Yesterday GB and I rode the inaugural Etape Cymru. Inaugural is a good word.  It’s a roman word, that implies that had I read the entrails of a recently dead animal, or paid better attention to the flight of birds, I would have been able to predict how it would go.  However, having left my soothsayer hat at home when I left here on Saturday, I, like the other 1600 or so other riders, was a on a Welsh magical mystery tour into the unknown.

The Etape Cymru starts from Wrexham, which is a good three and a half hour drive from here, so GB and I were staying with SK at his folk’s place nearby the night before.  Even had we lived closer, it’s not like we’d have had a lot of choice in the matter because they insisted on everyone signing in on Saturday either in person or by letter of authority given to a more locally located friend.  Normally I pick my sportives based on them being within 2 or so hours to avoid the need for accommodation.  Had this been the case this time around, and I was friendless, I’d have had a 4 hour round trip just to sign in!  Presumably this is supposed to make you stay locally and bring money into the local economy, but I’m afraid nary a penny was spent by us.

So, we turned up, and signed in.  Complete with our £5 refund for the £20 rrp gilet that was now no longer available, but which had been one of the ways that the £65 entry fee had been made to seem less exorbitant.  I spent mine there and then on Zipvit bars, since I’m still trying to find bars that I’m happy with, having eaten Torq bars for years and being increasingly unable to stomach either them or the thought of them (familiarity breeds contempt?).  We signed SK in too, GB having been duly authorised to do so, not that they checked.

Back to the house for carb loading and ranting at the X factor on TV whilst continually trying to figure out what to wear for the event itself.  The forecast was for 18C, heavy rain, and 18mph winds, which I’m sure you’ll agree was less than delightful.  I hate wearing waterproofs, especially if it’s not cold, as I boil in the bag.  However if it’s actually flinging it down at the start of an event it’s not really optional.  Having narrowed options down a little, and stayed up just to watch the weather forecast I got an earlyish night and decided to make my final decisions in the morning.

The day dawned.  Well it didn’t, because I was up before 6:00am and dawn arrives considerably later these days.  The house was cold, and the world was dark, and it was darn difficult to figure the conditions out.  However, sticking my head out of the back door ascertained that it wasn’t cold, that it had clearly rained heavily overnight but wasn’t raining now and the clouds were fairly high and broken, and that it sure as eggs was windy.  Cold I can do – just add layers.  Wet I can do – if I have to – add waterproof.  But wind?  Ick.  Wind means that if you do get wet, you get cold.  Wind means that for at least part of the ride you will be fighting against it, as if the route and the hills weren’t enough.  Wind means noise that saps your will, and ruins conversation.  Yep, not a big fan of the breezy stuff.

We headed off and got to the plentiful free parking with time to spare for further faffing around.  Final sartorial decisions were made, which meant the removal of my legwarmers, and the leaving of the waterproof in the car.  This left me, as if you cared, in shorts, short sleeve Etape jersey, my bolero arms, and my cycling mayor (jacket that converts into) gilet.  Layers, unsurprisingly.  A short ride later got us to the queue for the start.  I tried queueing for the toilets, but 7 into 1600 does not go and there was the risk that the ride would leave without me so I decided to give it a miss.  Mind you, I might just as well have queued since, after some promising signs early on, we didn’t actually get going until around 8:20am, twenty minutes later than billed.  By this point my gilet arms were already in the saddle bag as the day had warmed up considerably.

So.  Off we go.  1600 riders down narrow country lanes, with lousy road surfaces, covered in wet, mud, leaves and the like.  Traffic.  Slow traffic.  And I don’t mean the motorised variety, unless anyone was cheating, as the roads were closed.  The first hour was a drag, which is not a good way to start a long event.  Normally the first hour or so is a fast flying one which gets me off to a good start and motivates me, but not this time.  There was just no way for the riders to spread out and get any speed up or rhythm going, which was infuriating, not to mention slow.  When we hit the first big hill about an hour in, everyone was still together and it was carnage as people hit a wet and leaf strewn hill, failed to get their gears sorted, failed to unclip and dominoed onto the floor in various places.  I narrowly missed joining them at one point but managed to wriggle my way past as they were picking themselves up.  Unlike the couple of guys a little way behind us cursing at them loudly for being in the way and to get out of the way.  Charming.  The poor girl (and it was a girl in this case) has just fallen off and has obviously not yet recovered her sangfroid, and you’re shouting at her?  I hope someone’s as sympathetic to you when your turn comes – and believe me, with an attitude like that, it will come.  I got separated from the lads here, not really by the gradient, but by the traffic and chaos.

Up the very big hill we went.  And there were lots of very big hills, complete with the additional headwind to make things that bit more challenging.  I say bit, I mean lot, because this was not a breeze.  This was proper stop you in your tracks wind.  Particularly pleasant when presented as a crosswind over the moors at the top of those big hills.  The views may well have been stunning, but in between avoiding other riders, sheep, the state of the roads (gravel, potholes etc), trying to look where I was going, and going sideways, I may not have fully appreciated them.  I have to say my Etape jersey helped me up the hills.  I don’t mind big hills.  Once I’ve realised that’s what I’m on, then I can just hunker down and get on with it.  I didn’t walk once, which judging from what we saw, may well put us in the minority.  Even when the hill was horrible, I just thought, as I did on the day, that I’d just keeping making the wheels go round and hey, it wasn’t an Alpe, right?  You can’t be seen in a jersey that says you can go up Alpe d’Huez, walking up a little welsh nonentity of a hill, now can you? *grin*.  Mind you, in some respects the hills were worse – in that they were frequently that bit steeper, and some of them didn’t half go on…  The big billed, and timed, climb of the day was the Horseshoe Pass which, having not researched the event in my usual style, I didn’t even realise I was on until half way along the bottom stretch, slogging along at a snail’s pace into the relentless headwind, chatting to someone who told me that’s where I was.  It was very Galibier-esque.  A long slow exposed slog to the bend, then round the bend and up the second section with the wind now behind you, positively accelerating to the end of the climb and the food stop beyond.

