T' Tour de Yorkshire - Etape training?

(Warning, this is long, but does have some pictures)

Pictures

This weekend I got on my bike and tried to ride the first two stages of the 2014 Tour de France back to back.

That's more than 350km, with 6,000 metres of climbing, in two days. I was in no way ready.

The weather was cold and showers were forecast on and off all day, I found myself envying Pez’s knee warmers and wishing I’d packed a softshell.

But even that couldn't dampen the enthusiasm on the morning of Day 1 - exactly a week before Yorkshire hosts the Grand Depart - I got my gear together, packed my pockets with gels and headed to the pre-ride briefing. 

Safety briefing + professional riders

There was a real buzz at the start, three members of the Wiggle Honda team were riding with us and Yorkshire had thoroughly bought into the Tour's visit: The streets, homes, businesses and public spaces were en fete - bunting and decorations everywhere, strings of knitted polka-dot, green and yellow jerseys, roadside decorations, yellow-painted bikes everywhere and signs welcoming the Tour to every village and town the route passed through. It was hard not to be infected by the mood.

And off we rolled.

The Grand Depart - Leeds to Harrogate

Our route cut out the neutralised start from Leeds, leaving from Harrogate instead, and joined the ride when the racing proper starts - the total distance covered was pretty identical to the official ride.

Stage 1 is meant to be a sprinter's stage. "Flat" as the official guide has it. It's not. Well, not to me anyway.

Not flat

I started well, not quite as well as Pez, who found a quick group and pushed ahead of me. I spent 20kms chasing him, and them, down.

Just as I succeeded, passing him on a small descent, my GoPro escaped. I was trying out the camera - fitted to my handle bars - to capture some of the scenery while riding and some footage if possible. 

Chasing Pez, moments before the camera escaped

The plan failed when the clip on the bike mount broke and it skittered away across the road. I stopped to reclaim it and lost Pez, and the group, again.

After the GoPro had been stuffed into my back pocket (a real shame, I was looking forward to getting some footage of the climbs, descents and scenery while riding - and it was working well, as shown above), I re-started - catching up with Paul Adams. I'd never met him before, but in a pleasing symmetry he had No.1 on his bike and I had No.2. "Do you mind me asking your name?" I said riding up next to him, my best guess on how I got such an illustrious number was my alphabetically friendly surname.

We got on, and merrily tapped away together with one of his friends at an average speed a little above 25kph, catching up with Pez (who joined our mini-group) reminiscing about the London Revolution and last year's Etape which he rode as well.

Pulling into the first, picturesque, break stop 65kms in all was well with the world. I grabbed some food, said hello to the llamas in the field next door (ah, local wildlife) and got ready to leave.

The stunning break stop

The first categorised climb was coming - the Cat 3 Cote de Cray - in a few kms and I wanted to be ready. Pez and I rode out (Paul and his friend left ahead of us) and I blew up. I'd blown up with 120kms still to ride.

How badly? Really badly. Really, really badly. The first minor incline saw Pez drop me, and me get dropped by everyone else on the road.

Paul provides a nice comparison point at this point. We hit that first break stop together, with all four of us helping out on the front of our mini-group on the ride over and me - in Pez's words - being the hardest to follow when on the front.

Paul beat me by one hour 18 minutes on stage one.

The next break stop wasn't for another 60 kilometres, over the top of two categorised climbs, and I just couldn't climb - all the power was gone from my legs. I tried eating a lot of gels and drinking plenty too, with no effect.

I cycled along on my own, chatting occasionally with other riders (two groups other than ours were riding the Grand Depart that day, some planning to keep riding the route a week ahead of the pros until the very end of the race). I used the time to marvel at the truly stunning scenery. 

Seriously, if you haven't been, go. As beautiful as any part of the country I've visited. And take your bike – a lot of the roads have been resurfaced for the Tour and there are some great and challenging hills if you fancy it.

Hills on the ‘flat’ stage

The subject of hills brings me to the second categorised climb of the day - Cote de Buttertubs. It's listed as 4.5km at 6.8%. If only it was.

Because that might be the average, but the gradient is far more punishing. It starts with a 17% ramp, flattens, then ramps to 13% again, then is big-ring flat, throws in another 20% ramp, flattens, up to 20% for a bit again, and then it really punishes you.

About the fourth or fifth time this happens, you hit an evil corner on the back of a non-flat section, curving up and around to the left ramping to 18% for the last bit of the climb and just in front of a cattle grid. The man in front of me got off his bike - punished once too often - I followed him. It was only 50m of walking, but my legs - already in a horrid state - said "no more".

It's a perfect hill for a breakaway to form on. Especially as it's followed by a 2km, 9% descent. Seriously, I averaged 54km/h on this (peaking above 65km/h), and I was on non-closed roads and taking things pretty cautiously. The pros will be flying.

Eventually I made it to the break stop on the other side. Pez had already been there 15 minutes. I crammed more food into me, re-stocked on gels and we set off together again. He dropped me the first time the road even inched up.

There was another Cat 3 hill along the way - the magnificently named Cote de Grint on Moor - but by this stage my brain had switched off so all I can tell you is I got over it. I didn't walk again, I remember that much.

But, while I'd settled into my non-functioning state, there was hope to come. 40kms from the end a nice man in Wiggle kit and a Very Expensive Bike (Carbon, Zipp wheels, electronic groupset etc etc) let me latch on to a group. After explaining the concept of "drafting" to the other riders, and learning and then using everyone's first name a lot in a slightly middle-manager-after-a-training-day manner, we rode on... slowly.

