Catching Up

One of the films I saw at the Bicycle Film Festival last month was Road to Roubaix, a feature film about the 2007 Paris-Roubaix race. But, as any film about this iconic race must, it also features footage of classic editions and plenty of people talking about the emotions and passion the race evokes.

The story of my Big Belgian Adventure - a trip to Belgium and France for Spring Classics week 2008 that I began recounting on this blog nearly eight months ago - concludes with my watching Tom Boonen blast past Fabian Cancellara and Alessandro Ballan on his way to that famous finish line in the Roubaix velodrome.



But the end of that story actually begins much earlier...


One day back in June, 2007, I began the work day as usual by scanning the appointments diary.

"Erm," I had to ask, "is this eSoles appointment this afternoon the Roger Hammond or just a Roger Hammond?" "I don't know," Phil said, "he just called up to make an appointment and said his name was Roger Hammond."

Whether he knew and was teasing me or not, I don't know, but I did my best to act cool all day until the moment when I answered the front door and, "Hello!", the Roger Hammond wheeled his T-Mobile team issue case into the shop and I made him a cup of tea.

In the weeks following his visit, I had reason to speak to him on a couple of occasions. It was quite an exciting time: he'd been short-listed for the Tour squad and was waiting for the final selection. When the squad was announced and Mark Cavendish was there but he wasn't, I offered my commiserations. He explained that the team would be working for Michael Rogers on GC and looking to Mark for a stage win. I practically batted my eyelashes down the telephone line and said, "Well, he won't get it without you there to lead him out!" Rog protested that there were plenty of riders on the team capable of looking after young Mark but I felt vindicated - sad, but vindicated - when Cavendish crashed in the first stage, squandering his best chance for a stage win, and ended up leaving the Tour empty-handed. I’m sure Mr. Hammond would've kept him out of the gutter, out of harm's way.

Nine months later, at Gent-Wevelgem on the Wednesday of my 2008 Spring Classics Week trip, I watched Cavendish ride comfortably up the Kemmelberg from where I'd staked out a viewing spot, prepared for the inbetween-laps boredom with a handbag full of Duvel. Watching the race live, I had no idea what happened after the race passed for the 2nd time. Knowing that many people had tipped Cav for the win, I was surprised to discover afterwards that he'd finished in 17th while Roger had made it into the top 10. Surely all Cav had to do was stick to Roger's wheel...



Later that evening, after the friendly bartender at our hotel taught me how to order Duvel across a crowded bar (hold your hands next to your temples with your index fingers extended like Devil's horns), I decided it would be nice to send a congratulatory text to Roger and to let him know that I'd be out riding parts of the Paris-Roubaix course on Thursday and Friday. If there were any chance of meeting up on the road, I’d be thrilled to ride a couple of miles with him. He replied to let me know when High Road would be riding out from Arenberg on Friday and said he hoped to see me there.




Unfortunately, they were setting out much later than the group I was with were planning to be through the forest, so I missed him. I sent him a message on Friday to say, "Sorry I missed you, I'll try to get your attention at the team presentation tomorrow to say hi," and he replied that I hadn't missed anything anyway - it turns out that the High Road squad set out late and ended up driving over a lot of the pave sectors instead of riding them - and said he'd look out for me in Compiegne.

In Compiegne the next day, when the High Road vehicle - I hesitate to call it a team bus as it was so much more modest than any other team's! - arrived, I waited patiently for all the riders to disembark and was grateful when most of the crowd moved away to follow George Hincapie (who isn't fit to smear Roger Hammond's chamois cream, in my opinion). Finally, Rog, who likes to be last off the bus, appeared and I waved hello. He stopped for a pat on the back and a quick kiss on both cheeks and then we chatted as he made his way towards the team presentation stage. All the while, there was a TV cameraman walking backwards in front of us and an unrelenting stream of fans pushing things into his hands for an autograph or stopping to have their pictures taken with him. When we got to the stage, he practically apologised for having to step away, and a quarter of an hour later, we picked up again and did the whole thing in reverse. It was mad enough with Roger; Tommeke! Tommeke! Tommeke! was completely mobbed.



While waiting for the teams to arrive for the start in Compiegne on Sunday, we stopped in a cafe for small, strong coffees. The local pros had the same idea: the entire Francaise des Jeux squad took up the tables next to us. "Who do you think will win today?", one of us asked. "Bah," came the reply with a Gallic shrug, "it won't be one of us! Maybe Boonen if it stays dry, but if it rains he's no good." I should've put a bet on then and there.

The actual day of the race proceeded much like my experience of the Tour of Flanders - watch the start then dash to the coach to get to the next viewing point, and repeat until you arrive at the velodrome in Roubaix.



It was heart-rending seeing Roger Hammond exit the Arenberg Forest with blood dripping down his face and then watching him work so hard, for 100 kms, to fight back to the front of the race. He entered the velodrome in 23rd place, just over 7 minutes behind the winning trio.

I remember reading an article once where Roger described how, after finishing the race he liked to spend some time in the track centre, just relaxing and soaking up the atmosphere before heading into the showers. This year, he headed out immediately to get a suspected broken finger attended to. My hero.

Leftovers

While I've nothing to do besides get out for a ride then come back for lunch of leftover turkey and stuffing, I have plenty of time to write up scintillating blog posts.

But I'm using that time to watch rubbish on telly instead, so I'll reproduce for you to a bit I wrote about the Ghent Six-Days for londoncyclesport.com: Big Names at the Ghent Six.


Or to give it it's proper name, de Zesdaagse Vlaanderen Gent.

Since discovering that my birthday will always fall during the Ghent Six-Days week, I'm making it an annual pilgrimage. So last week I hopped on the Eurostar with my friend Peta for my second annual trip to the Ghent Six, to celebrate my second thirty-ninth birthday.

So many Brits (and I guess I even consider myself a Brit now!) travel to Ghent for this event that it's even referred to as the British Six-Days, the reason for which is a mystery to Six-Day connoisseurs. Ghent does not have the most exciting programme of either racing or entertainment, yet it is always a sell-out and on the weekend at least, you can't swing a pintje in the track centre without hitting a Brit.

Last year, Bradley Wiggins and Mark Cavendish paired-up to provide a big-name draw for English-speaking supporters, and GB U23 riders Peter Kennaugh and Adam Blythe took the lead on the first day of the Toekomst Zesdaagse - a programme of daily races for under-25s forming part of the UIV Talents Cup. The second day, they succumbed to pressure from a canny Belgian pair, but rode consistently well and, on the second day, moved back into a lead that they would not surrender.

Bradley Wiggins & Mark Cavendish sign on in 2007

Not having spent much time training together on the track, Wiggins and Cavendish found themselves well off the pace at the start and ended the first night already 10 laps down. Although their form and tactics improved during the week, they finished a disappointing 10th, 46 laps and 230 points behind winners Iljo Keisse and Robert Bartko.

Six-Days God Bruno Risi

This year, Six-Days God Bruno Risi found himself in a similar position, paired with Alexander Aeschbach instead of his usual partner Franco Marvulli who was out of action due to illness. They had some shocking hand-overs and Risi couldn't always hide his frustration. When Aeschbach turned up with mirror-lensed sunglasses on the seond day, I did wonder whether Bruno hadn't had a word with his fist! But by the third day they'd found their rhythm and looked like definite podium contenders. In the end, they had to settle for 4th, behind the ambitious pairing of Kenny de Kettele and Andreas Beikirch.

