Rob McIvor
A few ride reports
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Here are some reports from the qualifying rides. I hope they'll give a flavour of what Audax riding is all about. I'll try and add a few other reports from other events too, so keep coming back.
THE HAILSHAM 400, 15 MAY 2011
Well, that was a ride of two halves if ever there was one!
6am in a car park in Hailsham, East Sussex, the rain pouring steadily but the air not quite cold enough to justify wrapping up. Not the best way to start a 400km ride - too chilly for just a shirt and shorts but waterproofs that get soaked at this stage will stay that way for the rest of the day. I opted to take the latter chance on the assumption that I would be able to dry my gore-tex top somewhere along the way.
We set off at a good pace. I was riding with a former colleague, Caroline, who is also attempting to qualify for Paris-Brest-Paris, for the first time. I'd ridden with her on her first 300km a few weeks ago and this was her first 400. I'd looked at the route and had a tentative plan that would see us averaging around 19kph, including stops for food, and finishing at about 4am, a good time for the distance. A key part of that was assuming that we would spend no more than half an hour at each of the feed stops - more of this later.
The drizzle died away after about an hour and we settled in to a strong pace, despite a headwind. So much so that we arrived at the 90km stop an hour ahead of plan. The next 110km were equally satisfying as we rolled across West Sussex, Hampshire and into Wiltshire, sailing through quintessential English villages with thatched cottages, inviting-looking pubs and a plague of 4x4s. We climbed up to enjoy a spectacular view across the Vale Of Pewsey before diving down in to Burbage, near Marlborough for the 200km food stop, still almost an hour ahead.
At that point, we were beginning to speculate about a 20 hour finish, confident that we could keep the steady pace for the next 200km.
Big mistake. Leaving Burbage, we headed across Salisbury Plain for Petersfield into a strong headwind. The dip and dive of the road started to get quite wearing as we struggled to keep a rhythm in the wind.
Then, at about 7pm, the rain came. And boy did it come! Bitterly cold, driving into our faces as we struggled along, it formed rivers against us as we climbed the hills and chilled us to the bone as we descended. Finally, after a white-knuckle shivering descent into Petersfield, down a winding hill that had seen me touching 80kmh just a few weeks ago, we arrived at the 280km checkpoint, a 24-hour cafe in a petrol station.
Some 8 or 9 riders were already there, trying to dry out and warm up and waiting for the rain to abate. As we fortified our shivering bodies with hot coffee and toasted sandwiches, another 10 or so came in, all in a bedraggled state. Quite a few were contemplating giving up and busily checking train times.
By 10.30, the rain was still torrential but the 24 hour garage was closing (work that one out) and so we set off into the night.
The next stage was 62km to Pease Pottage, at the end of the M23. We picked up another couple of riders who were happy to sit behind me and take a bit of a tow and, as it was mainly on a main road, we were able to keep a relatively good pace in spite of the rain.
We made it to the service station at about 1.30. The place resembled a lycra refugee camp. Some earlier arrivals had stayed for a couple of hours just sitting out the rain and,again, others staggered in as we tried, not very successfully, to warm ourselves up. My blood sugar had dropped considerably so all I could face was milky coffee and yoghurt, and I was struggling to shake off the shivers, despite having five layers on. My waterproof Sealskin socks had kept my feet toasty for most of the day but had succumbed to the deluge running down my legs and in through the top, so I was now walking with a squelch.
With only 62km to go, we were now relaxed about finishing with the 27 hour limit, come what may, so stayed for an hour until the rain had definitely stopped. Then, still accompanied by our tag-alongs, set off at about 2.30 for the final slog back to Hailsham. It was a roller-coaster of a road with lots of long drags upwards, compensated for by equally long but gentle descents. Having not eaten properly since 9pm I was starting to feel somewhat nauseous but managed to push myself through it and we reached the finish at 05.22, giving us a creditable, if not spectacular time.
If I've made the second half sound awful, that's because it was. These were probably the worst conditions I've had on a ride in the south (descending Snowdon in sleet on last year's Brian Chapman 600 - see below - probably remains the ultimate low point).
The temptation to quit and find a train station is always there but what kept me going through the night was the thought that I can use Paris-Brest-Paris to raise some decent money for Isaac's fund. For me to feel self pity for getting a bit cold and wet while doing something I love would be an insult to the suffering that he endured. I'm going to ride PBP and I'm going to ride it well.
So that's 3 out of 4 qualifiers in the bag. I have my 600km set for next weekend but I'm going to decide midweek whether or not to do it. It's a notoriously tough ride, called the Brian Chapman Memorial, from Chepstow to Anglesey and back, including two crossings of Snowdonia. It's the first 600 of the year and a bit of a "trophy" ride, but I don't want to risk blowing up and not finishing. Last year I made it only halfway around before a freezing nighttime descent from Mt Snowdon in the sleet convinced me that I'd had enough. I don't want to risk that happening this year so will be aiming to get over the mountain a little earlier.
