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!