La Roue Tourne, et l'Essor Breton

My comeback race at Rouillon last weekend wasn't terrible, nor terrific really. I got myself into the break of the day, we got caught by a big counter group at around 100km in, and then my legs exploded. It's to be expected really after a few weeks without endurance, but it wasn't that jolly nonetheless! I crawled to the circuits, getting caught and passed by another group and then the peloton, climbed into the car and told myself I'd done my best.

Penguins have got the right idea.

Onto Thursday and Essor Breton, one of the most popular stage races in Bretagne. Smoothing over the rough edges like any good carpenter of life I'll breeze over Thursday and Friday because, frankly, I wasn't very good. I had some grupetto time on Thursday and on Friday I was abused by the GP Plouay climb six times and didn't fancy the uphill sprint.

Luckily I remembered the sun-cream. 

Saturday consisted of a team time trial followed by 96km in the afternoon: the French love a double day! The weather for the TTT was dreadful - a downpour, and the parcours was a leeeetle bit crazy. Narrow roads, fast technical descents, blind corners, a few sharp little kickers, a spattering of cobbles, of course plenty of wind, it had it all! At some point I did 76kph which is pretty darn rapid when you can see basically nothing through your helmet visor!

As a team we did a pretty good ride for our first TTT together and personally I was really happy because I had good legs! We didn't take any risks on the corners and were slightly ragged in places so to be 29 seconds down on EFC Omega Pharma (minimum rider height 190cm, minimum quad diameter 80cm) ain't too shabby really!

In the afternoon stage a split went early and having some knowledge of the roads because I lived nearby last year I caned it down a descent and rode across alone. We were later joined by more riders to make a group of 25 or so at the front: I was the only Nantais at this point. Queue sitting on like a boss! I nearly got put into a stationary motorbike by a combination of no signalling by the riders in front and some poor moto-marshalling but hey, all's fair in war (there was no love in this breakaway, trust me!). In the last few laps of the circuit the group had swelled after a counter attack arrived with Greek reinforcements, (thank you Pol!). Unfortunately we were both swinging a touch and I couldn't do much other than launch the sprint early to claw back some time on the few riders in front. It had been a short stage but the race was completely shredded with a new leader on GC and a lot of people dropped and abandoning.

Getting my arse kicked by the Plouay Worlds circuit

5:15am and the alarm beeps away merrily, but in fact I've already been awake for 45 minutes (thanks body clock!). I lollop to breakfast and proceed to pour a full cup of coffee down my crotch... wow, today is going to be a good day! The final stage was on Belle île so we had a two hour boat trip to get there, leaving at 7am sharp. You can imagine how high morale was in the rider camp even before a pretty sickening crossing! I did have to laugh though when, thirty minutes in as the sea got really rough and people were lurching for the sick bags, someone shouted "la sélection a commencé!". A lot of riders got shelled on that boat crossing!

Always positive me!

The stage was 160km, extremely windy and exposed and with some painful climbs included. Pol got up the road early doors (hero) so I sat back (sort of) and tried to hang in there. The legs were pretty sore and I was very close to being dropped several times. We passed the team vehicles six times that day, which is a horrible mental challenge, and a lot of guys just couldn't make themselves continue after being spat out the back. We also passed by a beautiful beachy cove with some quaint little boats bobbing at anchor and a few deck chairs just sitting there empty, mocking us.

Omega Pharma decided to absolutely smash a crosswind section on the first lap and words cannot describe the panic in the field: one line, a gutter, a wheel in front, a prayer in your head. Secretly you want a gap to go several wheels in front so that the pain can stop and it not be your fault. But no one ever says that. I survived, and two laps later the Dutch team Croford did the same thing again, and split the bunch. I was five wheels behind the split but it was now or never and I stuck it in the eleven and rode across alone. I was hanging twenty metres off the group in front for literally a minute. In a word: hell.

All events after this are a blur to me. My legs came 'good', relatively speaking, at around 100k in (about flippin' time!) and after many splits and regroups and catching Pol's breakaway group in front I found myself in a break of five riders with 20k to go. I did as little as possible as one of the riders was going for GC, before we were pulled back by the race leader behind defending his jersey. Another group went straight over the top and I marked it, clawing my way up to the wheel in a disgusting cross-headwind section. I did one turn and then sat on, because second and third on GC were here with a teammate each (in a group of six) and I wanted to win really badly. I played poker, trying to be a cool cucumber and await my chance.

