Raindrops

Flecks of spittle fling from my lip.

Every blink smears a foggy sheen on tired retinas, receding ever more reluctantly.

Ninety minutes in and sodden feelings begin to seep through cape, jacket, skin. Finding reddened flesh.

I look at nothing but see much, flitting past in peripherals. Damp fields, the drip from a hawthorn branch gliding downwards, impossibly slow, as I slither past. 

Profiles of faces in cars, warmer than mind but pale, lifeless. Bleak.

A gnawing permeates taut muscles, ancient pains twinge in a knee from seasons past. Core temperature drops, as do shoulders, and I know I have at best a handful of miles left in me. Welcome back.

                                    I'm home.

“60kph, mais encore il ne freine pas…”

I’m writing this having just read my previous post back to myself. I’d say this weekend I was less “At one with the bike” and more at one with the floor.

Stage one of the Saint Brieuc Agglo Tour was 140km with six short circuits at the end to enjoy the sights of the town. When I say sights, I mean the piggish climbs, and when I say enjoy, I mean detest. Joyfully the organisers decided to send us up the steepest climb of the course about 500m after the depart which was just fantastic for all involved.

On my favourite climb of the day.

Just like Le Pertre last Monday I got into the break of the day (by riding across to it), but again just like on Monday I was in a box. I used my few good efforts getting to the breakaway and after that it was pretty much game-over Casanova. I dangled on and off the back until 10km to go, when les jambes ont explosé and I did my best to get to the finish without losing too much time to the leaders. I lost a minute to nine riders which I don’t think is bad given my physical state by the end!

Sunday morning was the time trial - 8.6km, pan flat, a few corners, rain - right up my street basically. I did a super long warm up, doing my best to ignore the soigneur who was standing approximately 15cm away from me and kept trying to make conversation. Previous episodes with this man include him exclaiming that English riders are grumpy after I just missed out on winning a stage in Essor Breton, and him telling me I’m ten kilograms overweight. But I digress.

About 45 seconds before I'm sliding down the road.

I felt pretty dreadful for almost all of the warm-up but finally my legs came good before the off, and with some fire in my belly I headed down the ramp. I was seriously up for this one. Before the second ninety degree right hand corner I was coming in much too fast (see the title), the roads were treacherous, and I locked up my front wheel in a straight line. Once you’ve lost your front wheel you’ve got about 0.01 seconds to contemplate life before you’re sliding down the road on your arse at 55kph. I got up, I got back on, and I kept pushing. I felt so strong, it was tragic. I finished thirty one seconds down and a lot of people there told me it was mine for the taking, but that’s how sport is sometimes.

Sam and I larking about before the final stage. Everything a-beards to be normal.

The afternoon stage was 97km on a 6.5km circuit so lots of laps, and every lap had about 2km of climbing and 2km of descending. The break went from the gun, which was jolly unsporting and what was also a bit below the belt was how much pain my right hand side was giving me. In the end I climbed off after about 45km because I couldn’t hold the bars properly and honestly I couldn’t make myself do it anymore. My plan for this week is to regroup, re-energise and aim for something big to finish the year off.

I've just got to lose that 10kg!

Team Duties

I raced an interclub on Sunday in Affligem and my plan of doing as little as possible until the final 20k went bottoms up when the manager told me to get in the early break. I'd spent the preceding few days psyching myself up to just sit in, rest up, save it for the finale, etc. etc. Same old story really!

I got in every move going to try and sneak off and do what the boss said but nothing stuck. I felt good over the Mur and the Bosberg and was in a big split at the front, which I was convinced was the break of the day, but then guys started attacking each other (why?) and we got bought back. A small group went on the finishing circuits and I clipped off the front with our road captain and a few others in a bid to get across to what turned out to be the winning break. I put in some big efforts but we were chased down by the Lotto team in the bunch (it feels cool to say that at least) and it came to nothing. So that was more or less the end of my legs and I spent the rest of the race slipping and sliding around the bunch. I blew completely with 5k to go and lost about ten minutes on what was left of the bunch (don't tell anyone though because I was given the same time). Classic Dewey! Oh and I nearly forgot to mention we rode through four different storms which included wind, rain and a cheeky bit of hail; good old Belgium. 

'Maybe this break will stick...' Nah.

I'm getting very conscious (because my girlfriend told me yesterday) of how all my recent posts are just about how I do too much in the race, it doesn't work and then I blow up, and I am trying to change my ways. I feel like this is my own personal AA meeting: 'admitting you have a problem is the hardest step', but I've done that now. I just need to sit in in the races now!

Lotto chasing the break, me chasing the wheel in front.

Reconnaissance Training

Yesterday Josh, Gus and I headed out to Geraardsbergen to recce the course for Sunday’s race. ‘Twas a characteristically windy and cold day in Belgium with intermittent rain doing it’s best to lift the spirits. I did the gentleman’s trick of sitting on the other two guys because I was feeling pretty empty and then attacking them up the Mur of Geraardsbergen and the Bosburg: all good clean fun! It’s going to be fun racing up such iconic climbs at the weekend and I’m sure I’ll be getting teary eyed and philosophical (for all the wrong reasons).

The mighty Mur

Today’s rest day has so far included such activities as foam roller self flagellation (supposedly for the gain of flexibility), trying to get Caruso the dog to jump onto the balcony from down in the garden and the staple diet of exchanging insults and seeing who can punch the chair hardest. Incidentally it was either Hunt or Yetman. It’s been a rich experience all round.

I hear that it’s been the wettest April on record in England which is nice to know because it’s been atrocious over here too. I’m beginning to get a little bored of horizontal hail - queue lectures from old boys about character building et cetera. A couple of us are off to France next weekend for a race which will be a welcome change of scene, and interesting to see how the racing differs. I’ll report back on Sunday after the weekend. Ciao!