Watch this space :-)
THE BRIAN CHAPMAN MEMORIAL, 21 May 2011
Saturday, 5.15am. A group of 20 or 25 cyclist make their way gently across the old Severn Bridge into Wales. They - or we, as I am among them - are heading from the comfort of the Severn View Travelodge to Chepstow for the start of the Brian Chapman Memorial, a 619km jaunt, named after an organiser of long-distance cycling events in the 1970s.
Were it not called that, it would probably be named the Bridge to Bridge, as it connects the aforementioned Severn Bridge with the Menai Bridge that connect Anglesey to the mainland. Trouble is, the two bridges have Wales in between.
The route is in three stages. The first heads north-west, through Abergavenny, Llangurig, and Aberystwyth to Dolgellau. Then there is a loop across Snowdonia to Menai and back to Dolgellau, followed by a south-easterly run through Newtown, dipping briefly into Herefordshire and then back to Chepstow via Monmouth.
These rides are given a points rating, based on the amount and intensity of the hill climbing involved, to indicate how hard they are. Typically, a 600km ride might warrant 4-5 points. At 8.5 points, the BCM is the hardest annual event in the calendar. That means a lot of time spent in low gear.
I got to this one feeling good but apprehensive. I'd stayed off the bike for the week since last weekend's 400km, to rest my legs, but I'd tried this event last year and abandoned at Menai, for reasons that will be explained later, so I knew I was in for a hard 40 hours or so (40 hours is the time limit for 600km).
It was a mild start and the run out to the first checkpoint (or "control") at 75km was glorious. The only distraction was a noticeable headwind,which was to get stronger during the day. It was enough to slow me a little on the flat sections but very unhelpful on the downhills, where I was having to pedal to maintain 35kph where I would normally be touching 55-60kph.
On through Llangurig towards Aberystwyth and the terrain was getting a bit lumpier. The 155km control was at a cafe at the top of a long climb. The food was excellent, but the 20 minute queue to order wasn't welcome. Too many cyclists! I compensated by having three courses, which meant that I didn't need to eat much at the next control.
Overall on this ride there are 9 or 10 "serious" climbs, where all a gravity-friendly lump like me can do is shift into the lowest gear possible and keep the pedals turning, knowing that in half an hour or so it will all be over...until the next one. There were a couple of these climbs on the next stretch but I was still feeling comfortable and even found myself overtaking other riders occasionally. The big problem was the headwind, which meant that where I would normally be rolling along at around 30kph, I was having to push hard to maintain half that. Adding that to the slow cafe service led to me not reaching the 225km control until 6pm, about 90 minutes later than I would have hoped.
This control is at a Youth Hostel, which to me represents every negative impression I have of youth hostels. It's cold, shabbily furnished and the toilets are dreadful. And to get to it involves a climb up a 30% gradient!
On the other hand, the kitchen was being staffed by a bunch of volunteers who kept a steady flow of food and drink going to wet and hungry riders. And it has a drying room, which, given that it had been raining steadily for the previous couple of hours, was a blessing. I changed into some serious cold weather kit and left my day kit hanging up to dry while I was away.
The 175km loop over to Menai is the heart of the ride. Heading north it tracks the coast through Barmouth, Harlech and Penrhyneudraeth (hereafter referred to as Pendy) and Beddgelert, before climbing up and over the Pen-y pass, next to Mount Snowdon and swooping down to the Menai Bridge. When I rode this event last year, having had a rough ride north, I descended this pass at about 1am in sleet and arrived at the control a shivering mess. At the control there was no heating and I sat for about an hour, shaking uncontrollably, unable to get warm. Unwilling to risk going back over the mountains in that state, I abandoned and found a hotel room for the night.
This year I was running a little earlier and feeling a lot stronger. I'd hooked up with an acquaintance form previous rides, Anton, to ride the night section. It's always better to do this in company, even if only to have someone to hold the torch while you fix punctures (which Anton had done for me 3 times on a 400km PBP pre-qualifier last year).
By the time we started the big climb, along with a couple of other guys we had picked up on the way, the rain was getting quite heavy and the wind hadn't dropped. As we turned the final bend for the last push up to the top, it hit us full-on as if it were trying to stop us from moving. As one of the others said later, it was like being in a Power Shower, set to freezing.