I knew to win I would have to disconnect my brain for the final few corners, with 1k remaining. I attacked just before them on a little descent and went round those dodgy damp twists 'comme un fou', nearly losing it on a cobbled gutter and taking out a spectator. I hit the final 600m climb with maybe five seconds advantage and my body was shutting down, I couldn't really hold the bike straight anymore. I knew it was only 150m now to the line, and I gave it all I had. A flicker to my right told me it was lost, finished. Second place is ok, but a win is something else!

DMD.

No Excuses.

But I got a puncture.

But the weather changed and I had to go back to the team car and give them my knee warmers, caskette and gabba jersey.

But I had backache.

But my landlady had friends round last night and they were drinking and talking until 1:30am.

Big deal! I could have used all of these excuses on Sunday, but I didn’t, because I’m so tired of hearing excuses. Phew, got that off my chest, now...

Oh here I am, just climbin' and stuff.

I’m not sure exactly why but I don’t have many memories of the race, Fleche de Locmine, but I have snippets that come back to me when I close my eyes. I’ll try and write them down for you here.

After going back to the team car to drop off some excess kit I remember seeing a corner coming up, and a potential crosswind section emerging rapidly, as I struggled to move up the bunch. ‘Uh oh!’ is the edited version of the words I said to myself.

With one hand on the drops I’m fishing around in my jersey for some sustenance, whilst the line of riders in front slinkies along the road. I catch my hand on something and the pin gauges a neat slice through my palm. I’m so focussed on the wheels ahead I barely notice and after the race it will take me hours to work out how it happened.

A sudden hail storm descends on us with 20k to go and I feel the rider’s expressions turning sallow, morale deserts them and their shoulders slump. I smile, knowing that the painful impacts of the icy marbles are hurting them but they’re not hurting me. They’re not even touching me.

Okay maybe they were touching me here...

I take a deep sigh and change into the correct gear for the finishing straight before the final corner. I don’t have to take any risks now, I have thirty seconds, maybe more. I’m dancing on the pedals out of the saddle to get up to speed and then I’m in the noise and in the reflection of every person’s eyes. I close mine and breathe in the scent of anticipation, tension, stress, suffering. And I breathe out. I own this moment.

This feels awfully self indulgent! 

DMD

Nantes-Segré

Having not made the cut for the second Coupe de France race, Sunday's outing was a slightly lower key affair and, rather handily, was just down the road. I say lower key; it was still an Elite National and had countless ex-pros, the Europcar feeder team Vendee U, and a lot of hungry ambition present. I was hungry. I’m always hungry. Luckily I bought some rice for before the race! I also wanted to win, lots. 

 

'I don't think this is going to work out...'

On Saturday when I was out training I had very good sensations (290 watts for two hours, no sweat, for those interested). Sunday rolled around and I felt even better, it was madness. I’m milking this a bit because riders worldwide will know that feelings like this do not come around very often, particularly not on race days. After avoiding a potentially disgusting collision with a traffic island 15k in, myself and Pol headed up the road in a counter attack to join the early break in which Nantes weren’t represented. We had a lot of passengers and even when we converged on the breakaway it wasn’t ideal. We couldn’t get more than 50 seconds and having two riders there we were obliged to drive it, despite it being almost certainly doomed. After about 20k we knocked it on the head and the peloton regrouped.

 

Death attacks- commence!

From this point there were countless splits, surges, attacks, counters and other racing frivolities. We were racing through some narrow lanes complete with dust, gravel and a lung-opening dose of crottes de vache, and looking behind at the carnage I have to say I smiled. I had another pant-wetting moment involving a gravelly right hander which came out of nowhere, an old boy marshal without enough puff to blow his whistle, and an on-bike pirouette to avoid eating tarmac. I stayed upright.

 

Smiling like I really mean it.

When we arrived at the finishing circuits for five laps of 4k, there was a group of five riders still just ahead, so my teammate Anthony and I one-two'd our group and I managed to split it and ride up to the front with a few others. The final laps were war: with two riders from Vendee U, two from AuberVilliers (another decent squad) and various others, I decided to take the fight to them. I threw down some pretty savage death attacks, of which the final one dragged myself and two others off the front, but I couldn't shake them and getting trounced in the sprint was an unfortunate inevitability. I'm less happy, more content with 3rd, but I am really pleased with the physical progress I've made this season.

 

You know it's been a toughie when the winner (right) doesn't even look that happy post line.

I'm heading up to Bretagne for Fleche-Locmine on Sunday.

Until then.

DMD

And we're off.