The Belgian press has often reported on Kenny de Kettele's frustration at the Six-Days organisers' refusals to let him pair-up with his usual Belgian national team mate on the grounds that he's not a good- or strong-enough partner for Iljo Keisse. I like K de K a lot and he and Beikirch rode very well, but still felt sorry that Risi and Aeschbach had to bear the brunt of his vindication.

GB's only representatives in Ghent this year were Olympic Development Programme juniors Luke Rowe and Andy Fenn riding in the Six-Days for Future Stars. Like Wiggins and Cavendish in 2007, Rowe and Fenn had had little chance to train together for the event and finished the first night in 9th place. Luke was originally due to ride with Mark Christian, but during their Madison ride at the World Track Cup round in Manchester at the beginning of the month, Mark came down hard not long into the race and although he soldiered-on to the finish, ended-up with a broken collarbone. Rowe and Fenn steadily improved throughout the week to finish joint-fifth and, most importantly, they managed to stay out of trouble in an event that is frequently marred by crashes.

Luke Rowe & Andy Fenn - Riding the U23 event

At 166m, the Kuipke velodrome in Ghent is one of the shortest on the Six-Days circuit and with up to 24 riders hurtling around its steep, tight banking it is also the most technically-demanding. It seems at least one of the Six-Days Future Stars comes down every night, and neither is the pro race without incident. In 2006, Spanish rider Isaac Galvez tragically died in a crash here. This year, Danish rider Mark Hester was injured in a crash on the Friday, leaving his Aussie partner Luke Roberts to ride alone in the individual events, and occasionally (although I couldn't make out why) with Nicky Cocquyt while Cocquyt's usual partner, Ingemaar De Poortere sat out. The final standings, in fact, list Roberts/Cocquyt finishing in 10th, with De Poortere/Hester DNF. But that's typical for a Six-Day where it seems the objective is to take a simple thing like racing bikes around a track and make the rules as impenetrable as possible.

"Do you want a picture of me?" - Erik Zabel

Although there were no big-name British riders, Erik Zabel was there, making his first appearance at the Ghent Six the last race of his career, drawing many fans. Even a certain Mr. Merckx turned up.

Eddy Merckx taking in the action

While chatting with Zabel's soigneur, waiting for an autograph, we overheard one of the TV crews complain that Erik would only do paid interviews. Locals reckoned Zabel would already have been paid tens of thousands of euros to appear at Ghent. Maybe he had his career's savings in an Icelandic bank and needs a little nest egg for his retirement!

Unlike Erik Zabel, Andy Fenn was willing to chat about his experience at Ghent for nothing, and while still red and sweaty after the night's racing, spoke enthusiastically about what a good experience it was to be there on such a demanding track, with such strong competition. It's completely different from his normal preparation for the road, but a good way to inject some variety (and fun) into the team's training and racing programme.

Having won the 2008 Junior Paris-Roubaix, Andy Fenn already garners respect from the crowd of savvy Belgian cycling fans gathered here. If he realises his ambitions as a professional on the road, maybe one day he'll be back in Ghent as the big-name draw!

Overall, in the main event, Zabel and Lampater finished 2nd while local golden boy Iljo Keisse and his German powerhouse partner Robert Bartko were the overwhelming favourites and massively popular winners for the second year in a row. And when I say Iljo Keisse is local, I mean his father owns a pub within 500m of the velodrome; and when I say golden, I mean blond-haired, blue-eyed, tall, tanned and charming; and when I say boy, I mean he's only 25 years old. And of Bartko, when I say powerhouse I mean, well, just look at those thighs!

Iljo Keisse & Robert Bartko top the podium

Mig and Me

Last night, I was out at the Bicycle Film Festival and each film in the programme reminded me of something I've been meaning to post.

One of the shorts was a collage of images of Marco Pantani in the 1994 Tour de France, won by my mate, Miguel Indurain:

Well, he was my mate for at least the 10 seconds it took Antonio to snap this photo. He'd just crossed the finish line at the Gran Fondo Pinarello when we accosted him shouting "Miguelon! Miguelon!" How could he resist?

Business Trip

Nevermind it's my day off, I've just been to Diss, Norfolk, with Julian to see something really exciting.

My luck runs out

For the past 5 or 6 months I've been commuting mostly on a Glider Boxercross (one of the pre-production frames which I've customised a bit) running handbuilt wheels shod with Challenge Paris-Roubaix 28mm tubular tyres.

That's right, I've been commuting through London on tubs.

This has nothing to do with taking a stance in the clinchers vs. tubs debate; I'm not commuting on tubs because I think they're "better" but rather to prove that there's nothing especially difficult about mounting or changing them, or anything risky about riding with them, as many people seem to believe. So many people come into the shop looking for super light climbing wheels or deep, aero, carbon rims but suck air through their teeth and shake their heads when you mention a tubular option. And that's just the men! Female riders have been led to believe that riding with tubulars is something completely beyond them.

So I wanted to prove that not only are tubulars not as mysterious and difficult as people make them out to be, but that they are so easy to deal with that you can ride them every day and suffer no more incident, stress, or effort than riding clinchers.

This was always going to be a tricky thing to pull off; my commute into central London is along a bus lane and glass-littered gutters with so much traffic that you can't swerve to avoid the pot holes and debris. But I put my faith in what I knew to be the facts and just got on with it. In case of puncture, I ride with a canister of Vittoria Pitstop sealant and a frame-fit pump. (I love my Pocket Rocket, but with 28mm tyres I'd be pumping a long, long, time!)

One day, about three months ago, as I was riding along a section of road which had just been re-opened after having been coned-off for weeks to accommodate the reconstruction of a fire-razed building, I surveyed all the rubbish on the road and thought to myself, "They've really left this area a mess!" Then I heard the Pfffttttt of a punctured tyre and pulled over to evaluate the damage. My rear tyre had a large v-shaped cut in it, much too large to be sealed by the Pitstop. So, since I was wearing my MTB shoes, I walked the rest of the way (most of the way) and arrived at work a half-hour late.

After having replaced that front tub, I tried to be more wary of riding through glass and road debris and began inspecting my tyres for cuts more frequently.

One morning, I found a slit that was small, but so deep that it completely penetrated the casing and allowed a bit of the latex inner to bubble through. I knew that the sensible thing was to replace the tyre, but at £28 each (trade price) I decided to Blue Peter up a repair. I used a dab of super glue to seal the little split in the rubber, hoping it didn't contain a solvent that would eat away at the inner latex tube.

That night, I rode out to Crystal Palace to watch the Tuesday night racing before heading home - a 30-mile detour - and was very pleased that the repair held. But the next morning, the tyre was flat so I assumed it hadn't been a success after all.

When I finally got 'round to replacing the tyre a couple of days later, I discovered that the super glue repair had indeed done the trick and that this latest deflation was a bona fide puncture caused by a small shard of glass. It seemed the perfect opportunity to try out one of the puncture sealant options that we sell, so I squeezed in some Tufo extreme sealant and, hey presto!, the tub once more held air.

And all was well again until last weekend.

