First cyclo-cross of 2011-12

I wasn't sure about racing today.  I still feel tired from Helvellyn on a daily basis and the palava with work didn't help my recovery.  Still, I decided to give it a go thanks to TSK's persuasion.

I was rushing around like a mad thing before the start at Tong.  Thank goodness for a hint of disorganisation.  I managed to get a lap in.

The entire course was fun. Difficult twists and turns, some short run ups, some gnarly wooded descents and a very steep long climb which I really struggled.  Deffinately too much Helvellyn left in my legs.

Although it was hard, the race was like a wake-up call for my body.  I feel tired now but only standard tired.  I also feel more confident about the 3 Peaks next week, like I know just how fast to go away at the start (not very) and how much I will have left at the end - enough. 

I'm coming into it this year knowing that I've already done something harder.

I'll spend the rest of this week resting up now, perhaps treat myself to running track training one evening to get the running legs firing again.

The rest of my time will be spent planning and knitting.

RIP ITER Posting

Seems my new-found work Zen was exceptionally short lived.  It's unclear as yet what has happened but I am no longer required in the South of France for 3 months.

Whilst this may, initially seem like a bit of a blow, I am infact completely non-plussed about the whole affair.  Of course I am worried that with such a short turn around, I have somehow pissed someone off.  The project manager seems hurt - he was hoping to make the expenses I have spent over the last few days back based on the imense ammount of money they were charging for me, so it's not him I've enraged.  The local man seems to just refer me back to my Rotherham boss and he is not taking my calls or answering my emails.  So I wait to find out what the score is when he returns to the office.  I know he was expecting much more work to come out of France and back to Rotherham but as resources in France have mounted up, this isn't the case so perhaps he just wants one of his peeps back.

Has my new resistance to putting myself out, refusing to travel half way across Europe when tired, upset someone?  Maybe.  I don't really mind.  I'm sorry this whole affair has overlapped an important project.  I'm glad I'm not there, all tired.  Quite frankly, I'm glad the panic of the century is no longer my project.

This changeover has made me realise that my own personal USP (ultimate selling point) has to change.  I no longer want to be the one to deliver the panic du jour.  I will be the organised one who does everything to time and makes sure it runs smoothly.  Not the catch-up queen.

I spent Thursday evening unpacking my bike from it's box and reassembling it.  The non-move did at least give me the opportunity to clean my bike properly.

On Friday morning I got up at 6:30 especially to put the finishing touches to it (put the rack on) and rode to work.  It was dead on 9am when I arrived, having hunted down various keys and things that I'd put away for another day.  My legs were still a little bit fucked but the flat start to the ride helped me feel happier and the hills at the end of the ride gave me a proper stretch out despite the fact that I was riding in bottom gear on the little ring.

At 3pm, TSK phoned to say his overdue balloon ride was off and so he came to pick me up from work to ride out to a country pub.  We had a few debates on the way as to which way to go.  Eventually headed for Firbeck which is one of my favourite flatlands rural villages.  We didn't think there was a pub there but decided to make it up as we went along.

Just as we rode through Firbeck, TSK commented, "There should be a pub here" and like an outspoken wish, the Black Lion appeared on a sweeping bend.  Perfect cyclists pub.  Plenty of spaces for bikes, really nice food.

A big portion of pork belly should help with the muscle restoration.

Saturday morning, a recovery run to the Royal Mail to pick up spiky balls to masage my scabby muscles with.

The perfect start to the restorative process that is a change in jobs.

Post Helvellyn. The way forward. The next year.

That's it for dumb training.

I really managed to smarten-up when I took up road racing on the bike. I suppose it was only one sport to think about but I am still learning with tri.
 
After this weekend I was very ill due to nothing more than sheer exhaustion and bad nutrition. I can only imagine I let my body get so drained on the last 3 miles that all of the toxins in my body took over and I had no energy or gut left to fight them with. Although the yogurt was the only thing that made me throw up yesterday, it also seemed to be the one thing that eventually restored me to normal function.
 
In short I can not let myself get in this mess again.
 
On a mental front I have been working with a counsellor to understand why I clench my jaw. My voyage of discovery about the choices I make has been interesting. I have realised that promising the earth to everyone and not delivering is only going to make me anxious and so I have to set limits and stick to them, or at least choose my own exceptions.

I have come to realise that when I try to do everything and please everyone that it doesn't work. I end up tired and I do things wrong and end up making things worse. I might please someone but it's not always me.