Misery loves company, as the saying goes, and while none of my fellow slow coaches were riding day two, riding with them made me feel a lot better. It wasn't fast, but it was social, and while I was dropped on the hills by everyone even in this slowest of groups, we finished - crossing the line together and posing for a picture.

It took me 9:33:24 in total time with 8:38:59 of that riding - on a sprinter's stage I'd averaged just 22.4kp/h. Pez beat me by another 15 minutes, after once again setting out from the break stop together.

Yorkshire businesses bought into the Tour

Recovery

One of the draws of this ride for me was the idea that I'd be riding supported for back-to-back stages, making the experience closer to that of a real Tour de France rider.

There was a Team Wiggle Honda mechanic on hand - who took a look at my creaking bike (the hope was that a worn bottom bracket was holding me back on the hills, grinding under pressure, rather than terrible form. He checked the bike and proscribed "lack of chain lube" as the actual problem - which, to be fair, had my drive train running silky smooth the next day).

I bolted down a plate full of carbs (lasagne, plus rice, plus potato salad, plus a bread roll) and headed for a massage - anything to try and get me through the next day and a remarkably relaxing experience.

I showered, ate another big meal in the evening, had a single beer and hit the hay early. It was the best I could manage.

To try and increase my chances I was trialling beetroot shots - loading up for two days before the race and then one on the morning of Day 1. There's increasingly large amounts of research that say they could help, nothing says they hurt and top athletes (including Mark Cavendish) use them.

But they're vile things. Horrible tasting and nasty to drink. I looked at my beetroot shot for today with disgust. I put it back in my bag, unopened. If they help, they clearly didn't help enough on Saturday and I just couldn't face drinking it.

At this point I honestly didn't know how I was going to get back on my bike for the ride to the safety briefing - let alone finish what has been described as the third hardest stage of the race this year.

Day 2 briefing

Day 2: York-Sheffield

Oddly, once on the bike I was feeling better than I was the day before - more comfortable than the end of the ride on Saturday - or perhaps just more accustomed to my pain.

Once again, we altered the route a little for Day 2. Ditching the pan-flat opening 30kms down a major road and picking the ride up just north of Harrogate ahead of the climbing starting.

And there was a lot of climbing. Nine categorised climbs (we missed the final one in the city centre), 3,600m+ up - more climbing than last year's Etape - and effectively no flat. None. 

Much climbing

It should make for a great stage, which is calling out for a breakaway as forming a train to chase one down will be all but impossible. A good day for a hilly classics specialist to win - possibly even Simon Yates - a bloody awful one for me.

But I had a plan. We formed "Team Tortoise"*. 

Pez was struggling towards the end of Saturday too, and had found a couple of other riders  to finish with: Rich-who-is-actually-from-Yorkshire and Nick from near us.

I got together with them early on, and we stuck together with the express purpose of getting each other to the end, no matter how long it took. It took a really long time.

Along the road another rider joined us - Tim - and it was him and Pez competing for who was climbing best of our groupetto, who came next was anyone's guess. 

Nick had a metal plate in his right leg, with pain shooting along the length of it when putting stress through - think climbs above 10%. His biggest cog on the back was a 25, not nearly enough. But he was the heart and soul of the group, keeping spirits up, chatting away and happy to take really long pulls on the front on the flat and pacing us up shallow hills.

Rich had a dodgy right knee, meaning he simply couldn't climb the steep stuff after the first couple of hours. He was also fun, funny and good company.

But patched up, injured and exhausted riders, forming an autobus to beat the clock and finish the stage is as much a tradition of the Tour as polka dots, bunch sprints and breakaways.

We endured. We supported. We survived.

So much climbing

And there was a lot to endure - 20k in was Cote de Blubberhouses, cat 4, with a descent leading straight into a 24% ramp leading onto another long drag up. I made it up out of the saddle. The views from the top were spectacular and there was the reward of a long descent.

36k in was another climb - uncategorised - followed by the longest flat section of the day (for us) - it was only 10km.

Stunning, lots of climbing though

The scenery was spectacular throughout - bridges over rivers leading to rolling woodland, farmland with stone-walled fields - frequently filled with sheep, cows and horses (we only saw llamas once).

In fact, "what about sheep on the descents?" was a serious question in the safety briefing. That said, the baa-ing at one point was almost musical.

The roads on day two were frequently beautiful too - the smoothest I've ever ridden on. In fact, I've never loved a road surface so much while hating the road itself so fiercely.

There was a lot of hating on Sunday. While the first climb (Blubberhouses) was mostly fine, the others weren't. Oxenhope Moor (cat 3) hurt, Cragg Vale (the longest climb in Britain at 8km+) was relentless if uncomplicated and allowing me to burst at the end to try and bridge to Pez and Tim - and at least there was a long descent after. Ripponden (Cat 3) hurt - lots – starting with a really high gradient, then dropping to a mere 10% for the remaining kilometre.

Two kilometres after you crest it you're onto the Cat 3 Cote de Greetland - and this is the one that broke me.

You see, I had attached a route profile to my top tube - but it was lies. After Ripponden it was meant to be flat, downy, a bit uppy, then big downy.

What it actually was was a 6km climb - the Cote de Greetland – when I was expecting a descent. Every time I rounded a corner and saw more climbing a little bit more of my spirit broke.

According to my top tube, the descent started about 95km in and there was no more climbing. In fact, it didn't start until almost 100 and came after an entire, Cat 3, unmarked, climb.