Our last customer in the shop on Saturday was an extremely enthusiastic new cyclist, and a clubmate, who managed to talk me into riding out to Richmond Park with her for a lap or two. The weather was great and we had Tony's company, too, since that's his route home. It was fun riding together through town, showing them my Thames-hugging route to the park.

Until we turned into Priory Lane and I realised that the softening sensation I'd dismissed as imagined was now undeniably a flat rear tyre.

I was able to ride - carefully - to the Roehampton Gate cafe, where we ran into Stephen (the shop mechanic) who'd been out for a few training laps. While Meagan queued for consolatory ice cream and coffee, Steve helped me find and seal the puncture.

Road Racing PitStop is recommended for use on road tyres up to 25mm. These Challenge tubs are 28mm, so I wasn't sure it would work. The pressurised canister contains a liquid latex - goo, I believe, is the technical term - that simultaneously inflates the tyre and delivers goo to the site of the puncture.

You can see goo oozing from the site of the puncture.

Steve's strong finger held it all together until the latex hardened sufficiently to create an effective seal. (My fingers were occupied with retaining the dribbles of some rapidly-melting pistachio ice cream.)

The PitStop repair held up under another week of commuting until I suffered a catastrophic puncture at Tower Hill one morning. I didn't have another shot of sealant with me, and wasn't prepared to ride alongside the Parade of Murderous Lorries that accompany my usual commute with a flat tub, so was once again reduced to walking in to work. At least my way was cheered by no less than three customers recognising me and calling Hi! from their own bikes as they passed.

Undaunted, I've since replaced that tub. I love the feel of them and at that width (24-28mm) there are a couple of robust and sexy options. I've just got some 27mm Vittoria Pave Evo CG's in reserve for when I have to replace the Challenge P-Rs. You might consider tubs esoteric and think my devotion to them eccentric, but I reckon this is the perfect winter commuting solution.

Wish me luck!

A facelift for Jan

Although I work in a bike shop and am reasonably capable at the few mechanical tasks I perform on my own bikes, I'd never actually changed my own bartape - until last week.

This first end could have been a little tighter, but I did better on the second side.

This was the final touch on a bit of a makeover for Jan for the start of the 08-09 'Cross season. In addition to fresh orange tape, he's got orange "Hudz" - replacement lever hoods.

And remembering how dry the first couple of London League races were last year, I've fitted these lovely grey Vittoria clinchers.

I plan to change the brakes, too, but we haven't yet got the stock of Spooky's we're expecting. In the meantime, I'm pretty pleased with myself for getting these adjusted just right all by myself!

Nicole Cooke wins Gold!

And gives me an excuse to drag out this photo of my clubmates Charlie and Peta and me with Nicole at an event in December 2006.

God, wasn't I fit and skinny then!

What a relief to see over a year's worth of preparation and hard work pay off for Cooke. Although luck always plays a part in road racing, it's reassuring to see effort rewarded with a result.

That's one of the things that's always appealed to me about cycling and triathlon: If you do the training, you get the results. Since completing Ironman Switzerland in June 2007, I've not even so much as run for the bus, and my cycling's been limited to commuting and over-reaching at the occasional event like the Gran Fondo Pinarello. It's no mystery why I'm now so fat and slow: I eat and drink too much and train too little.

But now I'm publicly declaring my intention to turn the tide and get back into training, looking forward to a late-season Ironman in 2009. After a last night of excess at Rollapaluza XI last Friday, my goals for this first week are simple:

• Nutrition: drink at least a litre of water every day and not more than 2 glasses of wine this week


• Activity: get out for a 40-minute run next weekend

Not much, I know, but it's a start. Hopefully the blog will help me keep it up.

London Dynamo's Phantom Twin

"Hey, London Dynamo!" an Italian voice called out to interrupt my lonely effort into the wind between the second and third climbs of the Medio Fondo Pinarello.

A grey-haired rider in the euro-lurid kit of Velo Club G. Bianchini di Trevignano pulled up alongside me, clapped a hand on my shoulder and asked, "Do you know Phil? and Warrick? from Bikepark?"

"Yes," I answered, "I work with them at Cyclefit" and pointed to my jersey, "We used to be called Bikepark."

"Hey, it's London Dynamo!", he shouted to a friend on a motorcycle at the side of the road.

"Some years ago. Phil and Warrick came to ride the Gran Fondo Pinarello and they stayed at my house," he said. "On the moto, that was my friend Erik from Austria; he provided support for Warrick on the course, he finished in 25th position."

We chatted for a while rolling along a gentle down-slope at 27 miles per hour, then my new friend Antonio shot ahead to latch on to the back of a rare passing group.

At the finish, just as I was letting my Garmin Edge 705 calculate the way back to the hotel, Antonio caught up with me again and sent his club-mate off for fresh watermelon and espresso to revive us after the ride.

"We have your tricolore Dynamo hanging in our clubhouse," Antonio pointed to my jersey. "We are, how do you say, twins, with London Dynamo."

Antonio and Leandro from VC G. Bianchini and their personal moto-support man Erik from Austria.

It turns out that Phil and Warrick exchanged jerseys with Antonio when they were beneficiaries of his hospitality a few years ago, so there must be a VC G. Bianchini jersey somewhere in the shop. It's a shame we didn't know about the association when our Sportive Secretary organised the club trip this year; it would've been good to have some local knowledge for our rides on Friday and Saturday before the event.

The last few years, they've travelled to the UK to do the 'Nello Ride but didn't make it in 2008. We should make an effort to keep in touch and help them out in 2009. They're a good group of guys who are very proud of their association with London Dynamo. We must keep the international goodwill flowing!

Mud 1 - Kimbers 0

Now I know why the pros fit cantis for Paris-Roubaix if there's even the slightest rumour of a hint of a chance of rain.

This is the cantilever brakes on Roger Hammond's Giant lined up against the team bus before the start of P-R 2008, which, contrary to all forecasts, were rendered unnecessary by the warm and dry weather. I didn't take a picture of Fabian Cancellara's modified Speedplay pedals; that would've been another excellent hint to ignore. For it wasn't mud-clogged brakes and gears that got to me - although tedious, it wasn't much effort to clear everything of mud after every pave section - but mud-clogged Speedplay cleats.

This is the section, about 40km in, where I had to put both feet down. The pictures don't look too bad, and it certainly was rideable, but not once you'd come up behind people who'd fallen off or others who were already walking.

As late as Thursday before the event, I considered taking either my steel Serotta Fierte 'Cross frame or the cute little Glider Boxercross I'd recently built up, but decided against it. No, I decided to stick with the bike that had already been over the last 140km of the course in April. I knew that my Legend would be comfortable and unshakeable and able to cope with the wet conditions. Even if I had taken one of my 'cross bikes, I probably would've stuck with the Speedplay road pedals and my Rocket 7s. I've recently begun commuting in my Rocket 7s: with eSoles, they are simply the most comfortable shoes I own and to earn their keep, they've got to be used for more than just the odd race in dry weather. Fortunately, they stand up to the abuse of my commute and have now survived several hundred metres of walking over muddy cobbles.

Riding 40km with my feet just perched on tennis ball-sized lumps of mud over the pedals was agony. All the muscles around my ankles and lower legs were soon screaming with the effort of stabilising my feet and it wasn't long before something was up with my left knee. And over the cobbles, other parts of my body soon paid the price for bearing most of the body weight that would otherwise have been borne on the pedals. At the third control, just before the Arenberg forest, I decided that I wasn't soft, but I wasn't stupid, and called our support van driver who said he'd meet me at the next control.

