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'.