So now I have started doing things for me. I've started doing what's best for me. I've changed work plans to give myself more time and this week when I became ill, I changed the date I will return to France.
 
It's empowering. Sure I feel bad for letting them down when they were expecting me but I know now that when I arrive there rested I can achieve so much more and they won't ground to a halt without me.
 
It's taken me all day today to pack my bike away in a box ready for shipping out to France. It could take me all day tomorrow to put all my laundry away from my holidays and pack for going back to France.

That leaves me one day to work here and well, if I travel Friday, I might as well make it Sunday and have the weekend with TSK. How happy I will then be when I return to France knowing it's only two weeks until we're back together?
 
Now that my brain is restored to normal after Helvellyn (really?) I am taking 3 weeks out to chill before the 3Peaks. I'll do some race specific training if I feel up to it but this year I'm just coming back to take part.
 
This time of year I'm usually excited about it but this year I don't mind. I'm looking forwards to seeing my friends and doing the outdoorsy bit but I'm happy enough just to hang out and actually get back to France in one piece this time.  Perhaps I'll ride with my dad for a bit.


Beyond 3 Peaks (rest)prep I get to embark on the fun task of planning next years season and this year I intend to make a proper job of it, not the half hearted run-swim-bike plan of last year.
 
Sometimes I feel like I'm over doing it with planning in minute detail because plans always get blown out the window with me.  I hope my new disciplined approach to time and effort management will make things work out and help me to stick to the plan for once.  I've been moderately disciplined this year - next year will be better.  Sheffield Tri have given me enough training tools to get through the next 3 months and when I'm back in the fold it will be perfect timing for finishing 2011 and getting started on spring.

Must remember to plan for those all important trips down to London in 2012 to watch the best in the world at work.

Helvellyn Triathlon Notes

I had an amazing day at Helvellyn.  Sadly, the effort made me quite ill so at the moment my enthusiasm is dulled and I doubt that this post will do it justice.

The day before the race was torrential - no other word for it.  I was glad I ordered a hoodie as I needed something to wear underneath my raincoat at registration.

The race day dawned clear and we watched the mist rise off a still Ullswater as we racked our bikes.

I managed to get through the swim in less than half an hour although the jog over the line into transition has me at 30 minutes 28 seconds.

For a mixed gender open-water swim it was quite civilised.  We couldn't see the first buoy for the sun shining in our eyes so I think the entire pack swam a slight loop around to the buoy so there was a bit of swimming over eachotehr as half the pack fell into the shade and started to steer towards the buoy and the other half continued in a random direction.

As we rounded the buoy, quite a lot of people took it easy and steered wide so there wasn't much fighting.  As I swam away from it, I saw the seond buoy and the pack stretched out ahead and felt tired and disjointed.  I started to worry that I'd misread the instruction, that it was a long swim but before I knew it I was on the second buoy.  I managed to sit on someone's feet most of the way around, making the occasional effort to stay in contact.  As I reached the peir my hands froze and I reverted to combing the water with my splayed fingers so consequently I used my legs more to drive me towards the finish.

In transition I couldn't find my lightweight socks so stuck my fell running socks on under my cycling shoes.  Annoying 5 minutes for transition.  Someone noticed and asked me if they were my lucky socks.

Out on the bike I weaved my way through people dragging their shoes along the ground on their bikes or wiggling around and finally jumped on 15m beyond the mount line.  It was 45 minutes before I got warmed up, riding over the 1st climb in 1st gear, wondering how on earth I was going to get up the struggle a bit later on.

When I did warm up I settled down, making sure I was enjoying myself and saving myself for the rest of the day - The Struggle and Helvellyn.  There was a shady ride along the side of Thirlmere which made me shiver before the climb upto the AA phone box which was my trigger to take an energy gel to let it sit in my belly and get me up The Struggle.

We turned into The Struggle and I relaxed.  I knew once I was here, there wasn't much to go.  This time I went straight into bottom gear, not saving the gears this time - saving my legs instead.  After the first kick, I gave some advice to a fellow lady-competitor about zig zagging and got her back on the bike.  We both had a little walk on the next kick as my legs started to twitch with thigh cramp.

We finally reached the flattened section for a rest then hit the final climb.  Suddenly there were people watching.  Teams cheered and screamed at riders still on their bikes to keep going.  I put it on for the photographer and for TSK at the top, cheering and showing me his belly.  As I made the turn onto the top of the Kirkstone pass my face muscles were twitching from grimacing and smiling.