The cleats needed a complete overhaul. It took me hours to disassemble, clean, and re-attach them. Once that mud dried, it was like concrete!

If I hadn't had an easy out, I could've continued and completed the course; at the very worst, I could've stopped at the mechanics' booth at every control to take my cleats apart to give them a thorough clean. It would've taken a long time, but I would've got through it. But this wasn't a once-in-a-lifetime crack at a sporting achievement for me. I rode over all but the first four and final three pave sectors back in April. Back then, I stopped after Carrefour de l'Arbre; a strong, little coffee was the first distraction, and then the support van was there, and I thought it would mean more to wait to do that ride into the Roubaix velodrome on the day of the sportive, with crowds and fanfare.

But on the day of the sportive, as I set out from the third control point, intending to at least ride through the Arenberg forest before navigating (with my trusty Garmin Edge 705 hallelujah!) a pave-free route to the fourth control where the support van would meet me, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of despair and the sort of deep loneliness that only seems to come upon one when in a crowd of strangers. At the entrance to the Forest, I looked at the photographer, and at all the people around me, and it suddenly seemed a bit - well, cheesy isn't the right word, but it just wasn't right.

I've since thought a lot about what this event means to me and what accounts for my fascination with the race run over this course. I can't contemplate the races of these regions of France and Belgium, without also thinking of the economic, industrial, and political hisory of this landscape, and of course of the horrors of the First World War. It just reeks of hardship and sacrifice, and noble, hard work; not in a miserable way, but rather in a nearly-impenetrably solid, pragmatic, just-get-on-with-it sort of way.

We passed the Canadian War Memorial on Vimy ridge on the coach ride to Compiegnes. I couldn't bring myself to look at it. I am a pacifist, but am terribly emotionally affected by war memorials. My sadness is mixed with huge gratitude and a measure of shame when I consider how veteran and departed soldiers have shaped the world I now live in with their actions, which I doubt I would be capable of emulating.

And I've come to think that, subconsciously, I didn't want to finish this ride. It shouldn't be easy for an overweight, middle-aged woman to ride Paris-Roubaix. It's almost as though, once I do it, then the effort of the professionals every April will be diminished, no longer a big deal, what's all the fuss about?

At the risk of coming over all Rouleur, the Roubaix showers have become a little like a war memorial for me. When I was here in April, I was pleased to bits to get a photo of myself in Mr. Merckx's cubicle.

Last weekend, however, I showered,

dried,

and moisturised

in an altogether more sombre mood, my heroes' reputations intact.

And now, since I have them, here are some photos of how Joop fared:

The Mini Hell of the North

Apropos, but nonetheless another interruption to my Big Belgian Adventure story, I have news of my second second-place finish in two weeks.

The East Midlands International CiCLE Classic (Rutland-Melton) race is often referred to as England's own Hell of the North. In addition to the usual roads and lanes, the course of this UCI 1.2 race also visits narrow, broken, and rutted farm tracks. Although the surfaces of these roads aren't cobbled, and the climbs are more Tour of Flanders-esque, the race has much in common with its namesake: After 100 miles of racing, the riders end up only approximately 10 miles from where they started as the course detours and loops through every appropriately horribly-surfaced path along the way.

This year, for the second time, the organisers also put on a supporting race for those riders unable to enter the main event. I first saw the race mentioned on an on-line forum where it was advertised as a 4/J/W (i.e. open to seniors holding a 4th Category racing licence and juniors and women of all categories) with the organiser stating that he was especially keen to get entries from women and juniors. Since Warrick was going up to ride the main race (and so I was pretty hopeful of being able to cadge a lift :) ) I decided to enter the Kermesse. And it just seemed to fit with the type of riding I'm doing this year. It had to be done.

When I looked at the race details online to submit my entry, I saw it was open to 3/4/J/W. Nevermind; as long as there were a good number of women and weak 4th cats, I was confident of having someone of similar ability to "race" with. When the race information and start list arrived in the post, I discovered the entrants actually included 2/3/4/J/W, and there was only one other woman pre-entered. There would be a huge range of abilities on the start line! And then I came down with a stinking cold.

If this were any normal race, I would've stayed home in bed, but this was a very rare opportunity to race on closed roads and over such a unique course! And the hotel was booked and I was interested to watch the main race, too, so away I went.

At the start, the other woman's pushy boyfriend made sure she started in the first row as 50-odd of us lined up. I, however, hung out at the back thinking I may as well start as I, well not necessarily intended, but was likely to finish. It was all together through the neutral zone and through the first couple of tarmacced turns, but once we turned onto the first rough section (section 4-5 of the main race) everything accordioned together as guys were literally falling off their bikes in the middle of the road. Having ridden over the actual route of the Hell of the North not long before and having the perfect bike, wheels, and tyres for the job, I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. So I clung on through the rough section, but then slid off the back as the road climbed through the main race's feedzone and KOM sprint points.

I passed many people with punctures and mechanical problems (but riding tubs and carbon rims meant I didn't have any spare tubes or a sacrificial spare wheel to offer anyone) and ended up riding most of the way on my own to come in as the last listed finisher: 36th overall and 2nd lady, for which I won a prize! If I hadn't been ill I'm sure I would've been 1st lady, whose prizes inlcuded some stilton cheese, so I'm definitely going back next year!

I had actually intended to give up after the first lap (of 4), but there were so many people at the start/finish in Owston cheering encouragement that I just couldn't do it. If you're ever out supporting a race of any kind and feel a bit like an idiot clapping and cheering the same encouragement for every competitor who comes by, just remember that the rider/runner/whatever only hears you once and it is extremely motivating. Or if you're too shy to cheer, shame on you! If I'm in good spirits and able to talk through the effort, I like to similarly recognise the support of the marshalls and spectators, "Good cheering! Keep it up! Only another 2 laps to go!"

After the prize-giving for my race, I made my way to the feedzone for the main race to offer up bottles to Warrick and Sam - neither of whom ever need much help. The main race passed this point on 3 occasions. I was so pleased to see both of them in the main group on the first pass; I'd heard that there'd been a pretty big crash not long after the start with one rider taken to hospital. But it was then heart-rending to wait later, and later, for them to appear near the back as the field dramatically fragmented and shrunk on subsequent laps. You can read Warrick's account of the race here.

On my way back to Oakham, I got a chance to test out the navigation feature of my new Garmin Edge 705. It's brilliant! No more stopping at every junction to read a map for me!

While I waited for Warrick to return from the race finish in Melton Mowbray, I picked a little selection of tiny wildflowers/weeds growing in the lawn. "Look, I made a winner's bouquet for you!" "But I didn't win," Warrick protested. "But at least you finished," I explained, "and that's why it's so small: you're only that much a winner." And then, without mentioning that there were only 2 ladies in the field, I accepted his and Matt Seaton's congratulations for having finished 2nd Lady in the support race.