Top tube of lies

I lost the rest of Team Tortoise (after being first to Ripponden), I trudged on. Slower. And slower. And Slower. I rounded a corner to see even more climbing, I'd been climbing for seemingly ever, I looked once more at my Garmin (100km registered) and my top tube (meant to have been descending 4km ago) and got off my bike. 

Fuck it. Fuck the climbing. Fuck the lying route profile. I was promised a descent, I deserve a descent. I'm absolutely not climbing any effing more. I looked up, saw the scenery and took a photo (above). I trudged on.

There was only 60km left, according to the lying route profile, I could walk that. Probably. Maybe I should get back on the bike, the next break stop wasn't for another 20km+, after the Cat 2 Holme Moss.

I got on, rounded a corner, and saw Nick and Pez waiting for me at the summit. I finally got my descent.

Back together

We were still a long way from home, but I was back with the groupetto. Back chatting, back riding and with a Cat 2 (my first) to come.

I'm not saying it wasn't brutal, but it was expected this time. The gradient sat at 11% and stayed there, for about 5kms, you just ground through it.

I unzipped my gilet to my waist. My jersey then got unzipped to my sternum. My cadence dropped to 40, then 35. It was as hard a climb as the early part of Semnoz, if not as long in total. I clicked up a couple of gears and went out of the saddle for a bit, sat down and clicked down again, I ground and ground and ground and this time I knew when it was ending. This time I had road markers telling me how much further there was, letting me know how far I'd come, with 700m left I sprinted.

Top of Holme Moss plus Derbyshire

Still not done - and losing my bottle

I'd passed the highest bit of the course now, with a final break stop mid-way down the descent - I crammed my face with anything I could lay my hands on like a four-year-old on Halloween - but this particularly nasty stage wasn't done yet.

Three more categorised climbs and a few uncategorised ones in a brutal final 40km awaited. There was simply no flat. You were going up, or down, with what felt like a lot more up (although wasn't).

"I can see Sheffield. It's downhill! Why am I climbing?" as one of the other riders put it.

The top tube profile (which inexplicably I still trusted) at least warned me it was going to be tough, we pushed on. We ran out of water. Eventually a support car came by - we hadn't seen another rider or support car for hours - and filled up on water and food, although Pez missed out initially (he was a little ahead of us on the road, when we met him we shared our water with him) he caught up with the van later.

A little later I threw the new water away - literally - near the back of the autobus I reached for a drink, Tim braked in front of me and I was caught with one hand full of bottle and another on the top of my bars and almost no time to react. I hurled the bidon into a bush (a present for the fans) and hit the brakes. Pez, the only man behind me, burst out laughing.

Lantern Rouge

We were officially the last people on the road and still riding at this point.

We kept going. Kept riding. Kept together except when Nick and Rich's knees forced them to walk up some of the steepest parts. The others waited at the top.

Inexplicably, I was first up the final climb - beasting the descent, almost missing the double-left turn into a seriously steep Stephen lane (1.6km at 10% average and starting harder) - and then we were done. Done, done and done. Well, almost, there were a few ks of descending left. But this time it really was all descending.

Team Tortoise rolled to the finish, lined up ahead of the timing mat and crossed together - all five of us – Tim, Pez and I recording times within a second of each other and Nick and Rich a minute slower thanks to a slightly later start time.

Once the day before times were included I finished last.

But that sentence doesn't quite read right. It has one word too many. Because despite blowing up badly on day one, breaking mentally on day two and taking longer than anyone else to complete it, I rode the first two stages of the Tour de France back to back. I finished.  With a little help from my friends.

*this is my name, other members of Team Tortoise might not appreciate the analogy. But, slow and steady seemed the way to go.

Pop goes the inner tube - final Etape/Tour de Yorkshire preparation gone wrong

All dead

 My cleats are almost worn out - making clipping into my left pedal almost impossible.

I've been riding the same set of tyres since before the Etape last year. And turboing on them too. They're covered in ominous looking cuts and worn paper-thin.

My bottom bracket is clicking under stress (when I climb or sprint).

Changing from the big to small ring frequently involves so much stress that my fingers sometimes hurt.

My chain is almost 5,000km old. As is my cassette.

And I'm riding the first two stages of the Tour de France this weekend...

On the plus side, my brake pads are in decent nick.

It was time for the final equipment check/replacement.

First things first

The cleats were pretty east to swap. I'm a bit paranoid about their positioning after my bike fit (ie I don't want to undo the good work done then), but they've been outlined in permanent marker so I checked carefully and fitted new ones.

There's an outside chance they'll need to be replaced again before the Etape proper in July, but the idea of riding more than 300km in two days struggling to clip in means if I have to replace them again, I'll gladly do it.

Tyres came next. I'm more than comfortable changing tyres and fixing punctures - and had relatively recently swapped my old tyres and tubes onto my new wheels, then added old tyres and tubes to the old wheels so they could act as spares - so this shouldn't have been a problem.

It was.

I'd bought identical tyres to the ones I used last year - Schwalbe Ultremo ZXs. They've been good servants.  The reviews say "very, very fast" ; they're light, have some puncture protection and - most importantly - I can buy ones that match my bike's colour scheme.

In the year I've been riding them I've only had one puncture - and that was a pinch after I smashed into a pot hole during a sportive, so I didn't see a reason not to buy them again.

With relative confidence I stripped my old tyre from my front wheel and tried to fit the new one. It was hard. A lot harder than I remember. I slipped and cut my hand. Then did that again.

