L2P 2012

Nasty weather this year. Heavy showers, strong headwind = extra thick crust of road muck &  wankered headset bearings. Still, great fun, group 3 rode well & tight. Highlight - Nice hotel in Amiens again. And Pierre Herme macaroons in Paris. Lowlight - crappy Holiday Inn in Calais with throbbing music till 4am. I wish I had a picture of the macaroons, but we ate them too quickly.

Lotta bikes

Calais War-Faces

Cold. Wet. Windy.

Insouciant. For sure.

The Piglet

Last weekend I became the proud builder of a mountain bike. Six months it took. I owned one before, a long time ago, during my second year at university. It was only mine for two weeks before it got stolen. I'd parked it carelessly, in a rush to get my end away with the girlfriend of the time. A Kona Lava Dome, with odd sized wheels. Probably just as well. Probably a fair exchange.

Now, I'm really a road cyclist, with excursions into cyclocross. Last year's Marin Roughride made me think though. Is a modified road bike the best way to go cross country? Why is everyone else on an MTB? Why do I put up with skinny tyres and an inability to brake? Why do they point and throw stones at me? That last Roughride, in the freezing rain of a Welsh June morning, sliding backwards down the muddy campsite, I had an epiphany. I was decided. I would build my own MTB. 

I'd have nowhere to put it, but I had been scoping my recently retired father-in-law's garage, engineering-expertise, and comprehensive collection of tools. Job done. In minutes months, the job was done, and the bike was complete.

Pearson 150 2012

Since the weather was only going to be freezing and windy, Mark from RCCC suggested it would be worth riding the Pearson after all. Then Kevin texted to say he'd be around, did I still fancy it? Plus I'd paid my entry. I was trapped. I also needed to get some miles in for the L2P. Dreams of a Sunday lie-in lay shattered. In desperation, I asked my wife if she'd go in my place, but she was asleep. I shook her gently, and she affectionately punched me in the face. No joy there. I struggled to find my cycling clobber. The only socks were thick and woolly hiking efforts. My only windcheater day-glo and leery. A shot of coffee and I was ready.

RCCC Breakaway Group

     After a late start, we maintained a good pace, keeping close together. Mark zoomed ahead on the climbs, in the big ring, like Contador on amphetamines. On the level Kevin kept up a slave driver's pace. Despite the strong wind, it was a relief to take a turn in front just to slow him down. Compared to those two, my riding powers were more relaxed, so I took on the role of directeur sportif, suggesting frequent piss-breaks and scenic rest-stops - Brighton pier for a donkey ride and photo op, a snooze on top of Ditchling beacon, that sort of thing. As a result our time looks perhaps middling. The fact is though, only two types of rider were out that day - the really tough, and the pros, and I wanted to make sure no one was burned out for the coming season. I take my responsibilities seriously.