BBA IV: Cyclists Indeed

I've often wondered what it would be like to live local to say, the Tour of Flanders route, or Mont Ventoux. Would you meet up for your Sunday club run and ask, "So everyone: first sprint at the top of the Koppenberg?" or "Climb the Giant, as usual?" I'm pretty sure that is indeed what it would be like. On the London Dynamo Sunday rides into the Surrey Hills, we seek out every cruel hump of earth between Hampton Court and Box Hill, and I think a masochistic streak is what separates cyclists from ordinary people who ride a bike.

On Tuesday, the official itinerary had us visiting the Ridley and Bioracer factories. It was an easy decision to pass on the Ridley tour; seeing how the frames are all shipped in from Taiwan to be sprayed and stickered-up would just be disheartening rather than enlightening. I was a little disappointed to pass up the Bioracer visit, though; they make a product called ReSkin which, by all accounts, is pretty amazing, and sounds especially useful if you plan on riding over cobbled roads.

But we are cyclists and hadn't travelled to this part of the world to wander around a couple of factories, we wanted to climb slippery cobbled slopes! So we drove down to Oudenaarde and set out to ride part of the Tour of Flanders route. With the weather much more clement than it had been for the sportive ride on Saturday, it wasn't just the first time over those climbs for me, but it was like a completely different ride for the others as well.

We first tackled the Oude Kwaremont, and I was extremely pleased, but a little disappointed, to have made it all the way to the top with little difficulty. The climb isn't too steep and, in the dry, the cobbles are relatively even. Next was the Paterberg. David, our guide, thought that this was the hardest berg of all. "The cobbles seem to jump up at you!" I didn't get a chance to contemplate the texture of the cobbles much; the 20% gradient did me in and I soon had to unclip and start walking - Just like the pros do!


My usual strategy for tackling big climbs is: pedal, breathe, repeat until one or the other becomes impossible. On the Koppenberg, both became impossible pretty quickly and I was beginning to think that I should've picked up a spare set of cleats as well as a pair of Vittoria valve extenders during the previous afternoon's visit to the famous Plum Gent bike shop. Before we reached Steenbeekdreis and the Taaienberg, one of us pulled up with a mechanical problem and I was grateful for an excuse not to have to walk up any more narrow, cobbled roads - strictly for the sake of my cleats, of course. I decided to ride directly back to Oudenaarde with David and Steve to find somewhere we could get a repair.


The staff in the Ronde van Vlaanderen Centrum directed us to Flanders Fietsen where the mechanic took one look at Steve's Dura Ace rear gear cable where it had snapped out of the lever housing and shook his head. "This is the second one I've had like this today. Shimano's no good. We see this all the time." He explained that it was something to do with the way the cable take-up worked. "On the climbs of Flanders, riders are always pushing and pushing the lever, looking for a bigger sprocket that isn't there, until it just breaks." What's the best system to use, then, I asked. "SRAM." He said without hesitation. "It has a light, strong action so that you can easily shift even when you're under a lot of pressure climbing." (Hmmm. I might have to get a Red groupset to test over this course next year. And it pains me, being a committed Campagirl, to admit that Dura Ace 7900 sounds worthy of a test, too.)


Luckily, Steve's cable had snapped relatively cleanly and the mechanic was able to pull the end out of the lever hood without disassembling it. We mooched around the shop for a bit and then headed back to the town square to lean our bikes up outside a cafe for a while. Just like the pros do!

BBA Part III: Cyclists in Need

At this time of year in this part of Belgium and France, you can't swing a bidon without hitting a pro rider. And that's even without them inviting you 'round to their hotel to meet them for a ride.

Two of the members of our group didn't have bikes with them but were keen fans and autograph hunters. On the Saturday, while the rest of us were doing the Tour of Flanders ride, they went to Bruges where the pre-race team managers meeting was being held. At last year's Paris-Roubaix, one of them had captured an excellent photo of Stuart O'Grady on his lone, winning lap of the Roubaix velodrome, shaking Scott Sunderland's hand as he passed while Bjarne Riis jumped for joy in the background. They got Scott to sign it and he was so impressed with the image that he asked them for a copy and invited us all to CSC's hotel in Kortrijk on Monday to join the team for an easy post-race spin.

It took us a while to navigate the diversions and road closures in central Kortrijk, but we arrived at the hotel at the appointed hour and piled out of the minivan with our bikes. There was some activity in the parking lot behind the team bus, and we found a mechanic there. "Scott Sunderland invited us to come and meet the team today. Is he around?", one of us ventured. No, Scott wasn't here, and since it was so cold and wet, it was unlikely that the riders would be going out at all, let alone all together. "You don't happen to have a turbo trainer with you that we could borrow, do you?" the mechanic asked, hopefully, as Stuart O'Grady wandered by with a nod and a sheepish grin to get something from the bus. Unfortunately, we didn't and couldn't offer any more help than good wishes for Wednesday. Our two non-cyclists decided to stay at the hotel, hoping to catch Fabian Cancellara, while the rest of us set out to ride back to Gent along the canal.

Knowing that CSC were going to stay indoors on turbo trainers, I wasn't hopeful of seeing (m)any teams on the road. But we didn't get very far before we passed the whole AG2R squad out for a ride; Credit Agricole's Looks were stacked up outside a cafe while the boys sheltered inside with hot drinks; and (good or bad luck?) Caisse d'Epargne chose to stop for a nature break at the very moment we passed them.

But I got even closer to the pros when a Topsport Vlaanderen rider actually joined the 5 of us for a few kilometers, taking very close shelter among us. "So that's how you echelon!" I realised in awe what riding on someone's hip really means and was terrified that one slip would see me ruin some young gun's budding career.

I was smiling and proferring "goede morgen!" to everyone we passed, and when we came upon a clump of Gerolsteiner riders stopped by the side of the road I shouted, "Do you need anything?" This is my standard question to riders at the side of the road. If you ask, "Are you OK?", they will always answer yes. I mean, if they're conscious, upright, and not bleeding, then it's obvious they're okay. "Do you need help?" sounds a little patronising, especially coming from a woman, and some men might not like to admit the possibility that they're less mechanically-skilled than a woman. But "Do you need anything?" is, I think, the perfect question. It offers help through the provision of goods - an innertube or chain tool, say - that you might have with you without any judgement on them or the cause of their bad luck.

"A pump!" came a shout back.

"I'll bet it's not often that you have to do this for yourself!", I commented, as the rider in need deployed my Topeak Pocket Rocket. "Oh, you'd be surprised," he said. It seemed a comical enough situation to the others, though, and somewhere out there, a Gerolsteiner rider has a picture of his team mate pumping up his tyre while I look-on, smiling.

When he finished, I asked if they would be racing [Gent-Wevelgem] on Wednesday. "Yes, will you be there?" he asked. "Of course," I answered. "If you need a pump, look out for me!"

It wasn't just us on the road who'd had close encounters with the pros, though. In the end, CSC set up a couple of trainers in the hotel lobby and the riders came down in ones or twos to spin out their legs after the previous day's exertions. "Like shelling peas," Reg said, extremely satisfied with the signatures he'd collected simply by spending the morning in the hotel lobby, drinking tea.

Stop Press!

I'm interrupting coverage of my Big Belgian Adventure to bring news of results from a race to nowhere.

Sorry if this post turns out incomprehensible; I'm a bit squiffy from post-event drinks and addled from the effort of racing to second place in the Women's team event of the Rapha Rollapaluza International Series (Stage.1# London) Roller Race.