An efficient and skillful descent of the Kirstone pass meant TSK only caught me at the bottom.  To be fair, I scared myself a few times.  With the dry road I wasn't as cautious as last time which made me worry I was going to melt the brakes when I did use them full-on at each of the corners.  If I hadn't been a skilled cyclo-cross rider there's every risk I would've skipped my wheel into the air at some points.

It's an easy ride back to transition from the bottom of Kirkstone pass although each of the little rises did hurt somewhat.

My T2 should've been quick but I spent some time unpacking some stuff from my bumbag.  I also stopped off at the plastic boxes on my way out.

I jogged up to the begining of the climb, through the trees, along the river, past the vanu in the campsite then started walking at the rocky path.  I figure, if you're not running, you might as well eat so I finished the energy bar I started on the bike ride and started downing rehydration fluid as it was a hot, breezy day.

When we reached the moor we all had a bit of a run to the bottom of the climb to Swirral Edge.  A fellow competitor stopped for tea from a flask with her friends and I felt quite jealous.  I enjoyed the climb because I'd done it before and knew there was a cairn, a pointy rock, another cairn and then I was at the ridge, the interesting bit.

I got on the heels of a mountain goat and enjoyed the lift up the craggy edge.  Eventually I got hunger pangs so I stopped to try and eat something.  Sitting on an outcrop above red tarn watching athletes pass me by and munching was very satisfying.  Someone was skinny dipping in the tarn.  As someone faltered in front of me with their footwork I took an alternate direct route, my fell shoes acting as well as soft rubber climbing boots.

I didn't take much of a topping out ceremony, I was too keen to make the most of my food and get onto the much-practiced downhill section.  On the first drop off, I was looking forwards to going back up again, until I got there.  On the second drop off, I was passed by one or two which forced me to run myself.

At the sharp descent - the much feared zig zags - I was doing quite well.  I felt like I was running like my dad but it seemed effective.  I crossed the water station (a  stream) but had plenty of fluids left.  Food was the issue.  My tummy was rumbling but I decided I could probably make it to the finish from here.  The drop down to the bunk house was starting to get painful.  By the time I reached a small incline on the concrete road, my legs said no.  I reverted to a walk so delved in to the last energy gel.  I knew there wasn't much point in me trying to digest anything else.  It worked just long enough to get me down to TSK waiting at the edge of Glenridding village but I had to apologise to fellow competitors for farting.

Once TSK had cycled past it was the crowds of folk cheering through the village and the finishing straight that got me over the line.

Whilst it was nice to walk straight into the lake in my shorts, it became clear very quickly that the cryotherapy was not going to help my feet which tend to cramp after a race.  Perhaps not removing my shoes and socks was an issue but then I can't stand on rocks when I'm' fresh, never mind when I'm knackered.  It took me half an hour around transition to get my stuff and change into dry shoes and socks so I could actually walk back to the van.  I had to drink constantly all the way there just to refuel and regenerate enough to walk.

Lessons Learned
1. Should've taken sugarey drink and some real food on the run.
2. Any ban on plastic boxes - a replacement carrier bag should be clear so I can see the stuff in it.
3. Don't give up downhill running training - not for anyone.  It will only end in days off work after the event.
4. Don't make decisions on nutrition during the event.  I used more calories (2000) out of my body than I actually consumed in the day (1900) ie. total calories expended were in excess of 4000... and I don't often count calories.

Swim: 30:28, 3.2km/hr: 357/599, 44/92 Fem, 28/53 Sen Fem (target time 28:52)
T1: 05:05,
Bike: 2:36:13,14.6m/hr (23.36km/hr): 481/599, 58/92 Fem, 35/53 Sen Fem (Target time 2:14)
T2: 5:48.  What? did I take a nap?
Run: 2:43:18 18:08min/mile (11:18min/km) 507/599, 73/92 Fem, 43/53 Sen Fem (Target time 2:23)

Overall: 6:00:57 (gutted!) 515/599, 74/92 Fem, 44/53 Sen Fem (Target time 5:13).

End of Season lessons
More brick training on longer sessions

August Pre Helvellyn Stats

Swim - 6.21km, 2.3 kph.  Still good but not as far as July.  That's OK.
Bike - 181.62km, 20.7kph, 1360m el.  Ever so slightly faster but not so high and about 1/3 of previous months.  That'll be all the travelling.
Run - 52.67km, 7.5kph, 1266m el.  Considering I feel like I've scaled back the running this is amazing!

I am now officially looking forwards to Helvellyn.