Eventually, with the aid of three tyre levers, swearing, grunting and the like I got the new tyre on. I then inflated it whereupon it instantly exploded with an ear-splitting "BANG!".

I tried again. This time I was careful to avoid a pinch, it took seemingly forever again and was just as truculent. I part inflated the tyre and checked for a pinch again and then inflated all the way. "BANG!"

My ears were ringing a bit at this point.

Third time lucky. I was incredibly careful this time, and questioning my policy of a 120psi inflation straight away to check for pinches (although I'd rather find out in the corridor by the stairs than on the road). It held.

Worried now (I was running out of spare tubes) I gingerly approached my rear tyre. It couldn't have been simpler, tyre swapped and re-inflated and wheel back on in five minutes - without even needing levers to fit.

I went upstairs to watch Belgium-Russia. 30 minutes later "Bang!".

The front tyre had exploded again - this time it looked like a dodgy tube, it had split along the seam. Three tubes had gone on the same wheel, all bursting in different places.

This was turning into a very expensive process.

I'm now scared I've got a dodgy tyre - given how hard it was to fit compared with my memories, the rear tyre and also the last version of the same tyre. But with only a few days until my mini Tour de Yorkshire, there's not a lot I can do. The new tubes are in the post and I'm just going to have to be super careful fitting one.

Servicing and the rest

The full service (where bottom bracket, cassette, chain etc were to be checked) I had planned has also fallen by the wayside, as there are now no slots left before the weekend, and with the bike out of action thanks to tube fears I can't even do base training until the new tubes arrive.

On the plus side, the bike held up well on Saturday - getting me up the 1.5km, 9% of Ditchling Beacon pretty stress freely - so with luck it can wait until Monday when it's booked in for a full check-up.

Hopefully you can all learn from my mistakes and get everything checked out and in order now - with a month to go before the big event, not a few days.

The King's yardstick - How's my Etape training compares to last year

Training this year has mostly been about finding nice cafes, and buying things

This year has been far more relaxed than last in my preparations for the Etape.

By this time last year I was dieting hard and lost a good 5-6kgs, had gone on two training camps, one in Majorca one in Wales, had turboed a lot and ridden a lot more than I'd turboed.

I made a plan of progressively harder sportives to ride along the way too, and was following a training plan devised by actual sports training people to get you through the Etape.

This year, I'm 3kg over my Etape weight and haven't really dieted at all, have been on no training camps, turboed not enough and weekend riding has been sporadic lately.

The list of sportives has been replaced with social rides with a few cycling buddies - some of whom are riding the Etape themselves, some of whom aren't.

On the plus side, I lost an entire month last year (May), which I haven't this year, and have a bunch of new kit (new wheels, shoes and pedals, had a bike fit and a new Garmin meaning I can manage my performance while riding better) as well as a year's more riding in my legs overall.

I also had an excellent March's training, where I was miles ahead of where I was 12 months previously, even if I've slipped since.

But where am I compared to last year? I decided to let the King decide.

Straight after Wales last year I rode the King of the Downs, one of the hardest sportives in the UK.

You can read about the pain, and when I met some of this blog's readers in real life for the first time, etc here: http://how-im-doing-the-etape-du-tour.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/am-i-actually-good-enough-to-ride-2013.html

I was riding it again this year - I'd prepared the day before as well as I could throwing so much pasta, rocket etc into me I felt a bit ill, headed to bed early, had a good breakfast and loaded my [new, aero] jersey with food.

I weighed in at 72.4kg ahead of carb loading, I didn't record my weight before last year's ride, but it might well be close.

But would I beat last year's time? Turns out we'll never know.

Why? Well, I may have got lost...

King of the Downs, as well as being 117 miles long, basically points you at 10 of the hardest hills in Surrey and Kent it can.

Yorks, Crocknorth, Ranmore, Coombe, Leith, Kidd's Hill [aka The Wall] and, well, Box (again, always Box).

None of them are nice, most have sections above 15% (above 20% too). Apart from Box, obviously.

The rest stop where the year before we met the readers - this year meeting no one

So what did I do? I missed a left turn sign and added an extra hill to the ride. And not any extra hill, Barhatch.

The full climb is 3km long at an average of 5%, but that average includes a brief downhill and the final section ramps to 21%.

It hurt. It hurt more because I shouldn't have to have been riding it. And because I'd smugly smiled at the people I'd seen coming up it as I whizzed down. And because, well, 21%. With gravel under the tyres making them slip.

There was another problem with this too - because if a late-ish start I had four hours to cover the first half of the course to make the cut off. I'd just added 6/7km to the course and half of that was a rather nasty climb.

I'd gone from needing to cover 90km in 4 hours to having to cover 96. So a 24kmh average needed - including break stops - having added 200+ metres of climbing to the course.

I'd also effectively lost everyone I was riding with (I was a bit ahead of them, they went by me while I was Barhatching, they would have hit the break stop first and assumed I'd not waited for them and ridden off).

I sent a text to Pez and we met at the top of Box Hill - 60km into the ride - after laughing at me, we set off to try and hit that cut off time.

The best I can say is that we were close. I averaged 23.9km/h - faster than last year, although not the full course - but with 12mins of stopping time at breaks+finding Pez I missed the cut off by 10 mins and were stopped half way.

The finish was a welcome sight - just 90km too soon

Could I learn anything from this?

Well, I'd climbed more than half last year's course (thanks to extra hill) in about half the distance at a higher average speed. But then, I also only rode 95km rather than 180+.