Whilst I’m here, it would seem like a good time to mention the food stops.  They may as well not have been there.  When we reached the first one, after the depressing first 30 or so miles, which included changing a rear tyre puncture for GB, the cupboards were bare.  Right down to there being no water.  The presence of 3 portable loos was its only saving grace, and man were there some irate cyclists around!  The second food stop wasn’t much better, as one poor guy was pouring the last remaining water into bottles, which luckily included mine.  I even found a cupcake thing, and there was the odd banana when we arrived, but not by the time we, and the other cycling locusts, moved on.  Stop 3 was better, and I imagine a whole heap of ringing ahead had gone on, as I got water and half a chocolate zipvit bar to see me on my way.  But really  – poor, very poor.

From early on, I just wasn’t feeling the ride.  The wind was doing my head in, my tummy was dodgy, with extra stomach cramps thrown in (it’s a girl thing).  The route was far hillier than billed, and, courtesy of the traffic, felt far slower than usual.  Before I’d caught up with GB again, shortly before that puncture, I’d started having the kind of low, black thoughts, that I usually get around 60/70 miles into a sportive.  Not good.  It felt like it was going to be one of those days, and very long one at that, and it had already turned into a ride to just get home.  If there had been the option to opt to take a shorter route, I’d cheerfully have taken it.  As GB changed his puncture I was feeling quite wobbly and dizzy, and GB did suggest that if I wanted to bail and head for home he’d be happy to join me.  But I couldn’t bail.  I don’t bail.  Especially when I’ve paid £60!  Things did get a little better, especially when my second dose of painkillers cut in.  You gotta love paracetamol plus, it’s like having a cup of coffee half way ’round 🙂  Inevitably at some point the wind stopped being in our faces all the time and, courtesy of all the climbs, there were some awesome descents and flying along bits.  Those I can do :).  Having said that there were also some lethal narrow gritty dangerous descents spent entirely on the brakes, which seems very unfair when you’ve worked that had to get up there!

Which brings us back to the third food stop, at which we should, ostensibly, have had about another 30 miles or so to do.  However a rumour was circulating that the route had been changed to miss out the last hill (which would have been a repeat, albeit in reverse, anyway) for some reason.  A tantalising thought, and a seriously attractive one, since all I really wanted to do was to get it over and done with, having become bored with the ride quite some time back.  We ended up in a group of four or so trying to find our way home since, as was the case throughout, the signage was rubbish.  It’s all very well relying on marshals to do everything, but there were several junctions where there were neither marshals nor signs, which would account for the number of people that got lost at one point or another.  Finally, after a couple more uphill slogs, the roads were wide and flat, we were a group, and I got to do the kind of cycling I love.  A case of too little too late really though.  The rumour turned out to have been true, as was evidenced by the 10 miles to go sign that we came across, not long before we, and many others, got lost again.  Even the Mavic van who we coincidentally met at the junction was lost.  A friendly local in a 4×4 who pulled up behind what was now quite a group of us pointed us in the right direction, and a few miles down the road we finally made it back to the start with, in my case, a massive sigh of relief.

Cycling time: 6:11:46 hrs
Distance: 88.3 miles.
Avs: 14.2 mph (max 41.7!)
ODO: 10543 miles

We sat on the grass and ate free pasta for a little while, to discover that SK had had an awful day and gone home hours earlier, which made our day look positively pleasant by comparison.  But only by comparison.  So, was it a good event?  Nope.  Not really.  GB and I had hours in the car on the way home to go through it all, and I think we concluded it was possibly a 4/10.  The main reason for doing it was the roads being closed and since there were still occasional cars on it, and more than that later on when they may or may not have been re-opened, you rapidly lost confidence in the roads being clear and could never be entirely sure that as you hurtled around that downhill bend there wouldn’t be a car coming in the opposite direction.  Stunning scenery, when you can see it, does not make up for the scarcity of toilets, the late start, the lousy roads, the cars, the lack of food, the bad signage, and the lack of information.  You have to wonder what your £60 bought you.  Yes, I know it included British Cycling membership, but I didn’t want that anyway!  On the upside there were plenty of lovely Welsh folk out clapping, rattling cowbells, and generally cheering us on, which was nice.  The weather was also a lot better than billed as, other than some drizzle, we did not get rained on, I had the right kit on, and my layers went on and off as necessary, so that was a result.

Looking at the stats, as it turns out, although I may have been making heavy weather of it (yes, still talking about the weather), it turns out that I was actually doing just fine.  Considered there was probably well over 8000 ft of climbing – someone on twitter has it at 9154, GB’s Charlie had 8000+ – my average speed is pretty good, and I’ve done less hilly events slower in the past.  I got to spend my Sunday riding the bike, which is always a good thing.  But I just didn’t enjoy it overall.  So I’ll not be doing it again.  The organisers of the Etape Cymru had better do some damage limitation quick, as there were some very unhappy cyclists out there, and they won’t be spreading the word in a good way…

UPDATE: official provisional time is 6:56:45 – but I’m down as male.  If I hazard a guess at working it out myself, out of the 50 or so women, I was probably around 10th, which ain’t bad.  And 394th of the 977 finishers.  However it would appear there are quite a few inaccuracies in there, so we’re talking ball park at best.