Paris-Brest-Paris the Support Report

The calm before the storm

I can not deny that the P-B-P and helping TSK has been difficult for a Trep who is not too sufficient at sacrifice.  However, I can not deny that I have enjoyed making up for all the times TSK has been a spectator and put-upon helper in my sporting activities.  It has taken me back to my childood, being the proud support team offering encouragement to everyone and refuge, food and companionship and most importantly, coffee, to my special competitor.

Certificate of insanity

I am imensely honoured to send him on his way at each control.  I will be particularly so today when he returns from Brest this afternoon, having riden further than ever before.  I have been warned that 600 - 700 km will be mentally tough.  I remember my first 200km ride.  When leaving the 160km checkpoint a whole 12 months after we returned from the Canada trip was the furthest I had ever ridden in one go.

So this is how PBP turned out for me:

Sunday 21st August 2011 16:00-01:00
 

Pre-race shopping in theUK

The pre-hotel at Saclay (Novotel) was comfortable, quiet and enjoyable.  Some Brits got tired of the laxadasical French attitude of the staff and were toffee nosed and complaining.

We enjoyed our dinner, delivered to our table in a relaxed time frame and went out to the Boulangerie for breakfast, making coffee in the room using the cafetiere from the vanu.

Registration for PBP went smoothly and we took the opportunity to turn it into a warm-up ride with me blazing a pace into a headwind through the cornfields and TSK spinning along behind with all his paperwork and regulation kit in his Caradice.

Pre-PBP warmup

Before...

Start day began relaxed.  I dropped Andrew off on a side street to ride down to the start then set off to find somewhere more suitable to park - in trees by a river park - nice and cool.  I met up with TSK and we dozed in the shade for a while before watching the first wave depart at 4pm. An announcement that car #2088 had to move or it would be impounded by the police filled me with dread.  Was my "terribly good yet quite deserted" parking spot actually illegal?  My car number was 0288 but I was only half-listening to the

Bike servicing.  Where you're are asked to remove illegal equipment

announcement.  In the end car number 2088 delayed the start of the race by 5 minutes as it was broken down right in the race route.  Friends from YACF joked, "leave it where it is, we'll ride around it - just like we have been doing for the last 4 years leading up to today".




It was a very angry first wave pack that finally departed at 5:05 having been standing confined to areas of open sunshine for over 2 hours in 37 degree heat.

First wave fervour

We lined up to enter the stadium for final bike checks at 4:30pm.  Officials cleared a path through for the constant stream of special bikes that were due next.  We had a great view of some lovely machines.

Yes, this is Wakefield Tri

Billy no gears.  Actually, there is one more - it involves back pedalling.

Just as Andrew was allowed in, he got hungry so my first task of the week was to find a sandwich and some munchies to feed him as he passed out of bike check and lined up behind the second wave to start.

Eating, not starting

A good 20 minutes of standing out in the sun.  For once it was not team Pamplemouse that had the startline puncture but a guy from West Brom.  That aside, it was a truly international feel to the startline.

Russia, Brazil and Sheffield

Other competitors come from China, Canada, India, Japan, America, Holland, Germany, Italy.  Poland and the Philipines set up an Audax club Mondial and rides in their countries purely for the purpose of qualifying and entering PBP this year.  Of course, Wakefield tri were there and we bumped into a guy from Sheffield dressed in a Columbia jersey because it was the only one he owned with a full-length zip on.

Au revoir Paris

Once I'd snapped the departure photo I headed to the van, thankful it was still there and I hadn't been impounded.  I changed out of sweaty lycra into a cooler skirt.  However, it was so hot I stayed in my bra top, didn't bother with a tee and stepped out of the bike shoes into sandals.

I drove out along the N12 to Millemont where I cycled out to try and catch a view of the riders passing by.  I just popped my helmet on but stuck with the skirt, bra and sandals for a more refreshing ride, thinking I'd only be out for 10 minutes or so.  This was regretable as I left the map in the car, got lost and spent an entire hour retracing my pedal strokes.  When I returned to the vanu I was more sweaty and had very tired legs from riding on SPD pedals in sandals. 

Having not seen a single rider, I headed for Mortagne au Perce where I arrived about 11pm to a party atmosphere in the main square.  This was the first control for most people.  Me, I was in the mood for a sleep so I found a lovely backstreet partking lot and went to join the cheering when I was summoned by a sleepy TSK heading into town at 1am.