Last weekend was my second one of racing, and again it involved pinning a number on for both Saturday and Sunday, as well as a cheeky midweek outing yesterday! If possible, it was even more successful than the last set of races for us 'Nantaises'. La saison a certainement commencer!

Saturday was seven laps of 20 kilometres which had an epic crosswind section right on the Vendee beach every lap through the line. With Vendee U present (the feeder team to Europcar) as well as various other stong outfits (including us!), it was always going to be a catfight in the crosswinds. I loved it.

Didn't fancy doing no-handed, that's how strong the wind was!

Each team took it in turns to put the hammer down, but in the end it regrouped around the back of the circuit on the final lap. My teammate Mathieu went on a courageous solo attack around 15k out but was clawed back and then, as a Vendee U rider countered I saw the perfect opportunity. I went with him, despite wanting to save my legs for the final kilometre, and what ensued was 9k of two-up time trial work, most of it into a block headwind. Just to sweeten the deal we had a 170 strong bunch breathing down our necks, ten seconds behind, the whole way home. 

Just before la flamme I launched one and held my ex-companion at ten metres, before finally cracking him in the final few hundred and enjoying the victory. It felt good. (Handsome Clement got 3rd too, like a bawse!)

Sunday was a great tactical race, the pinnacle of which was without doubt the shredding of the peloton we did in the final lap. With 20k to go we got on the front and gently rode through and off for a few kilometres before turning a ninety degree corner into crosswinds and letting loose. It was wild and savage and wonderful!

Just before everything got a bit crazy.

At one point it was just the 10 of us riding through and off and we had dropped the entire rest of the field! 

Sublime tactical perfection.

In the end it was a group of 27 riders left in the finale, with 10 of us, and it was attack after attack. I put in the last big one, but got caught 300m short which was a shame. Vincent got 4th in the sprint.

The blue train.

Tuesday was a damp squib for me personally as I didn't have the legs to do much, and spent the final hour getting a tan in the grupetto. Lorenzo claimed 5th on what was a hard third day's racing in four days.

Today has been a nice day off, involving many pancakes, Nutella, and the washing of cycling kit.
Yes people, my life is crazy.

I'm flying down to Marseille on Saturday for GP Jean Masse on Sunday (a Coupe de France) and GP d'Aix on Monday. Have a fun weekend one and all.

DMD

"Douglas Dewey, c'est du solide"

Cool headline eh?! I don’t want to make this post too long and boring so I’ll rattle through Saturday’s race. I was at doping control on Friday night until nearly midnight: great for the sport, not good for my legs! By the time I got home and into bed it was about 1am. I felt ill at ease the next day on the bike and was a watched man to a ridiculous level in a field of 28 riders, 7 of whom were from the same team. Long and short of it, I climbed off after an hour with the 3^rd placed finisher from the night before. We were cooked.

Red socks, pink kit... Errrrr, my others were in the wash okay!

From the highest heights to the lowest lows, that’s just me! I was feeling a bit down on Saturday night, foolish I realise, but I’m an emotional bloke you know? I went to my favourite spot down by the river with a beer and had a little paddle to relax.

I made myself ride on Sunday morning for an hour to get the legs going and then headed off to the race after two coffees: it was one of those mornings! I got to the start town and after seeing no sign of any race luckily stumbled across the course about 4km away on the industrial estate, phew. No time for a warm up, I just got my numbers and had a chat with fellow Brit Noah Banner before the start. It’s good to see young riders coming out here for proper racing.

We even had time for some dancing during the race.

The start was swift and my legs did not enjoy that much. When it settled down I made it into the front group and sat in for a bit. After an hour my legs were coming good and so, after a prime sprint, I decided to get up the road and make the race come to me. In hindsight perhaps 30km out was too far, but hey, nothing ventured nothing gained. I gained 20 seconds and hung out there for about 11km and when the riders came back up to me there were a lot less of them.

I think cramp did something to my face.

Les Francais were loving this show of panache/stupidity by now so I seemed to have a fair bit of crowd support. Fast-forward to the final kilometre and I’m just off the back of the group clawing my way back after sliding backwards on the final climb. As I reached the group someone attacked and I went to follow him. Just as I came up to his wheel he decided to pull off, with 700 metres to go, and me breathing down his neck. MISTAKE! I held my speed and put the legs into turbo mode, and that was game over for the rest behind as I held my twenty metre advantage to the line.

Glamour? No. Pain? Yes.

There are plenty of things I can take away from this race. Even if a course isn’t perfect for me it’s possible to ride it in such a way that means I’m more in control, namely by sliding backwards on the climb every lap to save the legs! Eating a banana on the start line will get you a one-way ticket to chunder-town. Finally, the French love aggressive riding: what’s French for gung-ho? Tactiques folles?