In case you hadn’t noticed, ie you haven’t been in touch with the outside world at all for days, it may be October, but actually it’s doing a pretty good impression of summer.  Imagine a sportive in October when you don’t have to pack layers, or waterproofs and instead have to apply suntan cream.  When you start your ride wearing the same as you finish it in, ie, as little as possible.  Twilight zone time?  Bizarrely not.

I set off from home at 4:15am having had an early night and, handily, having woken up to go to the toilet 4 minutes before the alarm went off.  This meant I actually felt fairly well rested, and didn’t have that horrible moment where the alarm drags you kicking and screaming into the day.  Result!  I was away by 5:00am as planned, and I’m very pleased I know Cheddar Gorge as well as I do because driving up it in the dark isn’t a lot of fun.  It was an uneventful but not that pleasant a drive until the sun started to rise around 6:30am, and the sky turned the kinds of colours you couldn’t paint if you tried and if you did they would just look trite and clichéd rather than glorious and promising as they actually were.  Good start.  I did my best not to arrive at Brockenhurst College before 7:15am as instructed, but at that time of the morning there ain’t a lot of traffic on the roads, and even having stopped to eat my muesli I was there by 7:00am.  However draconian the instructions may have sounded about when things should be done, I was parked and registered in about 10 minutes, before registration was due to have even opened, and I was by no means the only one.  Since I was ostensibly doing the ride with a group from Twickenham CC there then followed a whole heap of people arriving and faffing in the burgeoning sunshine before we could get underway at around 8:20ish.

OK so even in that sunshine it was a tad chilly to start with, but I figured I’d warm up soon enough, and I wasn’t wrong.  My arms started and finished the event in the same place – my saddle bag!  There was a group of 10 or so of us, most of whom I’d never met before, other than my etape partner Kevin, and I sat in the middle of them for a while.  The first hour or so passed, as we warmed up, admired the scenery, and debated whether or not it would be this flat the whole way round.  I really didn’t want to be seen as the one hitching a ride and the pace wasn’t killing me so I tried to take my turn at the front, but it’s tricky when you don’t really know anyone and haven’t always got a partner to ride with, though I muddled through for a bit.  At some point muddling ceased to work, and for some reason I ended out in front.  Bearing in mind the first food stop was at around 2 hours in, I decided just to keep going.  Well it was flat or rolling, I was flying, it seemed a shame not to.  I also found some lovely groups to hitch on to, which is unusual for me.  However there must be something about the male ego – they don’t mind you sitting on the back, and they may possibly even talk to you, but if you try and take a turn on the front, they seem to disappear backwards in the haze.  Well you can’t tell me I was that much faster than all of them!  Having said that, when I checked at the food stop, I’d done the first section at an average of 19.3mph…

The rest of the group weren’t really that far behind me, so I joined up with them again after the stop.  I was a little more successful at staying with them for a while, although I did end up out in front again, as being a group that stays together that mean they were going slower than I bet most of them usually do.  My legs were feeling great, the scenery was gorgeous, it wasn’t (yet) too hot, and the terrain wasn’t that challenging.  There were a few hills but as far as I was concerned, these mostly just meant I could have lots of fun going downhill! *grin*.

On to the second food stop, which we arrived at together, and left together.  But when we left, and I dropped them again instantly, this time I just decided to put my foot down and keep going.  To go as fast as I could for as long as I could and see what happened.  So I did.  I used groups where I could, pushed up the hills I could, slogged up those I couldn’t, tucked in and flew down them, and generally had a blast.  Around half way up one of the bigger hills somewhat later on Kevin caught me, which I gather had been rather hard work, which is nice to know.  We flew along for a while, including a lovely stretch over the moorish bit where we sucked the wheels of two rather fast gentlemen who weren’t even on our ride but who did make lovely wind breaks.  Then we hit Blissford Hill, which I gather is notorious, and I’d heard a rumour about it from another rider earlier on.  It just goes straight up!  It’s a 1 in 4, or 25%, and it’s good thing you can see the top, or I don’t think I’d have even tried.  But I did.  Got myself out of the saddle, pushed as hard as I could, and I made it!  Killer!  Man did I feel awful for the next couple of minutes though and it was with great relief that I discovered the next food stop was there.  It took me a little while to stop shaking and wobbling, but the intake of fluid helped.  Besides which I didn’t want to stop too long in case I ruined my time, so we were back on the bikes asap, just as a breakaway couple of the original group arrived.

That left us with around 25 miles to do, depending on who’s gadget you believe.  By now it was much hotter, which I don’t cope so well with, and although I was still by no means hanging around I definitely noticed the hills more.  Kevin, aided and abetted by innumerable gels and caffeinated substances, ended up on the front for the last hour or so, and I was happy to let him stay there (like I could have caught him by then!), especially as we were probably going to get in faster that way.  Every now and then I’d look back and we’d have picked up people for a while, but they always seemed to fall off the back again eventually, which was quite satisfying.  The last little bit through whichever town it was was a little tedious as we met up with the New Forest traffic, and it was a relief to finally cross the line.