Comparing the first half numbers, things look more encouraging.

I was 1.6km/h faster up the first hill on the course. A tiny bit faster up the second, 0.8km/h faster up the third, a tiny bit quicker up the fourth and miles away on Box Hill (but, well, Box Hill).

So of the five climbs, I was quicker on four of them and the fifth is Box, bloody, Hill. Which I've set new PBs on this year and went up almost aggressively slowly due to my ongoing anger with being made to ride it.

Two of the hills I beat last year's time on were close, really close, with me only "winning" this year on the longest segment while the sub-segments hopped between this year and last year being quicker. But there were comfortable wins on the other two. So it's hard to say I've declined.

So, in theory, I'm a bit better than last year. Of course, it might just be the wheels...

But there's one other small advantage I have this year, the Etape is two weeks later so I've got a bit more time to train.

2014 Etape du Tour broom wagon / cut off times released

If you missed it, here are the official 2014 Etape du Tour cut off times (ie broom wagon times) for the ride on July 20. http://www.letapedutour.com/ET1/docs/Itin%C3%A9raire_Horaire_EDT14.pdf

The long and short of it is we have 10 hours, assuming you start in the last pen, to complete the course. At a 15kph average. Including five drinks stops, four feed stations, two cat 3s and two of the hardest mountains in the Pyrenees.

In case that sounds easy to you, last year I was struggling at below 10kph thanks to the heat and gradient on the Semnoz. And there's a lot of climbing this year.

There are four cut off points on the route at 35km in (10:34am); 67km in at the foot of the Tourmalet (12:36am); 90km in half way up the Tourmalet (14:32); and 131.5km in at the bottom of the Hautcam (16:50).

So get to the bottom of the Hautcam by 16:50 - a little over 8 hours after the final pen rolls out - and they'll let you finish by the looks of it. I'll get a proper breakdown up when I can.

Here's a dedicated page for the route of the 2014 Etape to give you a better idea of where everything is on the way: http://www.letapedutour.com/ET1/us/the-route.html

In PDF here: http://netstorage.lequipe.fr/ASO/egp/letape-du-tour/2014/parcours/EDT14_PARCOURS.pdf


Oh, and here's a mini Etape du tour 2014 route recce to see what it's like:
http://www.ledomestiquetours.co.uk/etape-du-tour-2014-the-route-and-cols/

Good luck guys!

The times in detail

Official Etape du Tour 2014 cut off times - courtesy of ASO

Saddle-sore, sleep deprived and celebrating: My first multi-day event

In late June I'm riding back to back Tour de France stages in, er, Yorkshire. So as a taster, this weekend I rode the two-day, 185 mile (300+km), London Revolution.


It was meant to be a flat spin, a century ride through quiet country lanes followed by an easy 80-miler back home. But they lied.

The day one "flat route" had more than 2,000 metres of climbing. British climbing, which means shortish climbs (not normally longerthan 2km) with sections of 10-20%. And lots of them. Oh, and there was an extra 5 miles thrown in on day two too (which was another 1,600m of climbing).

Day 1 profile

Day 2 profile

But first we had to get there. Four of us were riding, last year's Team Etape members of Me, Pez and Paul, and our friend Dan. Who's new to road cycling but commutes 125 miles a week on his hybrid so is in good shape.

Or, well, should be - but managed to drink two ciders and three bottles of wine on his own the night before, woke up at 4am on the sofa, and was almost certainly still a bit drunk on the drive to the start.

Partly as a result of Dan's, er, impeded state we were really late to start. Rolling out at 9:35, when the gates officially closed at 9:30 (there was a group of about 10 of us for the late exit).

In theory this meant we'd be overtaking people all day - but we were so late, it took us 30 miles to catch anyone. At all.

Half the group we rolled out with split ahead of us after a climb - I bridged across to try and keep the mini-peleton (is there such a thing as a "break-away" that's at the back?) together, but no one came with me so I dropped back to our four (plus another of the late starters, who we lost when Pez punctured).

It's rubbish at the back even on a day like this

There's something a bit depressing at being at the very back, even on a day almost with almost perfect weather for riding. Trying to keep the group together as a mechanical would see someone thoroughly lost, riding at the slowest man’s speed while trying to complete a 100 miler before the course closed - especially as at different points we were all struggling (except, inexplicably, Dan).

There were also no groups to ride with. Anyone our speed had long gone and there were no slightly quicker groups to latch onto as they came by us.

It wasn't until the second break stop about 70 miles into the ride our isolation truly came to an end.

I responded to the long slow grind by trying to focus on my pedalling. Squeezing the top and bottom of the pedal stroke to even out power, trying to be as smooth as possible, keeping a cadence in the 80s and working my calfs as well as my hams and quads. I'm not sure it helped.

I also discovered that while feeling very pro-like in my Bodyfit kit (form-hugging, aero, de-branded Saxo-Tinkoff team wear, basically), the pad that's been wonderful on rides of up to 50 miles really isn't good enough after about four hours in the saddle.

But there was no choice now - because they had taken our luggage hostage.

Organisation

An organised multi-day ride involves a fair few changes to a normal sportive, race, long weekend ride or touring. Firstly, you start and finish in very different places. That means accommodation (in our case tents) and getting kit/luggage both to the day one finish and then back to the start where you've parked.

The London Revolution was pretty slick at this. Your luggage was tagged with your rider number and colour coded to find it. Tents were allocated on the same colour code and you had a wristband with this on too.