I qualified second-fastest over 500m with a time of 25.20 and decisively beat my quarter- and semi-final rivals. It was really satisfying watching the lycra-clad boys (Ian Holt of La Fuga CC met Peter Mitchell in the final) give the messengers a kicking and I sooooo wanted to win the ladies' event for the roadies!

In the final, I lost to crowd uber-favourite, Trixie Chix Agata. Not bad for someone with no facial piercings, eh?

This whole Rapha-wearing, freestyle fixie-riding, messenger lifestyle-idolising scene isn't at all my bag, but it was a lot of fun and made me think maybe I should re-invent myself as a sprinter this summer.

Go lycra!!!



Thanks to my teammate Peta for her support to the bitter end and well-done on her 3rd place, losing narrowly to Agata in the semi-final! And thanks, too, to my club-mate Sam who donned skinsuit, overshoes, and aero helmet to provide the most sartorially entertaining race of the night!

BBA Part II: How to do it - The Pros Race Flanders

I love watching race DVD's, but I'm often in two minds about watching races live:




You spend ages waiting by the side of the road



for the race to approach


and it seems that regardless of whether you have a front row view


or not


the riders pass far too quickly


to pick out individuals or make sense of what's going on.

And then just when you think you've found the perfect race viewing spot at the exit of the Arenberg Forest, Hennie Kuiper and the Rabobank team come and set up their pit area right in front of you.

I didn't mind that too much, actually. When the race came by and the mechanic grabbed Langeveld's bike to offer it up for a change, Flecha's clattered to the ground. I couldn't resist picking it up and got to hold it for a moment before entrusting it back into the care of someone on the crew.

Anyone going to watch the Spring Classics hoping to actually see and follow the progress of a race will be sorely disappointed. What it's really all about is being immersed in the atmosphere and getting close to the effort and emotion of the riders - and to the bikes :).

At the Tour of Flanders on Sunday, after spending time at the start in Brugge wandering around the team bus parking area, we watched the peloton roll out of town and then dashed to the coach to get to a number of different viewing spots. There is a whole separate race amongst the following spectators to get to convenient parking places at popular points along the course. We had to park about a mile away from the Oude Kwaremont, but the walk was worth it as we got the full-on drunk Belgian Lion of Flanders flag-waving experience while little balls of ice fell from the sky and bounced off the suffering riders as they passed. One of our new friends, Crazy Eddie, proved his moniker well-deserved as he leapt out in front of the pre-race caravan vehicles and showed us a thing or two about jumping out of the way at the last minute that came in handy when we had to run up the hill back to the coach among the following team and press cars.

Our last stop for Flanders was Geraardsbergen. I wandered up the steepest part of the Kappelmuur just to see what I'd missed on Saturday, but the steep banks were already very crowded so I opted to watch the race lower down the climb, at the bottom of the town square where they'd set up a giant TV screen. We watched Stijn Devolder's attack on the screen, and then swung around to see him ride past, off the front in the Belgian Champion's jersey, his gritted teeth bared through a mud plaster mask of determination. Screaming fans further up the hill accompanied the televised images and then we all stood transfixed and silent as Devolder stayed away, now only 9 seconds, now 17, and won it solo 15 seconds clear of Nick Nuyens who'd out-sprinted his chase partner, Flecha, on the line.

Later in the week, we spent a night in the same hotel as the Cofidis team and our guide, Dave, congratulated Nick Nuyens on his excellent ride. "It was good, but not good enough," Nuyens replied. If only Flecha had waited a little for him, he continued, so that they could've begun to work together sooner, he was sure they would've caught Devolder.

Good result, bad result; it's all relative, eh? I dream of some day having have such a disappointing race!

A Big Belgian Adventure Part I: Tour of Flanders Randonee

Ever since travelling to the Gent 6-Day last November, I've come over all Belgian. That accounts for my having taken up cyclocross last winter as well as for all the frietjes and strong beer I've been consuming since then.

All the guys in the shop are planning to ride the 2008 Etape du Tour - 165 km through the Pyrenees from Pau to Hautacam, including the 17 km, average 7.5% gradient climb over the Tourmalet via La Mongie and finishing with the 14 km, average 7.2% climb to Hautacam. Climbing is all about your power-to-weight ratio and while my power is reasonable, my weight is considerable. Cycling challenges like L'Etape du Tour or La Marmotte are not well-suited to someone with my physiology (especially after all that beer) and temperament, but when I heard about the Paris-Roubaix randonee ride in June, I thought I'd found an alternative that might be. And as a warm-up, on a whim, I decided to also enter the Tour of Flanders ride.

So I've just returned from an awesome 10-day tour to Belgium and France where, inbetween watching the pros fly over the roads of the cobbled classic races - the Ronde van Vlaanderen, Gent-Wevelgem and Paris-Roubaix - I was able to ride the very same roads myself. I have so much to write about I don't know where to start! So I guess I'll just start at the beginning. And sorry for the lack of pictures - I was too busy actually experiencing stuff to stop and take many photos.

I travelled by coach from London to Ghent on Friday 4 April with Sports Tours International where 7 of us were to be stationed for the first 6 days at the lovely Novotel Gent Centrum under the entertaining guidance of David Bond.

I was a bit distressed to learn that our bikes would be kept packed up in the trailer overnight. Nevermind the thought of poor Joop out there alone in the cold, dark night, I was anxious about the prospect of putting everything together at the side of the road Saturday morning, possibly in the snow or rain, with no time or resources to hand to sort out anything that might be wrong before setting out on a 140km cobble-climbing day of suffering! But I was confident that my mechanical preparation, mostly involving a tube of Loctite 243, was complete and that I'd be ready to go.

I needn't have worried. When my Tour of Flanders randonee ride was over after 10 miles, it had nothing to do with rushed bike assembly on a wet verge in Ninove and everything to do with a fortnight-old act of stupidity and naive optimism that meant I'd mounted my tubs without proper valve extenders - mainly because I didn't want to have to put up with the inevitable incessant rattling of the protruding valves in the carbon rims. What was I thinking?

Last summer, someone came into the shop with a pair of deep section carbon-rimmed racing wheels and complained of having trouble getting a tight enough seal with a simple screw-on valve extender to properly pump up their tyres; with air leaking out of the extender, there was no way to accurately determine how much pressure you'd pumped into them. I took a look at the set-up, sucked a breath in through my teeth, and said, "That's not the way I would do it." Oh no, I do it properly with the valve core replaced at the end of a set of Vittoria extenders, secured at all joints with a few winds of PTFE tape. Yup, that's the way I do it. Usually. But not this time.

Without an extender, there was enough of the valve tip protruding through the rim that I could turn it open and closed so, to prevent the rattling valve problem, I decided to just leave them like that and to use a simple screw-on Zipp extender whenever I needed to inflate the tyres. The problem with this method, though, is that you have to screw the extender on really tightly in order in order to get an adequate seal. So tight, in fact, that when you go to unscrew it, you unscrew the valve core along with the extender. And then you're not able to re-insert the valve core tightly enough to prevent that leaking. And sometimes, the nut on the tip of the presta valve sticks open inside the extender and to fix that you have to remove the extender, which might also remove the core again, etcetera, etceteraaaaarhg!!!