Cycling time: 5:28:46 hrs
Distance: 98.28 miles.
Avs: 17.8 mph
ODO: 10376 miles

Deity Almighty ,have you seen the speed I did?  Talk about completely gratuitous and totally uncalled for! *grin*.  From a ride point of view it was awesome.  I have never attacked a sportive like that before, and may well never again.  If it had been hillier – there were only 1378 metres of climbing – it would have been a whole different ball game of course, but hey, it wasn’t.  Just for once I got to be the one over-taking everyone, got to ride in groups, got to arrive at the finish line not to discover the village packing up *grin*.  It was a gorgeous route, and there’s not a cat in hell’s chance the weather will ever be like that for it again.  You couldn’t have asked for better.  For cooler maybe, but not better.  The New Forest is scenically gorgeous with, luckily, a lot of shade to make up for the heat, with gorgeous views, long rolling roads…  I was less keen on the sheer amount of roaming animals to be dodged – horses, sheep, donkeys, cows, pigs – and I do literally mean dodge as I nearly got taken out by various horses and particularly one less than sacred cow!

So we crossed the finish line, and found a patch of grass to collapse on.  A while later the breakaway couple came in, with the rest of the group a while behind that.  Finishing a ride is always a bit anti-climactic especially when you’ve pushed it hard enough to be temporarily knackered, so I left the group to be a group, stashed my bike, washed up and put “normal” clothes on, rejoined them for a bit, but wasn’t really feeling it so headed for home.  3 hours spent in various queues of traffic heading home doesn’t do a lot for your joie de vivre I’ll have you know, especially when you’re dehydrated and hungry and there isn’t a petrol station for hours!  When I finally found one a diet coke and my freebie carob bar thing perked me up a bit, but I still wasn’t in the mood for writing this until today.  I’m really hoping I got a gold time, but it’s going to be close, as I think my official time, ie including stops etc, needs to be under 6 hours 4 minutes, so…I have my *fingers crossed* and will probably be hitting refresh on the Wiggle website on a regular basis for the rest of the morning :).

UPDATE: official time from the draft results is 5:49:08.  GOLD!!!  Get in!  Mind you, there are a lot of them, so I think it really just shows the standards weren’t that high, but hey, who cares, I got my first ever GOLD!!! 😀

The Etape has been my little secret since October last year, when my L2P friend Kevin and I took the plunge and booked it.   That’s nearly 9 months of planning, training, plotting, scheming…  5 days ago I left here for the trip of a lifetime that feels like it lasted a lifetime.

It all started last Thursday when I cocooned my baby in bubble wrap, inside Simon’s very snazzy Scicon bike box, tucked a great many things in around it, and delivered it unto Andy Cook Cycling‘s tender care.   Rather than risk baggage handlers damaging the bike, or worse still, as happened to some last year, leaving it behind completely, our bikes made the journey there securely packed in a white van, driven all the way there by a cyclist who knows what our bikes mean to us and has been known to sleep in the van to watch over them :).

After over-nighting at Kevin’s place on Friday, where I failed to sleep well, it was up at hideous o-clock to catch our flight from Gatwick to Geneva, joined by Gary who was also along for the ride.  I love flying.  I love aeroplanes.   Plane food.  The view out of the window.   I’m less keen on all the waiting around which is a shame since, as it would turn out, there was to be a lot of that.   We arrived in Geneva around 9:00am, and had to kill several very expensive hours until our Ronan Pensec bus was due to leave at 12:30pm.   Which made the extra hour’s wait until it actually left at 1:30pm all the more tedious.  Angry Birds anyone?

The bus transfer took around 3 hours, as around us the mountains grew ever taller…*gulp*.  We drove through the start town of Modane, and I recognised the route we would be taking out, having watched it on my CycleFilm Etape preview DVD.  Useful before, and a souvenir afterwards – bonus!  Things were starting to feel a little more real now…and I definitely wasn’t in Kansas any more!

We arrived at our hotel, the Relais des 2 Cols in Lanslebourg, to find our bike boxes happily waiting for us in the basement along with everyone else’s, which initiated a mad Crystal Maze type of “who can build a bike fastest” competition, all carried out in deathly serious silence.   Hilarious if you happen to be me, getting grease everywhere, giggling a lot at my incompetence, and relying on Kevin to bail me out when I got it wrong and to tighten everything up properly. That would be at least one good reason for not doing this entirely on my own as I might well have done.  Bikes of many different varieties and price points slowly vanished up the stairs to the rooms, or out for test drives. Yes, cyclists sleep with their bikes… (bumper sticker anyone?).   We did a short run out of town just to check everything was ok, which what with the higher altitude and increasing gradient did not feel that great, so we, unlike others, cut it short and came home.   A carb heavy dinner, a quick stroll, and it was time for bed.   Where I failed to sleep well again.

Another day, another early start, and another session of waiting for a bus.  A couple of coffees, and plenty of nervous excitement, and I was bouncing around like Zebedee!  I must have been driving Kevin insane!  As we were waiting outside for the bus one of the organisers expressed concern as to how I was getting to the top after the event.  I suggested I was thinking about riding there…  Not the first person to assume my presence was because I was a “plus one”, and far from the last so to do.  She was a tad mortified, and I was mostly just amused.  Well I was the only girl in our part of the party.  Rumour has it there was another one in the other hotel but I never saw her so maybe that was just urban myth…

Once the bus finally arrived, having been delayed by some of our irritating transatlantic friends at the other hotel who thought schedules were for other people, we were off to the start village at Vilfréjus way up above Modane to sign in. Where once again, until I had signed in and had my own musette to prove my validity, I was generally assumed to be a +1. Yep – women were definitely in the minority.  I picked up freebies for the kids, bought a Virenque charity wrist band, and resisted the temptation to get royally fleeced.  Or to buy a matt black Canyon time trial bike…such willpower!