Monday 22nd August 2011 01:00- 18:00
We got an hours kip together then he set off on his way.  It wasn't a scheduled sleep but he was so blown out from the hot day before.  It's a pitty I didn't get to see more of Mortagne.  I was needed for 09:30 breakfast appointment at Fougeres so I decided to get up and go at 6am.  It was just getting light - this is good to know.

Transition bike park a la vanu

The N12 switches between motorway status (2 lane dual carriageway or more, hard shoulder, offlane services) to what we'd call A-road which mianders from 50 kph through towns or trundling single carriageways through countryside (90kph) with crappy parking places.  Desperate for speed and convenience and taking a moment, I spent most drives longing for motorway services but on this case, eventually resorted to a Patisserie when they opened just outside Fougeres at Ernee.  

TSK was 2 hours behind schedule giving me the oppotunity to rearrange all our stuff and brew cofee.  The parking at Fougeres was enough for me to spread out and sleep for a while. Now in between large groups of riders, space opened in carparks closer to the control and I shifeted us to a sheltered spot out of the rain as it began to fall.  

I walked up to the control to see TSK arrive and cheer on other riders who seemed genuinely happy that someone was prepared to sit in the rain and encourage them.  

Soggy in Fougeres

TSK did eat some brekfast baked goods but now 11:30am he was craving more.  As I hadn't had time to shop, we resorted to tinned baked beans and tuna I bought from the dodgy corner shop on Saturday evening.  I ate the leftovers for lunch.  Such is the sacrificial life of race support.

Aware that I have a long and more complicated journey ahead including some of that shopping, I head off straight away. 

Combourg seems to be the showcase venue for the organisers to deliver the best of Britany to the visiting nations.  It is a nice enough place but diverting through it to get onto a very poxy road to Tremblay presents a challenge to many of us and an international convoy of campervans amuses the locals by rallying around various different routes alternately following eachother then breaking away from the pack, only to meet eachother coming in different directions.  I find my way out by nipping trhough the town centre where a no-entry barrier has not been restored and find myself driving up the cobbled high street passing a street cleaner going the wrong way down a one way street.

The picturesque lake at Combourg

On the right road finally, I sopt for second lunch overlooking Combourg lake.  I'm too tired to take a picture - and this is just the start.  I am too tired to enjoy this place.  I have still missed the official route but I get a message from TSK to say he's fine at Tintineac so I stick with the D795 which is fast and just crosses the rider's course in a different place, much to the confusion of the marshalls as I pass by.  

I take the turn for Hede as this is a town on my list but it's litterally a dead end.  A frenchman in a PBP cambpervan shrugs at me and I indicate to go back down the hill.  From Hede to Bedee I fight my way along the D80 and D68, muddling through villages with too many roundabouts and therefore U-turns.  Finally I get on the N12 again and drive for some time before admitting my brain is fucked and I need an hours' sleep.  I am only about 6 minutes from Loudeac.  

I'm exhaused when I get going again and a sign says 38km to Loudeac.  I've only missed a turn and undone all that good work fighting my way south.  I'm not the only one and pip my horn at other confused PBP motorists as I pass by.  The french like to sign roads going in completely different directions to places which seem similar (at least, they start with the same letter and that's about as similar as it needs to be to confuse you when you've only had 4 hours sleep).

Monday 22nd August 2011 18:00 - 00:23



Eventually I get to Loudeac and see riders passing below so I pull into the Leader Price supermarket and cook dinner.  Essentially this is for me as TSK needs to sleep when he arraives at 8pm.  I enjoy chatting and cooking with other supporters in an area where the supermarket has taken the time and effort to segment a section of the carpark for us so that we don't clash with regular shoppers or the HGVs doing middle of the night deliveries.  

It starts to rain so I pack everything away.  I meet TSK at the roundabout at the bottom of the hilll and he sleeps for only 3 hours in an attempt to make up for the very hot start and time lost at Mortagne.  It thunders and lightens whilst we're sleeping and I'm glad he's not out in it (never mind him being glad he's not out in it).  When he gets up to go again I decide it's only 10pm I might as well get up and get ahead of him.  I feed him pasta that I made earlier.


Tuesday 23rd August 2011 00:23 - 08:30
At Carhaix I enter the first campervan park I find, the carpark of a tyre garage where about 23 vans are parked, waiting for their riders.  I sneak a spot right by the bay doors where no beastly large camper will fit and try to be as quiet as possible as there is a tent pitched nearby and by the look of a bike on a rack, the tent is occupied.  

TSK arrives at Carhaix at 2am and I meet him in case he needs a sleep but he's eager to push on to Brest and that's fine with me.  We eat some breakfast in the control together amongst sweaty and sleeping people.  I try to enjoy the romance of the moment.


