Eating dust at Deers Leap

Cross is a very strange, but oddly natural undertaking. It reminds me so much of my childhood - trying to ride bikes over crazy terrain, sometimes at unfeasible speeds.

The conditions were perfect; it was a lovely, warm, sunny day. We arrived nice and early which gave me a great opportunity to calmly get the bike together and suss things out.

Just as I was about to head out for a familiarisation lap, I met a fellow Dulwich rider, Kevin, who gave me tips. We rode around together for a lap, realised we still had a little time, so went out for a second. I was getting the hang of it, and starting to feel very confident when very suddenly I felt that all to familiar sensation through the bars. The front tyre was flat.

It wasn't hard to find the cause, a great big fat thorn was stuck through sidewall. Fiddlesticks!

There was less than 5 minutes to go before the start of the race and I was headed up to the car to pack and feel sorry for myself when I spotted Alex, or Mark as I thought his name was. Alex, another Dulwich Paragon, had arrived late and was feverishly trying to get his number on. We had a case of broken telephone, first with me trying to call him Mark, and then trying to explain my predicament coherently. He offered me a spare wheel to use (for which I was extremely grateful) - all I had to do was run up to the car park, locate his car, grab the wheel, then run back down and get it on my bike.

After a mad sprint (on foot, from which I am still a little stiff), I got back to the start with Alex's wheel and just enough time to fit the wheel and get my breath back before the actual start.

It was like rush hour, loads of riders trying to squeeze through the narrow trail. Early on, probably from too much adrenaline, I crashed into another rider; no harm done, but I did feel like a twerp! A few spurts saw me clear the mess and for the last half of the lap I was in a nice zone of clear track and gaining on those ahead.

Into the last tricky bit I was just lining up to take a smooth line when suddenly the seat gave way. On getting off, I discovered that the seat post had snapped clean off. Fruitcake!

There was no point in even throwing a tantrum, but it was absolutely gutting. Another race where I didn't even complete the first lap! A silly technical failure - one that, with 20:20 hindsight, could have been avoided - but silly nonetheless

Fortunately the London Cyclocross League continues with Round 3 this weekend, so I have a chance to make amends. The weather outlook looks good.

Rock on.

Tough lessons at Warwick

Today I traveled up to Warwick for the annual criterium held in the town centre. This has a hardcore crit feel with all sorts of street furniture to make the circuit difficult and interesting.

I'd got to the car park with loads of time to spare and so took my time getting ready. When time to race came around, I went up to the start area (with 7 mins to spare), and then ended up waiting around for the best part of twenty minutes. The kids race ended, so a number of us rolled onto the circuit only to be pulled off again for the unicycle race to run. This is where it went a bit wonky. I'd consulted with a marshall and worked out that the program was running around 30 mins late, so I figured I'd head back to the car to get my leg warmers as the the sun had since disappeared and the wind was picking up and getting a bit chilly.

When I got back about 15 mins later (leaving 15mins for hanging about as I do) I saw, to my horror, the 3/4 field lined up at the start. To make matters worse the countdown to start had begun.

For whatever reason, call it confidence, I saw the best option being getting onto the circuit and chasing to catch the back of the group. Except the joining point where I was was probably no more than 75m from the start.

So I rode as hard as I could for 8 laps, consistently hitting 1:20 per lap, an average of around 36/37km/h. I was feeling very confident and found I was able to nail the corners really hard. I was having a ball. My name was being called over the PA system, the crowd was cheering.

6 laps in I caught up with the backmarkers and decided to latch onto their wheels for a rest (in retrospect a bad move, because I didn't really need to). I rested for a lap and a bit, but that was too long, the leaders caught up and came past. Being in an awkward position not being able to unlap myself nor want to interfere with their race, I dropped out.

In retrospect, I made a few howling errors. Firstly it probably would have been prudent to rather have just let the field pass at the start, hop onto the back, and then rely on the commissaire's mercy for letting me get away with this minor infringement (which, chatting to him later, I found would have been OK). Secondly I shouldn't have broken my rhythm by taking a break behind the painfully slow backmarkers. Thirdly, when I got caught by the group, I should have rather just stopped to ask the commissarie if I could take a lap. Unfortunately none of these things occurred to me at the time.

All that said, I had a ball. I'd made a big splash. It was even great to hear my withdrawal from the race being announced on such positive terms, at very least my ride had been a crowd-pleaser! My chosen plan, though suicidal, was aggressive and would have been awesome if I managed to pull it off. I also surprised myself with just how hard I could ride, and the experience will certainly add another weapon to my arsenal come next season.

So, possibly one last road race left this season (in Surrey) - but a lot more cyclocross. Speed awaits.