It was hot and sunny and high up – and the route up there was insane, as were the people who rode up to sign on!   No way would I want to have been taking that kind of mileage out of my legs the day beforehand.   In fact all plans for a two hour afternoon ride faded away in the heat, and after a chicken salad lunch, we ended up just doing the same short run as before, which luckily felt much better this time around.  Kevin, being gadget equipped, informed me that some of that road was actually 9% which, since it hadn’t felt too bad, was very good for the PMA.

This was followed by more waiting around as the bus to take our bikes down to where they were to be stored half way to Modane was…you guessed it…late.   The level of stress was racking up as the thought of the bus in the morning being late was just horrific, and ought to have been inconceivable. Eventually enough people expressed a concern that the organisers agreed to bring the bus arrival forward a little, and alllayed people’s fears somewhat.  My French language skills came in useful, which is always nice, and also gratifyingly impressed people.  I’m so talented *natch*.  All that was left was more carb consumption, and another early night.  Time to stop talking about the darn event and get on and do it – any more discussion of layers, carb consumption rates, gradients…and I might have lost it.  I needed a bit of quiet, some focus, and some rest.  Guess what?  Yep – didn’t sleep well.

When the alarm went off at 3:30am to wake me up, it was, even though I had finally fallen asleep by then, a relief to stop having to pretend to sleep!   Man it was early!   As we ate breakfast the sun did start making its way up but as we were surrounded by mountains, it was going to take quite some time for that light to reach us.  I may never think the Mendips are large again.

The bus was a little late, but we were on our way by 5:00am, the time it had originally been scheduled for, so all’s well that ends well.   My tummy was full of a million hatching pupae, butterflies proliferating.  All the preparation, the waiting, and the day was finally here.  Time to get on with getting on!  There was a palpable air of tension to go along with the high lycra quotient.

On to the bikes, on to the road, and a nice 10km easy and essentially downhill run down the valley under lightening skies to Modane.  Too much to hope for that the whole day would be like that 😉 .   After all that, we were in our pens with an hour to spare, which did at least put us near the front of them, and allow enough time to queue for the inadequate toilets.  Although watching men have to get in and out of bib shorts so as to use the cubicle (one per two pens) is quite funny…  I felt for the residents who were having their streets liberally “watered” as a result…ick!  In the shade, waiting with nothing to do, I got colder, and colder, and colder…   The cyclists were massing, the nerves were building, my legs were shaking, and my bottom lip was wobbling.  A proper girly moment I guess.  Nerves are weird.   My fight/flight reflex was recommending running for the hills…not cycling up them!

But, as is ever the way, the wheels of time turned, and as the pens were set free one by one, it was our turn to cross the start line.   Over the line, emerging blinking into the warming sunshine, and we were on our way…  OMG!

The first 16km or so followed the river down the valley, and we were fair flying along.   Closed roads took a little while to get used to, as did the amount of delightfully named “road furniture” to get in the way.  And enjoyable as flying along was, it doesn’t do a lot for warming up one very cold female cyclist!  It felt just like a normal sportive, but one that just happened to be in France, which had me a bit worried as to how the day might be.  After all, with all that build up, you want more don’t you?

And so the ride real begins.  I needn’t have worried.  An abrupt left turn, and the Col du Telegraphe had begun.   Fears had been expressed beforehand of bottlenecks and traffic jams here as the gradient hit but the organisers had taken account of this and spaced out the riders accordingly so this didn’t happen.  It was time to start going uphill…so I made a swift stop to stuff the now superfluous gilet in the saddle bag and to make sure Kevin got away.   This had to be my ride done my way and I wasn’t going to be able to do that if I was aware of doing worse than a ride partner.  Cycling’s mental remember?  Or is it just me who is? ;).

Being the control freak that I am, I’d read all I could about the route, watched the DVD, read the forums, and everything had said that the Telegraphe wasn’t that bad and should just be taken easy as a precursor to what was ahead.   Well, probably because I wasn’t really warmed up, I found it a bit harder than I’d expected. And, due to the forest nature of scenery there, and the fact that you’re usually looking in front of you to where you going, not behind you to views of where you’ve been, it was all about the climbing and not about the ride.   I quickly warmed up even more which probably didn’t make it any easier – I do not cycle well when overheating,  The sun was well on its way up by now and it was clearly going to be a very hot day.  As ever, the weather forecasts proved as much use as a chocolate fireguard…

Once reached, the “summit” was oddly unremarkable, being little more than a layby with trees, but I stopped anyway, ostensibly to stuff my arms in my back pocket, but also to mark the fact that I’d cycled up my very first mountain. A mountain!  Me!  Come on, that’s just a little bit cool, no? :).