The vanu car park is eerily quiet and I'm frustrated that my longest break without driving (as TSK goes to Brest and back) falls on a time when I need sleep but I look on it as a great opportunity for a lie-in before I do something for me and I go to sleep easily despite the fact that I'm parked on private property.


I haven't set an alarm and wake to the owner of the tyre shop arriving for work.  Most of the 23 campers that were there last night have thankfully left but still, the owner seems perplexed that 10 campervans are all needing tyres at the same time and he looks nervously around the car park.  I leave to go and eat my breakfast and get some me-time somewhere more private.

Tuesday23rd August 2011 08:30 - 19:30

God bless you St Katherine

I randomly drive down Carhaix streets in search of a leisure centre before concluding that if I can't find a pool (following signs) I'm too tired to enjoy swimming training so I randomly drive into the countryside.  Finally I stumble on the pretty St Katherine's church where there's a parking space for the Vanu and a wide, fast-flowing river in which to rinse out some of TSK's clothes and my body (support crews are not allowed to use the participant's showers so I declare it the only race where the suport gets more manky than the riders). 


My dreams of skinny dipping are shattered by the arrival of 3 lads fishing but I still manage to do laundry medieval style and have a Timotei-moment hair wash in the river.  I wash my upper body with my bra on (yes the same one!) and paddle in my shorts which gets rid of about 3 days stickiness.  I felt I deserved a full change of clothing and sat back for a few hours of writing, dozing and making coffee whilst the laundry blew about in the breeze.  A respecful walk around St Katherine then drove back to Carhaix to get a parking spot with the support crews.


When I returned to Carhaix, most riders had already left for Brest, some of their support crews going with them so only the return journeyers were left.  I managed to claim an obvious spot on the roundabout right below control and adorned the gate posts with a Norton Wheelers jersey and a carrot-shaped plastic dog toy I'd picked up earlier from the supermarket so that TSK could spot me whilst I was cooking dinner.


By the time he arrived I had everything packed away and the bed made and had been cheering riders for half an hour.  He climbed in bed for an hour at 4pm and I stayed out cheering because it seemed to make people smile.  He didn't want anything to eat and set off to use the facilities at the control.  I saw from the race plan how far it was to the control we were next supposed to meet so I jogged up with a packed dinner and a box of fruit juice - only one of which was taken as he promised to eat at the riders' control in between Carhaix and Loudeac.  I wondered if they had dancing girls there.


There was little point in me standing around at 6pm so I started the drive to Loudeac where I arrived at 19:30.  

Tuesday23rd August 2011 19:30 - 00:00



Loudeac on la rentree came across as a completely different town.  I parked at the end of a bridlepath / disused railway called le petit train vert.  I parked there mostly because there were toilets but also because I had some me-time left.  The toilet was closed but at least the bridlepath made for a nice run route around town for me to see some riders (most of whom recognised me as a cyclist from previous cheering or from the tan lines well below the extent of my running shorts).  On my recce of the town I discovered I'd parked only 2 streets beck from the control main drag where there was a service lane filled with campervans. I tried shopping in town where I saw this amazing mozaic fish and lady (which I imagined to be like my swim in Ullswater in two weeks time).  I resorted to filling  the water bottles in control then drove down to get a convenient parking spot as darkenss fell and we began to cheer riders in.


The local club seemed to be taking part so a long chain of spectators had sprung up along the inbound lane to control.  It was 9:30 pm and most riders were fairly with-it, waving to the cheers as they arrived.  One man nodded his way down the line and we soon realised he wasn't checking his bike, he was grtadually nodding off.
 

Time for a well-deserved douche

Everyone screamed at him to wake up and he just about managed to see the marshall at the end of the coridor and make the turn into control as the crowd started to part, just in case he didn't make it.

TSK left with his towel to shower in control.   As I walked away, a lady on a recumbent was concerned that she had a wobble in her her front hub.  "Can you feel that?" she asked me in French.  I gave the wheel a good shake in its fork.  "Je crois que c'est le peur" I said, "I think it's the fear".  

She seemed content with the answer and set off on her way.

TSK and I went to bed.


Wednesday 24th August 2011 00:00 -16:30

Mill cottages

One hours sleep for TSK and 6 interupted ones for me as I received updates on TSK's progress.  When my alarm went off at 6am I drank TSK's left over coffee (well stewed in a thermal mug) then set off for the wild navigation of Combourg and rural Britany.  It was easier on the way back and I sat and ate breakfast and took the pictures that I missed on the way in.