I know what you're thinking! I've got some winnings now so yes, I'll get down the hairdresser pronto guys!

When you're sure, you're sure.

I won on Friday. I knew I was going to. I had been thinking about my victory celebration for the past few days which, in the end, I didn't have time to use. I was so confident that I’d even spent time choosing socks which looked cool for the photos and I’d bought a couple of beers to celebrate. I don’t want to come across as headstrong, but I had such good feelings it would happen I felt unstoppable. And now for a little story about the race…

DodgeBall fans: "You've gotta get angrrrry!"

Peloton politics can be such a ball ache. When you see the pros on telly they don’t really do much pissing about until the final few kilometres, or at least it looks that way. At the level I’m at right now it happens literally all the time. Even if you’re in the breakaway of the day some jerk-off will miss a turn and then you’ll be shouted at even though it’s the guy behind you who’s the lazy one. Then everyone starts attacking each other. In criteriums this is even more of a truth.

On Friday night I missed the break of eight riders clipping off, so I rode across alone (well there was a guy on my wheel, but he couldn’t give a turn). As soon as I got there the self assigned ‘Patron’ of the break decided to give me a hard time for missing one turn, as I was feeling a tad jaded at that point. He made a friend in me there and then. Needless to say when I attacked at the end I made damned sure he was unable to follow. Revenge is sweet, mate.

The group shredded in the final 5km lap and it was me and one other rider at the front, with me driving it. I decided to attack him but he clawed me back, then obstinately sat on me. Fair enough I suppose. At this point I thought I was riding for second; I’d gone pretty deep to escape. It came down to a super fast tailwind sprint which I led out (big ring eleven of course) and thank god won! Geeks out there, I really wanted to win and the proof? 1585 watts peak power. Yes that’s a new record, by miles!

Me and my buddy the commentator bloke. 3>

I’ve got more to report on from the weekend but you’ll have to wait guys, I’ve got to do some food shopping! À tout à l’heure!

When life gives you lemons... Kick life in the face, get your head in the game and cycle real fast.

Like I said last post: the form, it returneth! And so with it does my happy face. I'm glad to say my form is on an upward trajectory now after suffering through the stage race last week and yesterday I reaped the rewards. I got a solid second place at race number three of Ronde Finistérienne which took place on a pretty fast 5km circuit.

"Oh is that a split? Better close that..."

"Oh good, back at the front. Hang on... Who just dropped that wheel?"

"I mean really! Okay, no panic. Back up there with the front group again."

Despite riding one of the most atrocious tactical races ever, in the world, since time began, I was strong enough to compensate and save a result. Perhaps I was a little rusty after my little break but I'd like to think I was unlucky too, as both the series leader and the best young rider missed the decisive splits. My 'unfortunate-ness' basically meant that I had to ride across to a 30 rider group, alone. Then a 20 rider split, with just three others. Then when the eventual winner attacked I missed it AGAIN and was forced to chase behind with two others. In the end it got a bit desperate and I had to drop them on the final climb in a last ditch attempt to shut down the solo leader. I bought his lead down from 30 seconds to about 10 seconds in 3km, but it was too late. I watched him celebrate the win just ahead of me, like he had been all day. Sickening.

"Really glad that Nantes Atlantiques guy was allowed to escape... Gahhhhh."

Getting some 'alone time' in the final lap, chasing furiously.

You are never too strong to suffer.

Still, I'm pretty excited about my rejuvenated strength and chuffed, may I modestly add, that my tan was up there with the best of them! Thanks sun!

I kept up my daily record of being behind schedule for the podium too! Oops, sorry!

Remember when...?

I think the last five days are going to be recounted many a time and if I ever make it to a ripe old age and I'm rocking away in my favourite armchair, terrorizing young nurses, they're going to get very bored of "...It was the summer of 2013, (back when we had summers!), when I was on my way back from the National Championships..."

Showing Peter Sagan up with my sick wheelies, pre-warm up.

Before I go into the gory details I'll briefly talk about the race: in the time trial on Thursday night I came fourth. I'm happy with that, as with it being so tight at the top I was only 12 seconds away from third, and second! It's amazing that after over an hour of racing four guys who train completely differently can be within 32 seconds of one another, and two guys can be within 0.1 seconds! I was gutted not to make the podium but I know that I couldn't have given anything more. To paraphrase various Greats of the sport: 'All you can control is what you do and if you give 100% in a time trial then you have to be content with the outcome'.