Time to go downhill for an oh so short while. There was a food stop somewhere after Valloire, so I filled up the bottles and used the unsurprisingly empty female toilet before heading off again.  Onwards and most definitely upwards.  More dragons to be slain.   And the Col du Galibier is a real monster.   16.7km at an average of 6.8% to climb over 1100 metres to 2556m.  And that being an average means that it ranges from a tolerable and easy 2.5% to over 10%.   Being above the treeline the scenery is far more accessible, as well as impressive, bleak, and just massive!   The lower end of the valley has a little grass air strip and a small white aeroplane passed over us to land there, demonstrating the scale of the peaks ahead, before taking off over our heads, which added novelty value.   At the end of the valley the zigzags, and the real work, began…

Due to the heat and the effort being expended going uphill, eating on the bike was tricky.   Each time I got off on the ride from here on in I felt dizzy and wobbly, and the first couple of times I will admit this was a bit concerning.  Well it doesn’t sound good does it?  However after eating, drinking, and taking a few breaths, I always found myself feeling better and getting back on the bike!  Mind you, my body really didn’t want to eat and rebelled every time I put food in my mouth – the closest I’ve ever come to throwing up on a ride. However needs must and so forth…  Might be why I only ate 2 1/2 bars, some jelly beans, and one gel (near the end) though.

On to the zig zags.  Sheer on one side, barren on the other.   A multi-lane vertical highway.  Riders walking or resting.   Slower riders to avoid and overtake, and other riders doing the same to me.  Quite a lot to negotiate on a flat road, let alone a 9% gradient.   It was bl**dy hard work, but at least it was consistent.   I told myself that “all I have to do is keep the wheels going ’round.   It doesn’t matter how slowly they go round, they just have to go round”, and I kept telling myself this as I plodded doggedly up the slopes.   Every rider I overtook was another between me and the dreaded broom wagon.   The road could be seen wiggling all the way to the summit which seemed a mighty long way away but at least put the task in perspective, especially when I could look down and see how far I had already climbed.  A few km before the top where the route splits for the tunnel, and the ribbon of riders headed for the proper summit, there was a café where I bought a bottle of water to top up with, took another break, and girded my loins for the final ascent as I’d heard that it ramps up at the end.   Well, maybe it does, but I didn’t really notice.   I knew I was near the summit, and since no-one else was talking to anyone, I talked to my legs, and me and my insanity made it to the top of the world with a massive grin :).   I didn’t care what anyone else thought and quite frankly if you’re not impressed with yourself for getting up there, you shouldn’t be there!

No time for resting on laurels though, so I stopped but briefly, put my soggy arms back on, put on the over gloves that I had purchased precisely for this moment, grabbed the brakes, and took gravity on.   As we all know, descents are not my strong point, but I think I put on a pretty good front.  It was a toss up between my natural instinct to want to brake and slow down, and not wanting to overheat the brakes and risk a blow out.   As a result I probably ended up faster than I would usually.   My top speed was 41mph apparently, which has to be have been on that stretch somewhere.  It’s pretty technical at the top, easier in the middle, with a more tricky bit at the bottom.   And it goes on for bleedin’ ever!   The coolth (yes, I’ve invented a word) was blissful. The grippy bits on my gloves helped with the brake levers and thus my confidence.   The scenery was stunning, and as the riders had spread out, I didn’t get in too many other people’s way.   Result!   Finally I stopped swooping my way down at a conveniently placed food stop where I stuffed the gloves and arms away, grabbed more water, and then headed off again. Yet more glorious descending, with added obstacle value as I reached the tunnel section.

Ick.   The first tunnel contained what had clearly been a very serious accident, a salutory warning and a reminder that being as cautious as I can be is not necessarily a bad thing.   A few tunnels later and I ended up at the back of an accident induced traffic jam.   Another poor soul had come a cropper near the reservoir, and was airlifted away – leaving hundreds of riders penned up again, who wisely decided to walk through the next badly lit tunnel rather than risk the carnage that could otherwise have ensued.  The only bonus to the enforced stop was the opportunity to eat and drink, which I took.   The main downside was that once we were back underway there were masses of riders around again.   Good for wheel sucking on the one and only flat section (like all that testosterone would ever let me lead) where we flew along, but bad when it came to the last challenge.   May I introduce to you the one and only infamous Alpe d’Huez?

Would it be weird to say it was a little disappointing?  I somehow expected to be able to see it all laid out in front of me, though actually if I had it might have scared me witless!  It’s 14.4km long, so shorter than the Galibier, but then you’re facing it with the Galibier already in your legs.  It’s also very hairpin wiggly, and by this point it was well over 30C.  The trees hide the view in the same way as the Telegraphe.  Anywhere there was shade or breeze there were broken cyclists resting.   To add insult to injury cyclists who had already made it to the top were descending past the suffering masses.  A sort of alpine version of the Gates of Hell.  I decided that the wheels would go round.  That I would stop as and when I had to.  But that I was NOT going to be walking.  The mountain water pours down in streams by the side from time to time and after a while I joined those filling bottles from them and pouring the contents over myself intermittently.  Cold enough to take your breath away but blissful with it.  Having discovered this oh so wondrous tactic life got just enough easier.  As with the other climbs I think I could probably have pushed myself harder  but then I’m not sure I’d have finished, and it was always just about getting to the end before the broom wagon.  As the 21 bends counted down, sometime around 15ish I had serious concerns as to whether I’d finish.  Not because it was steep (the first section is the worst), not because it hurt (it didn’t really), but because I thought I might end up succumbing to sunstroke and just not being able to get back on the bike.