Overnight riders got a hearty meal after they were done (chicken, lasagne, bread, rice, vegetarian options, pudding etc) and there was a big cooked breakfast (if you wanted it) before you rode out the next day.

So once tagged and dropped off, your bag was waiting for you near your tent, your bike was securely parked overnight and could only be retrieved by you - but you were, nonetheless, trapped.

Pez suffered the worst. He was feeling awful, but had to make it to the end of at least day one to get his stuff back. Once he had it, he was too encumbered to get home, so rode day two to get to the end to get his stuff back again so we could drive home.

Any normal ride, you could peel off and either ride or get a train home with few problems. Or switch to a shorter route and still get back to the start (which I've done in the past while feeling bad). The format effectively took these options away.

And then there was the camping. I hadn't slept in a tent since I was at school. They'd done their best, with individual hot showers, plenty of loos, and relatively spacious tents allocated per person. But, well, tents.

Not warm, no real mattress (we had a sleeping mat, but it’s not the same), and every car, conversation, plane and animal noise reaching you as if you were in the room. Sunrise (currently 5am in London) was your alarm clock and a trip across the campsite to the loo in the dark is not for the faint hearted.

I'm still baffled that people do this voluntarily (and incredibly happy that the Tour-de-Yorkshire has us staying in a hotel).

Great first day...101 miles today great weather. Set for the night. @RevolutionRides #mitielondonrevolution #MLR14 pic.twitter.com/jaykVZRgux
— Graham Nicoll (@grazie02) May 17, 2014

Day 2

So after a far harder day than anticipated, we hit the hay early to try and get a good night's sleep in before an early start on day two. Breakfast started at 6:30 with the ride beginning at 7:30. We were aiming for the start of both of these.

No one slept well. We were all up at the crack of dawn anyway thanks to tents, but we'd failed to realise how many others would be too.

Starting so late on Saturday meant we weren't prepared for the number of people getting ready to leave. We didn't manage to leave until around 8:30, but riding in the middle of the pack had advantages too.

There were riders and wheels all around us all day. Carving past people, seeing people in front to catch were great motivations. I even caught the back of a couple of groups as they were passing and grabbed a wheel.

My legs (with no more treatment than a quick foam roll on my ham strings) felt strong all day, but other parts of my body were protesting at a second long day in the saddle in a row.

As the day went on my saddle soreness got worse. I found myself longing for descents, where I could take the pressure off my saddle by putting weight through my legs. I was coming out of the saddle a lot too. Now, this is one of my favourite ways to ride anyway, but I was taking it to extremes.

My left shoulder made a horrible noise when signalling to turn left after being locked in position for so long. My back wasn’t overly impressed either, but far more manageable than it had been before my bike fit.

The day started with 40km of flat, followed by two hills (one of them Box, again), rolling for a bit then a beast of a climb.

Box Hill. Again.

Starting at a few percent, the gradient ramped up to 7-8%, which was fine, then – turning a corner – it spiked into the late teens (or more). Again, fine, but it didn’t slow down again. I was in my bottom gear, standing on the pedals, with a cadence of about 50, and it didn’t slacken off. For about 750 metres the gradient just stayed somewhere between 14 and 25%. The left of the road was full of walkers, a car came the other way. I had nowhere to go but into them. I dismounted (determined to not walk on the ride), waited for the car to pass, then tried to get back on.

At the fourth attempt I managed to remount on the hill and pedal – with one foot only. I didn’t clip in first time and there wasn’t enough of a break in gradient to have time to take my left foot off and re-clip in. Another car came by with the same results. Both in forcing me off the bike and leading to huge problems re-mounting.

I gave up after the third time this happened, and walked until the gradient was a more manageably 10% or so and I could actually remount my bike. Would I have made it if the road was clear? Hard to say.

We pulled back into London 60 miles or so in, with a final break stop in Crystal Palace before 20 miles through London traffic to the end. By this point Pez was done with the whole thing. His cleat had broken on his right foot, meaning he was pedalling one legged and he was still feeling awful. He went off alone (for the second time) with a mumbled “catch me up”.

And then, after a brief tour of Peckam, Dalston, Stoke Newington and Tottenham and many, many hours in the saddle I recognised where we were.

The day before we had a long, flat, straight drag (1.6km), followed by a right turn then 300m slightly uphill to the finish. I pulled out of the group I was in and hit “time trial” mode.

Spinning up to 40kph I pushed, dropping the entire group I was riding with (who, to be fair, weren’t racing). Waiting to turn right, Paul caught up with me. So then there were two.

I’ve never had a sprint finish to a race, but as we pulled into the finish straight it was absolutely clear of traffic and other riders and I stepped on the gas. Spinning up to a maximum cadence of 137 I went through the gears, passing 40kph somewhere along the way but not looking down at any point to check. Snapping my head left and right to check where Paul was as he charged after me then, with 20m or so to go to the line and a bike length clear *. I sat up, opened my chest to display the sponsor’s logo and raised an arm in celebration (being very careful not to do this).

After two days, 190 miles, 3,800m of climbing, 6,000 calories burnt and 14 hours in the saddle I crossed the line victorious and smiled for the camera.

 Me and Paul re-united with our bags at the end


*Paul said we weren’t racing, this picture seems to suggest otherwise

88, 140, 30.3, 0 - more data for Etape du Tour training

So in my quest to train smarter for the Etape du Tour, harder wasn't working out too well, I've invested in a better Garmin.