Team talk with chief soigneur Martin, just before the off.

After my drive up on Wednesday I had a bit of a sore throat and it turns out that when you push yourself hard your body tends to perform a coup against you. So on Thursday night and Friday I went from sore throat, to chesty cough, to headache and beyond. I kept thinking that maybe I could get over it by eating loads of fruit and napping but the body is a stubborn mule and when it's decided, there's no arguing. So that was the end of my Nationals campaign, I began my drive back on Sunday morning a little disappointed, but glad I made a decent showing in the TT. I must say a HUGE thank you to Ed Hood and his lovely lady Marlene for putting me up and showing me the bright lights of Edinburgh town. Also, Martin from http://www.veloveritas.co.uk/ is an awesome soigneur as well as a talented reporter. Thanks to the Dave Rayner Fund for supporting me financially and giving me the means to make the fairly epic trip up to the Highlands, I appreciate it guys!

If you want to check out the race in more detail here are some good links:

VeloVeritas report

VeloUK report

ITV4 video coverage

Is that a gel in your shorts or are you just pleased to see me?

And so the real story begins! I'm halfway back from Scotland on my 450 mile drive when steam begins billowing from Saasha the Skoda, never a great sign. After pulling over I realise that yes, the car is really rather hot, and no it's probably not a good idea to try and stick my head under the bonnet just yet. My main worry at this moment is that the car is going to spontaneously combust, Hollywood style, and torch the £15k worth of bike equipment in the boot. Thankfully, that didn't happen and the nice RAC man Simon turned up  to tell me everything was okay: except, he didn't. It turns out that the fan belt snapped, and within a few minutes the engine cooked itself, all the seals warped, gaskets cracked, and dreams of a future together forever were shattered.

Epic PR coverage from the guys back in France!

I was a little stumped as to what was normal procedure in this position. To summarise I'm 230 miles from home, with two bikes, six wheels, four bags, three helmets and a tonne and a half of stationary metal. Thankfully Simon, my newest and bestest friend at this point, towed me to a just lovely Holiday Inn at the services where I enjoyed a five star meal of microwave lasagne and a gin and tonic and made plans for the next day. 

Trying to keep my head in the game, and out of the wind, on the second lap.

9am Monday morning and I'm calling round scrap yards to get the best price for Saasha whilst also trying to get a hire car delivered to get my stuff home in. I sort out both within the hour and then wait a few more to get picked up by the car rental lady Liz to travel to the compound and pick up my swanky new car. We get to the office and as forms are being filled out it dawns on us that yes I'm 24 years old, which is younger than 25 and therefore they can't help me. The look of guilt on the guys faces at Enterprise was so intense I felt bad for them! By this point, nothing could phase me so I just chuckled and shrugged. To their credit they were great and found another company, a rival, that would sort me out and then drove me to their compound. Thanks very much Jon-Jay and Liz, you legends! The new rental guys, Thrifty, needed a proof of address and having broken down on the motorway I didn't have a bank statement on me surprisingly. Off I trotted to the bank, two miles down the road, for a bit of impromptu cross training.

Really glad to see Matt Bottrill finish an awesome 2nd on Thursday!

I returned with the forms and despite coming across as a pretty dodgy character: "Yeah so, that address is my home address, but I live with my sister at another address. And erm, I sort of live in France too *gulp*..." They rented me the car. By this point, Saasha was at the scrap yard, in Bolton, with all my bike stuff in. Visions of a huge metallic claw grabbing her by the roof, smashing windows and dropping her into the crusher were providing me with some quite vivid daytime nightmares. Off to Bolton I toddled and after two occasions of asking where my car was, and subsequently crapping myself, at two wrong scrap yards (all I had to work on was a phone number and a vague location) I found her.

I'm not sentimental with possessions but giving up your car after four years and 50000 miles is like losing a best friend. You know your car will always be there to help you out, even if she does smell a bit funny, drips a bit from her undercarriage and provides a constant annoying drone when driving over 30mph. A car is freedom, and spontaneity, two things I love. Plus her life insurance figure of £200 from the scrappers seemed like a pretty poor payout for someone so fundamental in my life.

Dealing with the hoards of screaming girls post race. It's just a part of my life now.

It's been a crazy few days and quite a weird series of events I think you'll agree, but I've met some lovely people. Those northern monkeys are alright you know! Now to make all you young-uns hate me rather than pity me, I'm off to Glastonbury festival tonight. BOOM! Life is swings and roundabouts. See ya.