But as I believe I’ve mentioned before, I’m stubborn.  I stuck to my guns.  I stopped a few times.  I let the lovely onlookers  spray me with hoses, or pour water bottles over me.  I took heart every time I was told “go girl” – minority has its advantages, and my novelty value provoked a great response.  And bit by bit the bends went past.  The top got nearer and the town drew into sight.  My legs perked up their ears (what do you mean legs don’t have ears?), scented the finish (or noses?) and I was going to make it to the end.  That’s two hours spent going up a hill.  Sorry, a mountain.  The last section gratuitously takes you past the last bends, through the town, and THEN up to the finish.  Had I had company, a sprint finish would not have been out of the question – my legs are good like that – but as it is, I crossed the finish line all by myself and promptly burst into tears.  Man, I’m such a girl *grin*.

It was a little lonesome without someone with which to stand on a mountain, but once I’d done a curtain impression (pulled myself together!) and resorted to the wonders of modern technology, Kevin came and got me.  He’d not been there that long (allegedly) and wasn’t precisely ecstatic with his time.  Which, when you consider I was slower, was a tad annoying because I’m really proud of mine.  Apparently it’s very good; for me.  Which is not at all patronising…;).  Well, I’m a girl, so apparently my doing the Etape is more impressive *sigh*.  People have been doing that ever since so, you know what?, I’m just going to take it.  So I’m twice as awesome as I was anyway because I’m a girl and girls don’t do the Etape *grin*.

Cycling time: 7:05hrs.  Official time (which has 20 mins knocked off it for the accident jam) 7:32.
Distance: 70.39 miles
Avs: 15.9 kph/9.88 mph

My drugs did the job – my knee was fine, my shoulder never went, initial pain in my lower back went away.  So it was a sufferfest, but just not the usual variety! 🙂 I came 121st out of 188 “old women”, and 5345 out of 6461 finishers.  It’s not a race, and just finishing is amazing.  Especially in those conditions.  I look forward to watching the TdF do it in a third of the time next week, and shall feel suitably humbled.  Actually I’m lying, I won’t, because I ROCK! *grin*.

Etape Acte 1 2011 – done!

PS: after all that, I still didn’t sleep!  Day 2 Post event I am, as you might imagine, very tired – but I appear to be physically pretty much in one piece, though I’ve not confirmed that by checking in at the gym yet.  That will come tomorrow.  I’m also pretty emotional – the come down after a massive high.  The post-Etape blues.  But this too will pass…  I had an amazing trip, did amazing things, and the whole thing was most definitely an experience.  Thanks Kevin! 🙂

Today was, if nothing else, a lesson in how a sportive should be organised.  Since we have established a baseline disastrous standard against which to compare all other events, (yes, still moaning about the Dragon), we know what we’re talking about!  This was the opposite end of the scale – everything was superlative.

Since kick-off was from 7:00am onwards, we, being GB and I as ever, stayed over at a b&b in Torquay last night, which meant we could sign in yesterday too, and do all the start villagey stuff.  We thus established that there was plenty of parking, loads of toilets – both in the car parks and at the start village – and a timing chip to fix to your helmet that was scanned there and then to check it was working.  (Mr Lusardi take note…).

We rocked up at 6:30am ish this morning, were marshalled to park in one of the outer carparks, rode in, used the facilities, and were near the front of the (minimal) queue.  They penned the riders up into groups which were set off at intervals, and we were underway by 7:10am.  See, it is possible…

It was initially so foggy that sunglasses were a waste of space as they got covered in water, and I was grateful of my arms.  At some point, after a hill (there were a lot of hills) we popped out above the cloud cover into the sunshine, so I adjusted my glasses, bashed my left eye wrong…and my contact lens fell out!  I stopped asap, no doubt giving the riders around me a moment, and was massively relieved to discover it was sitting on my cheek where I think the sunglasses had trapped it.  *Phew*!  Well when you’re as short sighted as I am, riding without a lens is not an option.  And let’s face it, binocular vision is quite important when you’re riding a bike…  To be fair it’s quite important a lot of the time!

GB was off ahead of me, which is pretty much where he stayed all day.  The only difference being that after a while he stopped waiting for me!  He says that G is for Git… ;).  We do not climb hills at the same speed, and he descends faster than me.  Given that today’s route was all about going up, or going down so that you could go up again, this was never going to be a ride where G being for Group worked.

The first 4 hours were hard work.  This is not to say that the 2nd 4 hours were easy.  Bear with me, all will be explained.  There were LOTS of big long hills.  According to the website, 3407 m of climbing in all.    And the sun was out, the fog burnt off, and the temperatures were rising.  The wind was a blessing and curse in that it got in the way, but it cooled you down so…rock and a hard place.  The BBC forecast had said white cloud, 19C and 7mph wind.  Really, beats me why they bother.  Sunshine, 28+C, and a bit windier than that – all day!  I know, I have the tan lines to prove it.  I had left my Torq refill in the car and it’s just as well as it meant I just diluted that which I had, and I think today it was more important to get water in than energy drink.  Funny how these things work out isn’t it? :).

I was suffering for various reasons which I am indeed going to bore you with.  I started off the day dehydrated, which tends to give me cystitis like symptoms – not comfortable on a bike.  My painkillers are a necessary evil – they keep the knee in check, and the shoulder (although less s0) yet they upset a tummy that is already not that happy with energy bars and drinks.  So I tend to have tummy ache too.  Plus GB had spent so long telling me I’d be fine doing this ride that my constant inability to keep up with him yet seeing him in the distance was getting me down…  That’ll teach me to fall for the hype! G was for a little bit Glum and Grumpy :(.