I don't really understand it if I'm honest. But what it does is allow me to do is get an awful lot more information both while I'm riding and to analyse afterwards.

Also, it matches my bike's colour scheme.

The numbers in the headline are my cadence, heart rate, speed and the road gradient read from the screen while I was riding today. So a pretty good cadence, a nicely controlled heart rate, a good cruising speed on a flat rode.

All of the data

It also allows better management of my gears. Better management of myself and my effort too.

My ride today took in Box Hill twice as part of a 95km "getting my mojo back" ride. The last time I rode up Box Hill I found an effort level I thought I could hold and went up in 9min 39s. Today I decided to hold my cadence at around 90, my heart rate at 180, and see what happened.

I rode my second-fastest time - 8min 27s - three seconds off my best, which was set a month before the Etape last year. A minute better than my next best time.

Now, as my previous blog post will tell you, I've not been training properly for the last week or two and hadn't exactly prepared properly the day before - drinking too much and eating and sleeping too little (although not catastrophically badly on any count).

But having the data to look at while on the bike to measure effort meant I could deliver a consistent power output without going into the red. And analyse afterwards too.

It means I can now see if there's something going right or wrong as well as get more information for comparison of segments (ie it might be slower, but now I have a heart rate comparison to see if there was a reason).

With a bit of luck, it should put me in a far better place to tackle the Pyrenees and cope while riding them in July.

Losing my mojo when training for the Etape du Tour

So there have been a couple of setbacks in my plan for 2014 already.

First, the trip to ride Liege-Bastonge-Liege was cancelled by the operator. While this proved to be something of a relief as I was struggling to see how I could possibly manage 160 miles in a day, let alone in about 12 hours, it took out a chunk of motivation.

But things were still going well. I averaged more than 150km a week in March - out every weekend for more than 100km with a few commutes thrown in and mid-week turbos to boot.

It was going well. And then, well, I stopped.

For the last 10 days I've basically done nothing. Missed turbos, missed my weekend ride, not turned up to a sportive I'd payed for,  barely ridden to work, eaten too much, slept too little and drank far, far too much.

I need to get back onto it, I need to get my mojo back. On the plus side Pez is back from holiday now and has a ride booked in this weekend.

Hopefully getting back on the bike this weekend will help kick start my training plan. And while I lost the LBL trip, I've gained a new one.

Pez and I found a deal - we're riding the first two stages of the Tour too - the ones in Yorkshire. The London Cambridge stage is just 100 miles long and really very flat. Should be quite a good long weekend ride.

I could ride four stages this year and I've got longer than I thought to prepare. Now, if I can just get back on the bike...

Good wheels do not make up for poor condition

Since my last sportive a couple of weeks back I've barely ridden. It turns out that I wasn't just running on empty in that ride, I was sick.

I tried to play football the next day, and only succeeded in walking about in defence trying to read the game and play like a late-career Cannavaro (unsuccessfully) rather than - well - running. Towards the end I struggled to even remain conscious. I was sent home from work early the next day for being sick.

I spent the rest of that day and the one following it asleep, only leaving bed to cram food into my face. Went to work the next day, then got sent home again. I managed a full day on Friday.

But that meant I missed last week's sportive entirely (so did Pez and Paul, both also ill). The weather mocked us all by being absolutely perfect. A couple of commutes later and  I was back on my bike this weekend, not a lot could have stopped me. You see, I had new wheels.

The incompetence of Her Majesty's Customs and Revenue meant I had a smallish windfall of a few hundred pounds - naturally I spent it on wheels.

Now I've eulogised about the impact new wheels can have, Pez had already upgraded his and I was jealous. I've been itching to buy some new ones for months.

Rebate banked I took the plunge, ordered some Fulcrum Racing Zeros from Germany (way cheaper than anywhere in the UK) and got so excited when they arrived that I didn't wait to change out of my commuting gear to rip open the box, fit tyres, tubes (light-weight latex, of course), new brake pads (Swissstop), swap the cassette from my old wheels (Shimano RS20s, since you ask) check the indexing and brake cable length, set my old wheels up with a spare cassette, tyres and tubes for winter training, then strongly considered lycra-ing up and taking the bike straight out there and then (at about 9pm).

I mean - triple milling, carbon hub, ceramic bearings, an oversize rear flange (stop giggling at the back), aero spokes, aluminium nipples (I said no giggling) with differential rim height (Stop It!)). Pros use them!*

I just stared at them for a while instead, then spun them to see how long they'd keep going (AGES!). I might have done this more than once.

Counting down the days to Saturday when I could ride them, I was eagerly anticipating 2kph added to my times, a string of new PBs and crushing Pez and Paul under my lightweight, aero, ceramic-hubbed wheels (reviewers said using them was like riding with a permanent tailwind!).

Eventually Saturday morning arrived and I rode out.

But there was a problem, I was feeling rubbish. My legs were feeling the strain early, really early. Just 30 kilometres in I was feeling like I did 80k into the last sportive. My illness and inactivity were telling and people with far worse wheels were cruising by me.

I downed a gel, it had almost no effect. 20 minutes later I reached into my back pocket for another - it was new brand to me (I had grabbed three at random in my eagerness to head out). It tasted like Soda Stream concentrate with what felt like fizz in it. Checking later I found it was well past its use by date and might well have started to ferment. This didn't help.

Another gel (not off) to get me home and I finished up 66k ridden, no PBs and no wiser as to whether the wheels made any difference at all.