So I had a pleasant 10-mile ride out from the start - No, actually it was only a pleasant 5-miles before I could feel my rear tyre softening -- No, actually even that first 5 miles was cold, and wet, and not at all pleasant -- before I decided I'd better stop to see if I could get any more air in before hitting the first cobbled climb. (I was hitting rim just going over innocuous cracks in the tarmac.) Long story short: I couldn't and resigned myself to turning around. I had taken the tub off and re-fitted it and was only able to get about 60 psi back in, so it was a pretty slow and hairy roll back to the start-finish area against the tide of traffic. I was so angry with myself! Devastated, I found comfort in the rain that hid my tears and disguised my sobs as shivering.

When I got back to the start-finish area and found that I hadn't in fact put a 10 euro note in my pocket as I'd intended and therefore had no money for a consolation frietje or even one euro to park my bike while I warmed up somewhere indoors, I had to call the shop, distraught, for some sympathy and soothing from Ronan and Warrick. Perked up by their pointing out that I'd still have plenty of opportunity to ride during the trip, that I'd be able to buy a pair of valve extenders and do what I should've done to begin with, or in the worst case use the spare wheels I'd brought, I was ready to head back to where the coach was parked to wait for everyone else to finish while planning for a better-prepared trip next year.

However, when I returned to where we'd been dropped off, next to the Ninove Nijs Nissan dealership, only the trailer that had transported our bikes was there, not the coach nor the minivan. I quickly evaluated the options and decided to stay put, trying to shelter from the wind and rain and not feel too sorry for myself.

Luckily, it wasn't long until Mr. Nijs invited me in and offered me a cup of coffee. Of course the conversation immediately turned to cycling and I asked, "Are you by any chance related to Sven Nys, Belgian cyclo-cross champion?" But of course, yes- Sven is his cousin! He showed me some photos and told me that, in addition to preparing 36 vehicles for tomorrow's Ronde van Vlaanderen for VIP shuttles and the media/publicity caravan, he supplied all the race vehicles for many of the Belgian races and had also got Nissan to provide a new Pathfinder for Sven every year. The first year they did it was 2005, when they had one painted up in World Championship colours waiting under wraps at Rabobank's World Cyclocross Champs after-party. They were very relieved when he won! "Otherwise we have had to wheel it away with our tails between our legs," chuckled Mr. Nijs.

It also happens that Mr. Nijs is a descendent of someone-or-other Percy, Duke of Northumberland, and has spent a lot of time visiting English castles. But that's not nearly as interesting a relation as Sven, is it?

So after a dispiriting start, things could only get better. And boy did they, and how!!!

I'll try not to take too long to write-up further instalments.

Tot ziens!

Tyring Times

I hate removing and fitting tyres; it hurts my orchid-petal-like delicate ladies' hands.

The last time I got a puncture, all I had to hand were long-valve inner tubes and consequently have been riding around with practically a couple of inches of valve sticking out of my front Neutron rim. It has no performance implications, it just looks stupid, unnecessary, not at all pro. But I wasn't prepared to go through all that tyre-fighting palaver just for vanity's sake. So last weekend, when I noticed that the tyres on my Neutrons were getting pretty cut up, I decided it was time to change them and to finally replace that offensively long-valved innertube while I was as it.

But I only had one new tyre at home and the new latex inner tube in the cupboard also had a long valve. So I just changed the rear tyre - but noticed that the rim tape could do with replacing. Oh well. I resigned myself to taking the new tyre off again at the shop Monday night where it was possible that one of the guys would take pity and help me out.

After the shop closed on Monday, I assembled some new rim tape, a new tyre, and a latex tube with a standard length valve. I got my new rear tyre off, replaced the rim tape, and re-assembled it with no problems. Confident that I was finally getting better at this, I removed the old front tyre, put on the new one, and fit the new tube. After wrestling the tyre fully on to the rim, proud of myself for not having to use a tyre lever, I discovered a small area where it looked like the tube might be sitting under the bead. I tried a couple of times to partially inflate the tube and massage it up into the centre of the tyre, but it didn't seem to be improving. So I thought I'd try pumping it right up, hoping that full pressure would pop it up out of harm's way.

As the pump pressure gauge hit 90 psi, I thought that'd done the trick when suddenly, "BANG! Pphhhhht..." and the sickening sight of green rubber bubbled out from between the tyre and the rim. Damn.

But, practice makes perfect, right?, so I got another tube and had another go, thankful for staff discount pricing. This tube wasn't pinched and didn't explode, so I set off on my merry way home.

Two blocks from home, I pull up at a junction and hear "POP! Ppphhhhhttt..." and my front wheel sinks on to the road. Damn and blast! As I push my bike home, I mentally debate whether I should remove my shoes to save wearing my cleats out. "I'll look like an idiot. But then, I already look like an idiot, clacking along in lycra, pushing a bike. Hey, what does it matter what I look like? Save the cleats! No, the pavement's cold and just my luck I'll end up stepping on a piece of glass and cutting my foot open." By the time this internal debate is played out, I'm home and rolling the bike down the hall, disgusted, to it's parking spot without even looking at the flat tyre.

For the rest of the week, I commuted on Jan, and today finally sat down to change that punctured innertube.

I found a rather large hole in it a couple of inches from the valve on the tread side. I ran my fingers around the inside of the tyre and didn't feel anything lodged in it, so just got on with fitting the new one. Which all went swimmingly, and I was even beginning to think I was getting good at this, until I pumped it up and at around 80 psi "BANG!" - green latex exploded through a centimetre-long slit in the tyre at just the spot of Monday night's puncture. Damn, blast, and tarnation! How did I miss that?!?

How many flipping attempts will it take me to get this right? The most annoying thing, though, is that there was nothing wrong with the existing tyre and tube I'd had fitted on this rim all winter! It was only as a precaution that I thought it was time to change them. If it ain't broke...

What cut this brand-new tyre?

In a "well if it's going to rain, it may as well pour" sort of state of mind, I then decided to tackle a job I've been dreading for weeks: pulling the FMB cross tubs off my Zipps in preparation for fitting the slicks I want to ride for my imminent Spring Classics tour. I thought a lot about how to approach this. I've heard stories of people having to pull punctured tubs off with pliers and the man who sells us Tufo Extreme Tub Tape claims it holds so well that you might need to cut a punctured tub to get it off the rim. But I use Conti tub glue, which, although sure it was stuck fast, I hoped would be a little more ready to release my £75 (each) latex-sidewalled, exclusive handmade French tubs. I worked a flexible plastic palette knife between the rim and the basetape opposite the valve and pulled it around. This was actually, a little bit worryingly, easy.

Now I just need to get my hands on some 27mm Vittoria Pave tubulars to replace them with.

"That Shelf"

Every cyclist has one - a drawer or a shelf or, for some, a whole cupboard wherein lurk: 1) those parts and pieces that come with new bike bits which aren't immediately useful but must be saved! and 2) old parts and pieces off existing bikes that have been upgraded but which are still in good nick and might just be of use to someone again one day. These are solid pieces of metal, rubber, and plastic. They are substantial things that it just seems wrong to simply throw in the bin.

But they are taking up valuable storage space in my small flat and so it's time to have a clear-out.

Here's what I found on "That Shelf" in the cupboard:

Tubeless tyre patch kit. As I don't have a mountain bike, let alone tubeless tyes, I have no idea where this came from. It must've been a freebie from somewhere.

