North East 50m TT: Wake Up (& smell the emollient)

 

In preparation for the 50 mile time trial on the 6th June (yes, D.Day), I gave the bike a good clean. This included stripping down the rear cogs (cassette) and cleaning all the muck off. I re-assembled the cogs and tightened the lockring. I then took it out for a couple of miles to check all was well. Later, checking the details of the event and gathering all my bits n' bobs I felt I had prepared well. I had even got in some Genoa Cake and sliced up a couple of small slabs, wrapping them in clingfilm.  I also fitted a bottle cage for a bottle of juice to keep me hydrated. I invited some of the family along for support, telling them that they could appear and leave as they wished. I reckoned that I would be on the road for between 2:15 and 2:30hrs depending on how things went, so there was no trouble about catching me along the 'there and back' course between Cramlington and Amble. For an entry fee of ten quid, this event presented unrivalled value for money!

Race Day: I arrived early on Sunday Morning at around 7:30am just as the small car park was filling up. The smell of testosterone, WD40 and emollient was in the air, but not from me. I signed up and dug out the bike as the sun began climbing into the early morning sky. I signed on and admired the trophies. It was the closest I was to come to any of them. Local Legends such as Waugh, Walker and Bradshaw writ large on the plaques. 

There were 20 women in the 90 strong field, but the organiser had decided to send them off first and they had all taken off to the start, leaving me with a bunch of younger male adults who, collectively, could probably power a small village with the watts they were about to generate. I elected for a modest warm up. However, it soon became clear that the bike had developed a rattle. I checked the cassette at the back and, sure enough, it was a little loose. Too late now to send for the cavalry. I arrived at the start with 2 minutes to spare cutting it a little fine, and 2 minutes later I was clocking 24mph down the dual carriageway toward the coast road. I hadnt even got off this stretch of the road, however, before I was passed. We were only 4 minutes into the race. Another came barrelling past at 7 minutes and this procession of sleek, bronzed and shaved near-silent whirring assassins came and went throughout the 2hours 20minutes that I was on the road. 

As I made a good impression of pounding my way past Ellington then Widdrington with my complaining quads, droplets of sweat rolled down my visor. At about 18 miles I dug out a tablet of cake. This is why gels were invented. Trying to wrestle open a crumbly clingfilm wrapped square while riding at 'speed' is tricky, never mind finding enough moisture in your mouth and gaps between your heaving breaths to masticate the thing to an adequate level of turgid fruity gooiness in order to swallow it. I turned at Amble and was on the return leg. By this time the team car had turned up. Missus Mac Wielded the Nikon from a safe distance on the verge, revelling in the pictures of an exhibition, like something from a night on bald mountain. After a few more miles, I noticed that there were crumbs of fruitcake and a raisin that had fallen from my mouth still sitting on my outstretched, sticky glistening arm. My gaze returned to them a couple of times over the following miles before I reluctantly diverted my attention to clearing my arm. Could this fruit cake really be slowing me down.  I am surprised that Clive Barker has not yet used the experience of a 50 mile time trial as the central plot for one of his ghoulish stories. Torture. I had to remind myself to keep drinking. 

Blyth eventually loomed into view, but not soon enough. The traffic was definitely picking up. Two boy racers came careering past before cutting across me to take the slip road.  I didn't have the energy to swear under my breath. This sort of behaviour is why I rarely go down the coast when out training. I was tiring badly at 40 miles as the scratchman, number 90 came past. Using my enhanced mathematical skills I worked out that he was about half an hour in front of me, timewise. How can this be?

I had long given up on my supposed 'aero' position and mused that if I had perhaps grabbed a deliveroo bag I might have at least made myself a few quid riding miles and miles for nothing. I rallied a little in the last 3 miles, but the clock crept over the 20 minute mark and as I passed the line I was, I suppose, mostly relieved that the bike had not failed somewhere out there or that I had been cruelly mown down on a faceless stretch of dual carriageway. I counted magpies, 2 hedgehogs, 1 fox and a seagull, all of which had tried and failed to beat the traffic. Time to think about a bike fitting and re-assessing my aims for the sporting season, perhaps. I pedalled slowly back to the car park which was reassuringly empty.

I packed the bike up, being careful not to burn my fingers on the glowing hubs and molten tyres (aye, right) and handed my number back to race HQ. I was 60th out of 65 finishers. There were a good handful of folk ahead of me that I've beaten on the previous 2 outings. However, maybe I should stick to the shorter distances on more rolling circuits. Don't get me wrong, I was pretty pleased with my debut appearance at this distance. It is obviously a distance that you need to train for. Pleased to have done it and ticked another off 'the list'.