I was close to Tintineac when TSK texted me at 6:26am so we changed out a back tyre that was starting to go threadbare and I drove on to Fougeres.

By the time I reach fougeres its 7:45 am and I can't be arsed to put the bed up  and make coffee so I go into the Super U (turning out to be our ride sponsors) cafe and chat with the Barista.  I do a little shopping then take a nap in the van.  The next thing I know, TSK is ringing me.  "I'm in a car park sleeping", I say. Thankfully I find the riders' route and follow them to do some nifty parking on the road to control. TSK just wants to get rid of some stuff and pick up snacks.  I cry, "Go away, I don't like you any more, stop ringing me".  Well, I'm awake now, I may as well go to Villaines la Juhel.

Approaching Villaines through Loupfougeres the traffic suddenly ground to a halt and one of the spectators began making gestures to a motorist that a rider had fallen off.

As I understand what the ride is and what the riders are going through and I understand both English and French and a little first aid I decided I'd rather park and help than sit in a traffic jam so I make a parking lot of some business's yard and find dutch man lying in the road with a head injury - a 2.5 inch bruised bump on his forehead and a lovely gash.

His head is resting on his helmet and apprently it wasn't on his head when he crashed.  In deed he speaks  no French and the spectators speak no English so between us we get the message cross to the ambulance crew about his name, Marcus Minihold, his condition and, according to the spectators, that he lost conciense for about 10 seconds.  I'm helped to make him comfortable by replacing his helmet with my knees and we joke that he's resorting to extreme measures just for a lie down.

I am heartened by the English competitor who stops because he's seem my Sheffield Tri top to check if we need a French Translator.  Poor Marcus has clearly lost concentration for just long enough to hit the cobbles on the central reservation whith a wheel.  He's determined that he's fine but not too quick to jump back on his bike either - or stand up for that matter.

After strapping him to a stretcher the ambulance crew ask me to explain that they're taking him to hospital for an x-ray, to which he said, "Why? I'm OK".  All I could think of to say was, "so they can check you out is all".  At this point I started feeling guilty, that he'd be ok and be forced to abandon or miss his time cut off.  I convinved myself it was the better worst case, compared with putting him back on his bike and finding out he'd dropped dead from a brain haemorrage just outside Fougeres.

I arrange with the race official, now directing traffic, that I will take the bike to control for the rider to collect when he is well.  [Post ride note, the rider finished though his speed before his crash was around 18km/hr and fell to a steady 15.5kph for the rest of the event].

TSK had ridden past just as I was strapping Marcus Miniholds's bike to the rack of the Vanu and I caught him up on the road with a "see you there".  In fact he beat me to the line as I tried to persuade French officials to take ownership of a bike that I had no interest in keeping for myself (frame too small).

Wednesday 24th August 2011 16:30 - 19:30


TSK and I sat under a tree in Villaines swapping stories in the afternoon sun and getting our photo taken by the local journo (still not appeared, we must've looked rough).  Andrew killed some time till 4:30pm to avoid the warm weather that was reoccurring then set off on his way for Fougeres.  I rallied around some minor roads then eventually joined the N12 again into Mortagne au Perche.

I arrived in good spirits, did some cooking and set the bed up.  The sausages I bought turned out to be pretty spicy.

TSK: Do I really have to put these back on?

I don't fancy them and they're certainly not race food so they go in the bin and I set the lentils out to heat up if necessary.  I'm in more or less the same spot as the outward bound so I have a soft spot for this pretty, quiet town.  I bump into an English couple I last saw at Carhaix.  They are supporting his best friend who is due in around 2am.  In fact my first question when I see him on his own is, "is your wife still here or has she left you?".

Decorative velos at Mortagne au Perche

The square is prettily decorated at Mortagne and I fill the bottles before TSK arrives.  He climbs in for what I expect to be a 5 hour sleep but he's still playing catch-up and only wants 2 hours.

Whilst he's in bed, I give his bike a clean inspired by an italian team I saw earlier and reinforced by the quantity of dirt that comes off the front wheel when I change his second tyre of the PBP.  He has a 5mm x 20mm flap of rubber hanging off the contact surface, exposing the beading beneath.  That's got to be annoying.

Brake dust and gravel removed, chain superficially cleaned in oil, dried and re-oiled and deraileur goo shaved off, it is midnight when I get to bed.  When TSK gets up he's hungry so I heat up my dinner from last night and he eats two batches and a desert of cereal complemented by Lychees and a toffee puddindg.  He TSK leaves soon after.

