I think I'm finally ready to talk about it.
 |
| Sid and me before we set off (still smiling) |
I'd been very excited about The Mad March Hare - mainly because I felt I'd trained hard for it and that I would be riding with my brother for the first time since we were about 15 and 12 years old! I even described the sensation to Lucy as being similar to the way you feel at Christmas Eve when you're a kid.
My bro Sid arrived on Saturday and we fed him chicken and pasta and he even helped himself to one of my beers! His bike was a disgrace - covered in black muck, it looked like it had never been cleaned. I got it up on the workstand and we set about adjusting the brakes, straightening the handlebars and getting the grime off it. Underneath the dirt was a very handsome Specialized Allez Elite.
We woke up to a grey Sunday. I had a breakfast of eggs and bacon followed by fruit and a large slice of cake. Sid had muesli. We called round for Uncle Jonnie at 8:30 (he lives less than a mile away) and then took a nice easy 5 mile pedal to the start line. We met up with Fast Ant and Roger and after distributing homemade flapjack (and Christmas cake for Jonnie!) we rolled over the timing mat and headed off into the countryside.
For the most part, the route was fine. It was mainly unfamiliar roads which was a nice change after all the training we'd done on the same old lanes. However, it was nearly all downhill for the first 30 miles or so and it was quickly apparent that I was still struggling to descend properly. I was never good at descending, but since my crash I've been extra nervous going downhill. On the day, this meant that I'd get left behind as the rest of the lads wooshed down the hills, then I'd have to increase my efforts to catch up with them again when the road levelled. Every time.
It was wearing me out.
 |
| Sid and Jonnie helpfully observe Fast Ant changing an inner tube. |
Fast Ant was our super domestique. He spent most of the ride out front, churning round his enormous gear, in his track suit bottoms and t-shirt. The rest of us with our high cadence and lycra could never hope to match him!
My brother was probably the least properly prepared. It was obvious that his seat was too low for him and so he wasn't making full use of his leg muscles. However, because some assistant in Evans Cycles had told him that he didn't need to adjust his new bicycle AT ALL because it was already perfect for him, Sid didn't want to tamper with his set up. He was also wearing trainers. Normal trainers for running. This meant that he couldn't even use the toe clips on his plastic pedals so essentially he was riding flats! When you consider that he was also giving up sweet things for lent so couldn't refuel with Lucy's flapjack, it was apparent that he was at a major disadvantage.
But you'd never know. He may have found himself at the back during flat sections, but he was rarely off the back. He descended well and held his own on the climbs. Built like Marcel Kittel, once he gets the right pedals and saddle height, he'll be a very useful cyclist indeed.
At the halfway point in the Cotswolds, instead of a feedstation, we found Saintbury Hill. This hill is the most challenging climb I've attempted outside of Wales. At over 1.2 miles and 9% average gradient, it is recognised as a category 3 climb and has been used twice for the national hill climb championships.
When we arrived at the start of it, Fast Ant didn't seem to slow down and simply disappeared up the climb, not to be seen for the next 15 minutes! I was second in line for the first half of the climb. Spinning my legs round in my tiniest gear, gasping for breath, I was dumbfounded when I witnessed Roger, a man over 20 years my senior, ride past me! And he kept on going! We rode past people resting at the side of the road, and then into silence when all I could hear was my own ragged suffering.
 |
| Sid and Jonnie at the top of Saintbury Hill |
 |
| Roger |
The next part of the ride was the worst for me: a long swooping descent, including a 12% drop, on busy roads. I tried to stay with the rest of the lads but my nerve didn't hold and I was soon on the brakes with the handlebars in a death grip. After the road levelled, I set about putting the effort in to catch the group. I knew I would suffer later, but what choice did I have? To make matters worse, Sid had kindly stopped to wait for me on the flat section. Unfortunately, he had ran out of water and when he cramped, I ended up slowing down for him!
We caught up with Jonnie and Fast Ant but unfortunately, they had lost Roger! By this point, it had started to rain, was getting cold and we had been riding on some horrible A road. We tried calling Roger but he didn't answer his phone. I sent a text message explaining that we think he had missed the turning off the A road and that we would meet him at the feedstation.
We carried on into the rain.
By chance, some time later, riding across a huge traffic island, we saw Roger approaching from the right! I'm still not sure how we all ended up riding together again - but it was certainly a very small chance that we would reach the island at the same time riding from different directions!
When we got to the feedstation they were trying to close up. They had even put the chairs away! Fuck that, I got the chairs out again. By this point we'd got about 65 miles in our legs and were ready for a proper sit down! Jonnie bought the tea, I supplied the flapjack and we waved goodbye to Fast Ant - he'd understandably had enough of waiting for us four slow guys in the cold and rain. He sped off at superhuman speeds. I really wish he'd use Strava: he'd be setting some impressive records!
  |
| This includes the ride to and from the start line. |
The last 20 miles were hellish. The wind was howling (really, it sounded like a massive wild animal trying to scare us off our bikes) and blowing the rain at us horizontally at times. As we neared the finish line, at Earlswood, the roads were slick with running water and my nerve suddenly snapped again. Convinced I was going to slide, I dropped the speed down to about 11mph and coasted back like a sightseer on a touring bike. Sid and Jonnie had kindly waited for me and we crossed the line together. We found Roger munching on his bacon buttie. In fact, Roger, the oldest of the lot of us, even managed smiles and hearty handshakes. You might even be forgiven for thinking he had actually enjoyed himself! They must make them tough in Yorkshire...
Unable to cycle properly in the rain, with numb hands and aching everything, Sid and I wobbled home. When I got to the house, I vowed never to ride the Mad March Hare again. Then I declared, after about 3 beers, that I was never cycling again. Sid, Jonnie and I sat shoulder to shoulder together on the couch and watched Top Gear.
Driving looks more fun.