   

Sit up and Mambeg

 Apart from a couple of ‘incidents’, I enjoyed last weeks bank holiday weekend. With the sun working hard to make an appearance each day through the eastern haar, I managed 25 miles with the dark destroyer on Friday. We did have a rather unpleasant altercation with a motorist who took it upon himself to drive within a foot of us in order to shout his opinion on the highway code out the window. We had an adverse reaction to this and I’m a little surprised that we haven’t caught ourselves on a video clip on facebook from one of the drivers stuck behind the resulting rammy.  Saturday saw me up at the time trial in Embleton in North Northumberland. It was cool and misty. There was quite a big field for this 12 miler. I had two women in front of me and a no-show, so plenty of work to do. I cracked on and was careful at the first junction not to cross over the white lane. However on the long stretch south I was baulked by five cars behind a caravan all of which were trying to get past a rider from Alnwick. Travelling at the speed of the rider in front, I became increasingly frustrated and eventually snapped, overtaking the car in front. As I rode along the white line, another car came around the bend and I realised there was little space and I might soon be history, squashed in the white line of duty. Thankfully, I breathed in and the car passed without any problem, but as I pulled back in, I felt stupid and had learnt my lesson and waited for all the cars to pass and then passed the rider in front. Not my best moment. Long story short, I was passed by the Muckle CC rider, but caught the two in front and finished again in ‘mid table glory’ with an average on a sporting course of 22mph.  

Eager to get the miles in before my big 50 miler on the 6th June, I met my buddy Steve on Sunday morning and we rode north eastwards up through Warkworth and up the coast eventually turning at Craster. On the return there was a cold easterly coming off the sea, but we moved a little inland and by Felton the sun came out and it was a pleasant 70 miler and almost 3000 calories expended.  Two squares of Genoa Cake kept me going. 

Monday was a seven mile run round the woods. I am aware of my changing physiology and felt heavier as I truckled around the bluebells and blooming wild garlic.

The Dumbarton job at the former Jaconellis is coming to a close so on Tuesday I went back up to take the final readings. This took around 20 minutes. I had clocked the weather forecast and had brought the bike. I took the opportunity to drop off the car at nearby Cardross and, packing my jersey pockets with a tube, tyre levers, pump, glasses and mobile, I took off on the bike in warm cloudy conditions through Helensburgh and up past Faslane turning left at Gareloch down the peninsula to Roseneath.  As I pedalled toward the village, I was passed by a lean grizzled bloke on a hybrid with knobbly tyres. I didn’t think he would maintain the speed so I tucked in about 3 or 4 metres behind. Sure enough he began to slow after a mile or two. As I considered passing him I looked behind I saw the outline of a powerful bikie catching both of us. He powered past in his brown jersey and shorts which sported a ‘outlaw’ brand. Grizzled man behind shouted for me to catch the outlaw and get a free tow. I duly obliged and we enjoyed a 21mph tow to a little hill at the entrance to the village of Clynder, whereupon the outlaw stated he couldn’t find his inner ring. I realised this wasn’t a euphemism, an admission of his spiritual state, but rather that he was having a mechanical. Being the diminutive rider that I am, I surfed up the short ascent and he was a distant memory. I think the grizzled hybrid turned off shortly afterwards. As I reached the tip of the Peninsula the road kicked up in good style. As I changed down to the small chainwheel, I glanced back only to see the dark figure of the Outlaw careering along the road behind me. However, I was fairly sure that his speedy antics on the flat wouldn’t translate well on the hills toward Cove. As I crested the hill there was no sign of him.

I rode on up the coast to Coulport. I was hoping there would be a shop there, but there’s nothing there but the navy base. Hello Sailor. I elected to go ‘ovethetop’ and take the high road cut though down to Mambeg and toward Gareloch. As I turned left a huge hill presented itself in front of me and it took all my effort not to get off and walk. It’s a long long time since I zig-zagged up an incline and had broken into a quality sweat by the time I got to the top. My heart rate monitor was fizzing. There was a little bit of dribble on the side of my mouth.  Coming down the other side I had a full view of Faslane. It’s a wee town on its own and there’s new building still going on. I guess it’s a big employer in the area. I stopped for a ribena and macaroon bar at the Spar in Gareloch and then set off again for the last 10 miles of my 40 miler.  As I cycled through Helensburgh I noticed Humbles, my fave café, was full, so I ended up on the front sitting outside a sandwich bar with a cheese and tuna panini and a cuppa. I got talking to an old bloke who told me he cycled 20 miles a day, every day and was complimentary about the old jalope. He left shortly afterwards, only to be replaced by another random bloke who also wanted to talk bikes. However, I had to get off and get back down the road before the traffic around Glasgow and Edinburgh built up.  The number of cars on the roads at present is crazy. All folk who might, on any other year, might be on a plane to some foreign clime.   

There's a radio programme doing the rounds called Time and presented by Armando Iaunucci. It concludes that in order to slow time, you need to make new memories and get into new places to stimulate the brain. I think this is my new mission. Upwards to the next ride or adventure.