Addiction takes the smallest taste

This morning I was a bundle of nerves waiting for my cyclocross tyres to arrive in the post. At around 12:00 I visited the mailroom (for the 3rd time) and there they were in their blue wrapped box. I scoffed my lunch down then rushed back to my office to fit them to the rims.

The race at Herne Hill was set to start at 18:50 - 25 minutes earlier than the Palace races, so getting there was going to be tight. This wasn't helped by missing the relatively nondescript entrance twice and having a torturous drive around the block in rush hour.

I managed to get to the start line with moments to spare, but I desperately needed a pee. My plan was to wait until we were in the woods, hop off for a quick leak, and then chase my way back in. While formulating this plan, the whistle went off. I hadn't seen the course before, so I had no idea what to expect, but the race instinct kicked in and pretty soon all I cared about was making my way up through the field.

I was picking off the riders ahead quite quickly, using whatever overtaking opportunities were available, and attacking the tricky bits of the circuit with verve, when suddenly, towards the end of the first lap, the back end of the bike started to feel wonky, and very harsh over the bumps. A quick look down confirmed my suspicion - a flat.

Not much to do but pull out. Sad really, because I was running pretty well and having an absolute ball. This cross thing is like a drug, I'm hooked!

In the end, I think it was just bad luck - a sharp object slashed through the middle of the tyre. Oh well, next stop, the British Cycling calendar to plan my Cross season!

On-it at Palace

I am quite thankful to have taken today off, because I feel totally wrecked; last night at Palace was very hard indeed.

It has been a while since I have raced at Palace. Despite the successes I've had since my last outing at the circuit, I was still a bit anxious before the race; Crystal Palace is a special circuit that demands respect. Add that to a restless sleep the night before and too much coffee to try to compensate, I wasn't feeling my best.

My goal for the race was simple enough: stay in the pack until the finish, the "stretch target" being to contest the sprint. I wanted to race aggressively and test myself. Having ridden 98km solo in a sportive on Sunday in 3:18 and having recovered well, I was feeling confident to try shaping the race a bit rather than just hanging on.

The race was quick right from the start with a lot of jostling for track space. It was probably the second lap when a Dynamo rider made an attack on the hill - seeing he was getting clear, I decided to join him. It was clear he was a strong rider and working together we stayed away for three laps. That said, we both soon realised we were killing ourselves with little chance of staying away, so we rolled back into the group.

I stayed pretty much at the front of the group from then on. When the E/1/2 groups came by, the front of our group splintered with a few attacks, but none came to much and despite a few breakaways (some that I got into), the group remained together for the final sprint.

I was sitting pretty at the front for the women's bell lap, two before ours, but at the start of our penultimate lap the pace increased and I found myself uncomfortably in the middle running into the sprint. Boxed-in I had nowhere to go; the riders ahead started sitting down well before the line. In all honesty through, my legs were pretty cooked by this stage so not sure how much difference this would have made.

All in all a great evening. I am thoroughly knackered through, but it was well worth it to tick the "goal achieved" box. The last race of the year is next week, I just hope the weather is as glorious as it was last night.

"Beautiful Panorama"

I don't like racing in the rain. Something about my physiology doesn't agree with the chilling effect of a soaking shower. Perhaps it is my African blood? All I know is I don't dig it. Which is why I decided that, with the possibility of a shower, arm and legwarmers would be a good idea.

At the start of the race, it was just spitting down and, if anything it stopped after the first lap or two. Initially I felt wooden, probably a result of being stuck in the car all week, but after a few minutes I was loosening up nicely. There were two Primes, the first very early on. I placed myself nicely and going up the hill it was a three horse race between (club-mate) Nick and a dude on a Cannondale. Towards the line Nick fell back and Cannon and I fought it out to the line. Near the crest he kicked; I was able to match it but not get ahead. There wasn't much in it, but for a Prime there is no prize for 2nd.

After that I still felt racy and, like last week, immediately got stuck back in at the front. Then it started to rain; initially fairly light but it built up to a fair battering. My legs started to tense up; I was thankful for the warmers. I fought off the cramps but once I'd got over it I was out of touch with the group.

I contemplated just packing it in, but knew I'd hate myself for it so decided to chase, come what may. Fortunately the rain was slowing the group a bit, so after about three hard laps I was back in it. Back in the shelter of the group I was able to get my breath back and after a lap or two got myself back to the front.

Just about at that point an attack was pulling a gap and a quickly a few riders started giving chase - I put on a spurt and got onto the back. I was happily following Nick's wheel into the first right-hander of the lower complex when my front wheel felt loose. I adjusted my line to correct it, but now I was on a trajectory that would involve foliage. From where I was sitting, it also seemed that tightening my line would have inevitably meant a face plant. I chose the former, aiming for the softest looking greenery.