In the grand scheme of things, a 3-hour ride will do me good. As will lighter, better wheels. But I need to get back on the turbo this week and step up my riding time. At the moment I'm miles behind where I need to be to even complete the medium Liege-Bastogne-Liege route come April.

*almost entirely for training, although they make an occasional appearance in the peleton

Too much. Too soon. A warped wheel and a puncture too - First 2014 sportive

20 miles into a sportive is a terrible time to make a decision. Unless the weather's miserable you've got no idea how you're riding that early on.

But that was the point Paul and I decided to ride the 70-mile (112km) route on Sunday rather than the 52-mile version (84km). It was a stupid, stupid decision.

Too much riding, also lumpy

To back-track a little, Sunday was the first sportive of 2014 for us. The Gatwick RideIt. The one Paul described last year as "the worst day of my life" as biting wind combined with single-digit temperatures and constant, unrelenting rain. He couldn't work his brakes by the end and took 20 minutes to warm up enough in the car to drive home (during which he got a speeding ticket). I'd phoned in sick so missed it.

This year, after a final 7am weather check, we called it. We were riding.

The first section went well. We found a group early, although it was a bit slow, so we pushed on past them. Found a second group (including one man in an Etape 2013 shirt), but they were a bit fast and lost them on a hill. We made it up a couple of solid-to-difficult climbs and hit the first food stop early and not really needing it (30km in).

It was a rubbish break stop, no loos (I needed one) - basically just a van parked on the side of a road with some food on a table outside it. We left quickly and immediately after hit the split between medium and long rides. We called long and rode on.

It was an awful decision.

I'm in no condition to ride that far. In the last six weeks the furthest I've ridden in one go is 50km (30 miles-ish), and aside from some 7.5km commutes through traffic and some time on the turbo (not longer than 1:30 in one go) - that's it.  I don't have the legs to ride 70 miles.

This was achingly apparent about 40-45 miles in, my legs were empty and Paul's weren't fizzing either. We stopped for some food.

We got back on the bikes and rode on, slower and slower as our legs flatlined. The break stop was nowhere in sight. Still, 80kms in it wasn't there (more than 50km from the last stop). I badly needed a decent break stop.

"We're going really slowly," Paul noted while I was taking lead. "Sorry!" I replied and forced my pace up. "No! It's good!" Paul shouted back. I slowed back down.

That wasn't the end of the trouble though. It wasn't raining (much) at this point, but there was standing water on the road. Paul hit a massive pothole completely hidden by a puddle (puddle doesn't do it justice, it was 20cms deep covering entire road for about 15 metres), came off in the middle of traffic and into the puddle/lake - puncturing his front tyre in the process. I was luckier, just getting drenched by passing cars and being shaken by the pothole (presumably I only hit the edge).

Fortunately, puncture notwithstanding, he and the bike were unharmed, but he was seething (and drenched). There was no way to see it. He repaired the puncture at the side of the road, got back on, and promptly slipped his chain.

Oh, and just to add to the fun, the wind was gusting well over 20mph. It was all day. Any exposed flat or descent saw us riding at about 25kmh putting in the effort to do 40. Or knocked sideways. Or both.

We somehow kept going and eventually hit the second break stop 90km into the ride - a full 60 from the last stop. My legs at this point were mostly gone - hating every incline, with even bottom gear too big to spin in in that condition.

This break stop was no better than the first, another van in a lay-by, with the dregs of the food left and a marshal who told us several other people came off in the same pot-hole as Paul. He said he thought about a caution sign, but decided against it. He seemed amused.

But, after all that - wet, tired, angry and a little scared - we decided to finish the ride. It was only 15 miles (24km) to the end.

We rolled out and the sun went away and the wind picked up again. Then the hail started. My hands and toes started to freeze. The hail stung my face. After a course marker pointed straight up when the choices were "left" and "right", we hid in a bus shelter (for the second time in two years for Paul) to find the printed map and try to work out where we should go.

We rode on.

It was at this point I heard brake rub on Paul's rear wheel. A stop to check and we confirmed it had been knocked out of true by some pot hole or other along the way. He opened his rear brakes and we kept going.

The final few kms were, to be fair, fun. Mostly flat/downhill allowing me to try a solo breakaway and time-trial to the line. I dropped the man we'd been cycling with (he looked overweight and awful at riding - knees all over the place, bad position on the bike and a pedal-stroke about as smooth as the pot-holled road -  I assumed we'd breeze by him on the flat or at the next climb. I was wrong, our exhausted condition meant he stuck with us for about 10km) and was gloriously making a dash for the stage win when Paul bridged to me.


"You've ruined my solo breakaway!" I shouted over my shoulder, he shrugged, saying he didn't realise that's what it was. Fortunately I won the sprint (uncontested).

There was, naturally, no hot food left by the time we arrived at the event centre - with only four people left on the course behind us. I forgot to get water for my recovery shake. There were functioning toilets at least.

The rain returned as we rode to the car to get home. It was the worst sportive I've ever been on - cold, windy, hail, rain, confusing course markings, badly spaced and rubbish feed stops, a course split too early, no loos, dangerous roads. Paul rated it second worst, the same event last year alone in surpassing it.

More crushing was the knowledge that if we'd swapped to the 50-miler then we'd have hit the second feed stop feeling fine (although wouldn't have avoided the hidden pot-hole), been on the road for almost two hours less and finished ahead of the hail with time for me to get home in the daylight (riding back from the station in the dark, exhausted, through London, is deeply unpleasant). The misery was largely self-inflicted.