It was bitterly cold at the top and I should have simply carried straight on and down. However, the others wanted to stop and fiddle with their clothing so I was standing around for about 5 minutes. That was enough for the chill to hit me and as we set off down the mountain, my arms were shaking so much that I couldn't control the bike. I slowed right down until I'd brought that under control but then was able to let go off the brakes and enjoy a cold but controlled descent. This is where having a decent lighting set-up pays dividends. I can descend in the dark almost as quickly as in daylight, leaving the others a long way behind.
The rain had stopped by the time we reached Menai but we were still feeling pretty cold and the hall was still unheated. We rolled in at about 12.30 and decided to be back on the road by 1.15, fortified by some hot soup and peaches and rice pudding (Audax events are gastronomically "interesting" - it#s amazing what your boddy craves after 18 hours on a bike).
The route back to Dolgellau is, basically, around the other side of Snowdon, which involves a bit of climbing, back through Beddgelert and Pendy (where going down the 17% hill out of town was much more enjoyable than going up it it had been on the way out) and then a long, long slog along the A470 past the Trawsfynydd hydro-electric power station, which we passed shortly after dawn. We reached the Dolgellau control at 6.02, making it 24 hours for just under 400km - not a bad outcome considering the terrain and conditions.
I spent two hours here, having breakfast, changing into some dry clothes and grabbing about 45 minutes' sleep slumped in an armchair, before settling myself back on the leather razor blade and heading back out on the road just after 8am.
At this point I was starting to feel nervous about finishing within the time limit. I had 225km to do in 14 hours. Yesterday I had done that distance in 12 hours, into the wind. But my legs were feeling tired and I knew that there some evil climbs still to come, including the two that previous finishers had warned me were the two hardest.
Mentally, I broke the three remaining stages in to 4 hour, 5 hour and 5 hour blocks. If I could stay ahead of the clock, I could do it.
I'd been told that the next stage was flat for the first few kilometres, then went uphill, and that I should expect it to take me at least an hour from leaving the control to get to the top of the first climb. It was long and it was steep. Very steep. At times, I was grinding the pedals around, desperately trying to keep moving, with my computer showing my speed at 5kph - barely walking pace. Worse still, it was a perfectly straight road, so I could see tiny figures on bicycles up ahead and, as I got nearer to the top, equally tiny figures down below.
At the top, the road dropped down sharply through rocks towards a very sharp left hand bend. I'd been warned about this bend and took the few hundred metres down to it very gently. Around the bend, I could see the whole valley below and the clear road snaking its way down to the bottom. The 75kph descent felt like a reward for every climb of the previous 24 hours.
The rest of the stage just rolled, but each time the road turned uphill I found myself slipping down the gears and crawling my way up small hills that I wouldn't normally notice. About 15km from the control I passed a church with the clock showing 10.40. My reaction was that they should have switched to BST by now. I rolled into the 460km control and bumped into a group of riders that I had assumed were at least a couple of hours ahead of me and was then pleasantly surprised to discover that the village clock had been right and I had covered the stage in less than 3 hours, including the climb.
At this point I realised that if I could maintain the pace there was a chance of finishing in time.
The next stage began with another killer climb, from Newtown towards Knighton, taking us into England. Again, I'd heard warnings about this but fired up with the prospect of finishing I found it pretty straightforward (if long) and, again, was passing other riders on the way up. From Knighton, it was a series of narrow lanes over to the penultimate control at Weobley, near Hereford.
As I arrived, Anton was just leaving, having not stopped for long at the previous control. This was a so-called "commercial" control. Typically it's a cafe or a shop where you give a bit of custom and they stamp the card that shows you have been to each of the controls. In this case it was the village shop and the food selection was poor, so I didn't stay very long. I was about an hour ahead of my 4-5-5 schedule so reckoned I could cruise the final stage.
About 20km down the road I caught up with Anton, who was trying to fight off an attack of the dozies (sleep deprivation, which saps your energy and can result in you literally falling asleep on the bike). I eased off my pace a little and we rode together for the remaining 60km to the finish.
There were a couple of long stiff climbs on the way - one just before we got into Monmouth and another just after Tintern Abbey, on the A466, that seemed to go on for ever, but we just winched our way up them and enjoyed the descents. Of course, as anyone who has been to Chepstow will know, it is built up the side of a hill and, naturally, the finish was at the top.
We rolled in just after 9pm, 39 hours after setting off. Not a disastrous time, considering the event. There were many others out on the road behind us who did not make it back in time and, of the 150 that started, some 30 abandoned along the way.
Then it was another gentle ride back over the Severn Bridge, a night in the Travelodge, and a short ride up to Bristol this morning for the train home.
So that's it. I have qualified for Paris-Brest-Paris. I have my confirmed Rider Number, GB2970, and my travel and hotel booked. Now I have three months to concentrate on some training to improve my hill climbing and starting some serious sponsorship solicitiation.
Watch this space!