2 pairs red Look Delta cleats - 1 used, 1 new - plus one spare new cleat

1 pair Look PP 396 "Edition Laurent Jalabert" pedals, well worn

1 pair Look Keo Carbons with a big scrape on the left one where, during a training session at Eastway in 2006, I first grounded a pedal on Clarie's Corner. My rear wheel lifted and skipped but I stayed upright and the adrenaline boost powered what was probably my fastest ever lap there. Now that Eastway's gone, these have to be kept for sentimental reasons.

Look Keo cleats - 2 grey (1 new, 1 used), 3 red (2 new, 1 used). Those are individual cleats - not pairs. Since I only ever set my left foot down when stopping, that cleat wears out much sooner than the right and I used to replace them as needed, which was never both at the same time.

These next three items are off of my old LeMond Reno, Greg - my first bike that I bought secondhand from a friend of a friend back in 2005:

• 3T bars, with front reflector still attached - too wide for me
• A pair of flat pedals with plastic toe clips and nylon straps
• 11cm 3T The stem

Of these next three things: I don't remember buying them and can't think why on earth I would have:

• 2 brand-new Specialized Mondo Pro tyres
• 9cm Kore alloy stem, still with price sticker attached (£19.95)
• 1 black plastic Specialized bottle cage

Polar watch handlebar mount and a good selection of zip ties

3 wheel magnets

2 tubes Vittoria tub glue

1 puncture repair kit

4 punctured inner tubes, 2 good inner tubes

2 blue Michelin Pro2Race tyres, used but not at all worn

1 pair Veloce brake calipers, new, from which I've cannibalised the brake shoes

11 pairs of insoles - 7 for running and 4 for cycling shoes - all redundant now that I have custom footbeds or orthoses in all my sports shoes

I use custom ovalised rings, so have the following round ones spare:

• Veloce 34T
• 50T chainring from an FSA SLK compact chainset
• 1 pair Record CT chainrings - 34/48

Plus a complete Stella Rapido compact chainset and bottom bracket. I love this crankset but had to take it off of my Legend when I installed the ergomo power meter bottom bracket. They just wouldn't fit. Maybe I'll put them back on now that I don't use the power meter any more.

A nylon spider bag containing: small saddlepack, 1 metal tyre lever, 1 plastic tyre lever, 2 grey Keo cleats, CO2 inflator with 3 cartridges, Blackburn mini pump and frame mount, Cateye rear light (no mount). I don't know where the thing is that I'd need to mount the saddlebag. Maybe it's in "That Box" of stuff at the back of that other cupboard...

Don't Look Back

Some of the serious racing cyclists I know can provide a pedalstroke-by-pedalstroke commentary on the races they've done. I, however, am only ever left with a hazy impressionistic view. Today's race was hard and fast and I loved it.

To be fair, I can recall a few specific moments:

1. The start. Someone set off like a bat out of hell. They were dropped on the 2nd lap.

2. Finding my groove. It was a pretty good group of girls, and with the pace much faster than last week I couldn't afford to be timid and have to play catch-up out of the corners. Pretty early on I nailed a tight inside line to move up a few places through the fast left-hander just after the short, sharp hill and suddenly remembered what it felt like to get that weight down on the outside pedal and really lean the bike. Warrick would've been proud.

3. With 3 or 4 laps to go, I was on the front of the group just coming to the end of the start/finish straight when my team-mate Jenny launched an attack from what must've been 4 or 5 places back. I wasn't strong enough to jump away with her - my acceleration would've just dragged the whole group along - and the nature of the circuit plus today's wind made a successful solo-effort nigh-on impossible. If only someone (ideally another Dynamette) had gone with her, I was in a perfect position to delay the organisation of a chase.

4. The last lap - coming over the hill for the last time, my mate Charlie (who's a 1st Cat. female racer and was one of the experienced riders "chaperoning" us around the course) encouraged me, "C'mon Kim, get up there! You can out-sprint all these girls!"

But the rest of the race is a bit of a blur.

There were about ten of us (of 17 starters, I think) still together entering the finishing straight on the last lap. Part of Warrick's advice for racing at Chersey was just to "try something"! It's not like it's a championship race that I've been preparing for all year; it's a season-opener Surrey League race, so why not just try something? If it works great, if not, I've learned something.

So I tried something and started my sprint - earlier and with a more definite purpose than last week when I only sprinted because I couldn't believe that the girls in front of me weren't pulling away as the finish line drew near. But if I left it too late last week, I went too early this week.

Or did I?

I have to admit that I thought it a doomed effort and so came around the group and back to the left side in front of them, thinking that another Dynamo might get on my wheel if I didn't last to the line. But I got a gap to begin with, and then when I thought, "I wonder if I still have a gap?" and looked behind me, of course the group had closed-up and I eased off thinking, "What's the point?"

Replaying the finish in my mind a couple of hours later, I realised that, at that point, I should have instead gritted my teeth, got out of the saddle, and really sprinted for the line. I feel now that I could have, but in reality the fact that I didn't even register where I finished, let alone who came first after all, makes me think that I had been riding out of my skin and just went pop. Or in another replay scenario, I think about how it might've been much different if, when I first went, I'd really committed to the sprint and switched out to the right instead. That would've been a proper sprinter's move!

So the last race I went too late, this time I went too early, next time I'll get it juuust right! And I might actually get good at this if I do some specific training.

I'm not looking back!

An unexpected result!

My very first cycle race ever was in February 2006, one of the Surrey League beginners' races promoted by London Dynamo at the MOD Chertsey/Qinetiq test track. Every year, the Surrey League racing season begins with these 2 weekends of racing where, alongside the main E123 handicap race, they run a beginners' 4th Cat. race and a race for 3rd and 4th Cat. women. Two years ago, the women didn't have a separate race and there were only three of us among 50-60 novice men. I was off the back before the first corner and just rode around on my own, practising cornering and attacking the hill, until it was time to stop.

Chertsey - Then

Last year, there were 10 women and we had our own race. I managed to keep up with the bunch for 2 laps until I was dropped and then rolled around with a clubmate until it was time to stop. A couple of others had punctures or mechanicals and dropped out, so I managed to finish in the points.

This year, 13 women started and I was pretty sure I would finish near last. But I managed to keep up all the way 'round and then sprinted to 3rd on the line - my best result ever!

Chertsey - Now

On reflection, I inadvertently rode a pretty smart race. Thinking that I wouldn't be in contention for even a top-half placing, I just hung out in the group and stayed away from the front. It was only on the last lap that I shifted into the big ring, thinking I would need it to have any chance of keeping up when the pace lifted. Around the final corner and into the long finishing straight I got onto the wheel of one of the girls I thought would win it. My two clubmates, who I knew were strong, were sprinting away ahead of us as the finish line approached and, waiting for the rider in front of me to kick, I feared I was going to end up boxed in. But a little look around revealed there was no one in sight to my right, so I went out, overtook the fading remnants of the group I'd been cruising behind and, somehow, incredibly, missed 2nd place by a tire-width.

If only I'd believed I could do it, I might've won it.

I've already asked Warrick about the best place on the circuit to launch an attack. Now if I can only get him to stop making fun of the way I "corner" and give me some useful advice, I might have a chance next week!