I'd been carrying a lot of momentum, so found myself lodged deep in the very prickly scrub. Carefully I tried to extricate myself and the bike while avoiding further stinging from the bushes. Another rider had come off in sympathy, and so we rode back together to the start to rejoin after our lap out.

Back in the group and with four laps to go I was keen to make amends, but my rear wheel was feeling very slippy in the corners - I thought I'd picked up a puncture through my misadventure. Reluctantly, I stopped to check it out. It wasn't soft, but the edges were covered in a slick layer of mud. Too late now, I'd lost touch.

So a bit of a bummer, but the good bits felt good. My next race will probably Palace on Tuesday, I'm looking forward. Sun please!

Bagged another Prime

Thursday nights race at Hog Hill was the most fun I've had on a bicycle in ages. Having won the points needed for promotion to 3rd Cat at Thruxton, and consequently my goal for the season, the pressure was off and I was happy to just enjoy riding hard and racing.

At the start the Commissaire mentioned that there would be a Prime at some point in the race. I was feeling lazy, and hardly motivated for sprinting shenanigans, so I thought I'd give it a miss - leave all that crazy stuff for the other guys.

But as soon as we started rolling my perspective changed, and I felt up for some racing. I kept near the front, conserving energy but staying in the thick of it. After a few laps the signal for the Prime was given. At first I was happy to stick with my assertion of taking it easy, but I couldn't. I'd been contemplating a charge up the left and was feeling pretty handy, so on the run up to the hill I watched and waited.

Another rider jumped quite early, near the foot of the climb. It was earlier than I'd wanted to go, but given it would be a great lead out, I jumped on. Close to where the hill starts to rise up, and nearly level with the front of the group, I made my move. The riders at the front were already starting to accelerate; I kicked hard. Clear of the group, and just cresting the hill, I spotted a wheel just off my rear. Somehow I managed to find a little bit extra and accelerated hard to the line and didn't let up until it was mine.

From then on, I got right on back with proceedings. I was surprised how quickly I recovered and how I was able to get stuck right in; although I did take it a bit easier for a few laps.

All too soon it was the final lap. To be brutally honest with myself, I'd lost concentration and ended up badly positioned in the group so wasn't able to contest the final sprint. Pity, because I think I had the legs for it.

Next week will be the final race of the Hog Hill Summer Series. I will miss racing at Redbridge, it is a fantastic circuit.

3rds

Photo used with the kind permission of Graham Robins

After Hog Hill I was angry. Angry and depressed. I knew I could do so much more than all my recent race results implied, so to have yet another "nearly" result sucked. I had a lot to prove to myself to keep my motivation up. And I would have to prove it soon.

So all in all I went to Thruxton pretty angry indeed. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. The scars of my mistakes were fresh in my memory and I was determined not to repeat them. I was also determined not to succumb to the excuses. Despite my darling wife's best vicious massaging efforts substantially reducing the knot in my right calf (following the cramp), I still had a small and painful residual knot deep in the muscle. I'd also had a bad sleep the night before and woke up feeling rubbish, but I was determined not to take the easy way out and not race.

Running about 15 minutes late, I was soon rolling along the M4 headed west with my best motivational tunes playing. But I was nervous. I had big expectations - this was crunch time. I wanted a win.

My usual pre-race routine went like clockwork, and before long I was waiting with the rest of the field for the race to start. As soon as we were let off, two riders made a jump. I considered chasing, but thought that they'd probably burn and it would be too big a risk to take.

Of course, that was the only move of the day that stayed away until the finish, go figure. Even with the benefit of hindsight, I don't regret not following it; even if it meant I couldn't take the win.

My race was great. I raced hard. I chased attacks. I made my own attacks. Most were pointless, but two had half a chance. Most importantly, my later attacks softened up the opposition. All those mistakes I'd made in the last few races made me stronger, more wily. I felt like a cat amongst the pigeons. I felt confident. It felt good.

Fast forward to the start of the last lap: I opened the taps and put on the pressure. There was a rider out from a jump on the hill, I quickly bridged the gap and put the pressure on. Inevitably the group caught up, but they'd had to chase. Up the hill I took shelter in the group, and then roughly at the last brake-marker sign I kicked and didn't look back until just before the line.

Every rider dreams of winning a bunch sprint, crossing the line with no-one ahead and the group chasing behind in vain. I was so happy I screamed and then managed to hit myself on the head. I not sure what made me happier, winning the sprint or ending my streak of poor races.

Whatever it was it didn't matter. Nor did it matter that I actually only came 3rd. It mattered that I'd done what I set out to do - almost as if I'd scripted it.

So what next? This finish secures my promotion to 3rd Cat, so my racing moves to "the next level". And I reckon it's time to shave my legs again.

There are other great pics of the race on Graham Robins' website.