Thursday th August 2011 00:00 - Finish

The last thing I do before going back to sleep is decide how long I want to get to sleep before leaving for the next control.  TSK says he doesn't need me at Dreux and has taken the clothes and supplies with him that he needs to get to Paris.

Do I want to NOT be there if he does need me?  No.

So I pass up on sleeping for now and get up again to drive down the N12 in the dark.  Dreux is an old and complicated place so I'm glad I'm there at 1:30 am and not during any traffic hours.

I text him to let him know I'm there and sleeping.  He says to carry on to Paris but I sleep for a bit and he texts me he's through control at 4:30am and my alarm goes off.  I wait for a bit to wave him off and he seems to take for ages.  He's been contemplating a beer at Dreux so I make sure he's not passed out or just decided to get drunk instead of finishing.

I decide to press on as I don't want to get caught in Paris rushour in 2 hours time.  It might be French holidays but there's got to be some people left at work surely.  Apparently TSK sees the vanu disapear off up a side street - probably trying to get off the riders' route asap.

Dreux to Paris was, not surprisingly a blurr.

Paris was Hell.  I could not for the life of me remember where I was going or the name of the staium I was looking for so I couldn't even ask directions.  I repeated the route we'd done on our bikes several times, constantly forgetting a turning.  Then I became completely lost and began doing circuits again but this time on unfamiliar streets and bypasses.  I even turned the wrong way down a slip road in front of a police man who was (thankfully) preocupied with a lamp post which someone else had knocked over.

I did a shifty three point turn then took an exit which dropped me into a building site and then a carpark then a garage forecourt from which I eventually escaped.  Eventually I saw a stream of riders so I followed them again into an audacious parking spot, less than 50 m from the finish in the place where offices are just down right closed (and the parking is completely free of charge) in the month of August.

A canteen light was still on a timer on the other side of a glass wall, the occupants on holiday oblivious to the madness, mess and carnage going on outside their usual place of work.  Good job as a lot of people stopped at the bush outside for a pee.


I slept through the sunrise like a corpse for a whole hour before tentatively retracing the route to meet TSK  and other riders coming in.  Some tootled along at 10km/hr, others time-trialled down the dual carriageway doing bit-n-bit to slash a previous best or possibly to get in before the cut-off time.  No longer special to the busy people of Paris, the world was oblivious again to men on bikes and there were a few near misses as riders, used to quiet country roads, were thrust, tired, into the city with nothing but little A4-sized arrows to follow to the finish.

I peeled off, directing the riders to take their glory lap down the finishing lane.

Flags of the world and TSK with his precious finishing papers.

A tired TSK checked in in 86 hours 48 minutes.  He slept whilst I loaded the van then we both slept on the train for around 3 hours to Aix en Provence.  He continued to sleep all except for a short check-in time at the hotel and dinner-break until 9am the next day.

After...proud and satisfied TSK (I had to remind him to smile)

No idea who this old woman is

 For anyone who happens across this post, trying to find out whether they want to support a rider during the PBP, consider that I'm a resilient person with a reasonable competancy for driving on foreign roads and reading a map (sometimes more successfully than others).  Timing is crucial, knowing your rider is crucial.  They won't always need you.  They won't always seem grateful (but they will be).  You will want to put them in a plastic bag.  You will want to put yourself in a plastic bag!  You will want it to stop but you can't.  If you plan to be at every control, it takes all of the rider's time for you to pack up, shop, cook, clean up and make the bed in between controls.  Stay ahead of your rider and it will all work well.  Don't try to rush and always stop to sleep when you feel drowsy - even if it's the middle of the day.

Controls are only signposted on the riders' routes and you should avoid this route at all costs.  You are only allowed on the riders' route within 5km of the controls.  There's nothing to stop you riding out to the route but good luck with finding their route, never mind rendezvousing with someone on the move.

There are no campsites set up on the route (although I may have missed one in Carhaix). You are relying on the good will of local businesses and homeowners.  There's a lot of it about but it should not be taken for granted.  A happy "bonjour or bonsoir" goes a long way to persuading people that you're not going to steal from them or poo in their garden.

If you can afford it, the best way to see this ride is to hire a big, well equipped camper with a shower and toilet that you can enjoy at your own convenience.  You may wish to do what the germans did and set up a tent with a camp bed in it for your rider.  (If they happen to leave their feet outside the tent, do throw a tarp over them when it rains).