at Hillingdon, I was very keen to win this prime so it was critical for me to make sure I wouldn't miss the move or be boxed in.

One rider went for it, but it seemed too early - then a Junior who looked pretty quick gave chase, this was it. I hopped out of my seat and glued myself to his wheel. When it got to the point that seemed about right to me, I started to give it beans, but we rounded a corner and I realised it was still a way off. I sat up and hoped I could catch a wheel to ease onto for a bit before going again. It didn't seem that anyone else was giving chase, so it was just the three of us. I'm not entirely sure of what happened next, but I remember that I decided to go again, but then became confused about where the finish line was. Then I made the crucial mistake of slowing again, and then going again when it really was way too late. All these accelerations burned me, and after the last one I was toast. Suddenly I was going backwards - rapidly. I started accelerating slowly to get back in, but I couldn't accelerate fast enough and was spat out the back.

Back onto the A4074 I was starting to feel a bit better but even giving it all I could, my feeble 60-something km/h simply wasn't enough to pull back the peloton, and so I watched them wander off into the distance.

Two guys came past me, also chasing, I grabbed the wheel of one of the guys and caught a small breather - but then he accelerated and left me and the other guy in the dust. I had little choice but to let him go; so I settled back to a comfortable pace so I could recover a little before putting the hammer down on the climbs. To my surprise come the first climb on the A-road I not only soon found a rhythm but also started reeling in the faster guy (but unfortunately dropped the other guy). I caught him on the climb, but as soon as we were heading back into the wind, he didn't seem keen on working together, and pulled away from me.

Feeling all shades of misery, I trudged into the wind, keeping good pace for a solo run, but still painfully slow in context. Next thing a Zipp 808 suddenly appeared on my rear wheel. Bonus! The dude took a breather and then moved to pass - but I was recovering and was able to grab his wheel. Soon we were up with the guy who'd dropped me before, the three of us working together and so now making a much better job of dealing with the wind.

Turning onto the hill, the full effect of the wind became apparent, climbs plus head-winds are no fun. Unfortunately Zipp 808 and I dropped our third rider - from there we made a pact to work together for the last lap. Or at least until 100m from the line.

And so from there it was pretty uneventful. It was good to have someone to work with, and we certainly went fairly quickly. I was keen to sprint, but Zipp wasn't, so it was just me charging up to the line. Well down, but it was a blast.

So, my verdict? Perhaps surprisingly I think it was a pretty good day in the saddle. I am happy with my speed and acceleration (racing scooters and busses on the commute will do that). My legs felt good the whole way through. Perhaps I was let down a bit my my lack of pure head-down solo speed, but more importantly I let myself down by a grossly miscalculated series of moves that left me vulnerable and split me from the group and ultimately cost me being able to contest the race.

But lesson learned, another mark down to experience. Roll on the rest of the season!

I'm in!

I was feeling quite despondent today. After being in touch with the organiser of the Reading Spring Race, it seemed unlikely I'd get a place. This weighed heavily on my spirits; simply put, missing this race for a 3rd time in succession would suck.

So imagine my excitement ... nay, jubilation when I fired up my computer read the email from the organiser confirming my place on the start line for Sunday.

The mind is a strange thing. I was feeling pretty rotten today. Head-coldish, a little tight chested. Generally feeling sorry for myself. I rode home really slowly from Fenchurch today; letting some of the quicker commuters ride away from me while I religiously followed a self imposed heart rate restriction. Not like me at all! But already, after reading the mail, I'm feeling so much better.

But certainly I do have a little bug - nothing more serious than a head-cold I suspect. So I'll be taking it very easy tomorrow and Saturday, but I absolutely can't wait for Sunday. Yesterday my legs felt great and I feel loose and strong, which bodes well!

Onwards to Sunday!