At the 4 hour mark it was time to take more pills, so I stopped after yet another hill, under a shady tree, dosed myself up, ate and drank, and had a word with myself *grin*.  After that it got a little easier.  Well, there’s caffeine in some of the pills, the painkilling element stopped the twingeing knee, I was drinking more than enough, which helped with that, and since 8 hours was my goal time, I knew I was over half way done – which is quite motivating.

So I perked up a bit.  So much so that I even overtook GB at one point and made it up the very very long climb back up to the foodstop at Princeton (just as well stocked and friendly 2nd time around) and had to wait for him! :P.  Ok, that was it really as far as competition goes.  After that he drew away…not to be seen again until after I’d crossed the finish line, looking slightly sheepish and rather apologetic.  Maybe I shouldn’t have beaten him up the hill… ;).

It was a stunning route – way nicer than the Dragon was even in years gone past.  Amazing views, Dartmoor, ponies and very cute foals, Highland cattle and calves, suicidal sheep.  In fact a great deal of free ranging not quite wildlife!  We even had to slow down and let a black cat nonchalantly cross the road…which I believe is good luck.  Well, running it over would certainly have been bad luck, for the cat if no-one else…

After the final killer hill at Moretonhampton and some lovely descending, it was more rolling terrain, and then the last 10 miles were mostly flat.  I do love a “10 miles to go” sign.  And I got a “5 miles to go” one too – bonus!  I found a wheel to suck for the last couple of miles, since by this time I was feeling lazy and I knew I was going to make it in in under 8 hours.   Indeed, as I rolled across the finish line, I made it 7:49.  I joined the queue for the formalities, where they scanned the tag and told me my official time was 8:14 and easily qualified me for a Bronze!  ‘Rah!  Go me!  Turns out the goodie bag is cool too – bottle, medal, trophy, inner tube, recovery, nice t-shirt…  Yet again, proof of how it should be done 🙂

Cycling time: 7:49:00 hrs
Distance: 106.14 miles
Avs: 13.5 mph
ODO: 9213 miles

GB was pretty euphoric about what a good ride he’d had.  He got in 10 minutes before I did, but, probably because he’d hung back for me early on, he missed out on Silver.  I didn’t, to be honest, have the same kind of post-event buzz that I usually get.  I guess it was a bit lonely, and unlike recent events I didn’t get to join any groups, or team up much with anyone – it’s not a course that lends itself to that kind of thing.  My shoulder thing was also agony by the end, and I was kinda tired, so it was just good to not be riding any more!  I think I’d describe myself now as just quietly content to have achieved what I set out to do.  I’m also very very pleased with myself for getting up all the hills, from the longest to the steepest (although steep wasn’t really the issue today).  I didn’t walk, or even stop for a breather, I just dug in and plodded up.  Did I mention I’m stubborn? 😉

Dartmoor Classic – done! 🙂

Are you ready for a rant?  Because you’re sure as eggs gonna get one…

We arrived at the queue for the car park at 7:15am, on schedule for a c. 8.00am start as planned.  And so it begins…

• It took about 45 minutes to get into the car park and parked.
• I then had to queue for 20+ minutes to use one of the 4 toilet paper free portable loos.  (for 4000 riders…)
• We got to the massive queue for the start at 8:36am.
• And we did not get going until 9:45am.  That’s 2 1/2 hours all in all. Un  bl**dy believable.

Oh, but it gets worse.

They’ve changed the route.  Yes the new seaside bit is very pretty, and the route is relatively flat for the first 1 1/2 hours or so, which is good for running in the legs.   But there really aren’t any hills until you get to the big one, and as a result it just wasn’t half as scenic as previously.   Lots of nothingy towns, a bit too much traffic, and not much to look at.  I found myself looking forward to the big climb – the Bwlch.   Having been up it before I was prepared for it, and I did a storming job going up it.  I was really pleased with myself – I proper powered up it, and even left GB behind.  I even had a chat to Howie from Cyclosport who I met on the way up.  So I got to the 2nd foodstop just past the top with a grin on my face, despite the rain which was starting, and GB arrived shortly afterwards.   I queued for the one loo, and in the meantime a yellow Mavic support car went past which, now we look back on it, must have been the broom wagon because…

…when we got on our way and to the route split just down the road we were told it was closed!   Take the Medio Fondo route, or if you insist on taking the Gran Fondo, hand in your number, oh and by the way they’ll be taking the signs down.   Apparently 1.30pm was cut off, so we must just have missed it – thus adding insult to injury.   So we took the shorter route rather than risk it leaving us around 20 miles to do if that, and descended the hill in the by now pouring rain.  My 200km ride had turned into a 120km one that wasn’t even that hilly.

I was, and am, absolutely furious, as well as very disappointed.  I had presumed that due to the disastrous start that any cut-off times would be adjusted accordingly.  More fool me hey?  I have NEVER been cut off, or swept up by the Broom Wagon, and I’ve now done 25+ sportives.  As you’ll see, my average speed today was much faster than usual, so it’s not like I was even being a slow rider.

So, fueled by anger and indignation, having vented somewhat, and with around 12 miles to go, I decided I would see how fast I could get to the end. And I flew home!  I totally kicked ar*e.  GB followed suit, and we had quite a posse flying along behind us.  At speed!  Anger is good ;).  Oh, and my new wheels – I think I’m going to divorce hubby and marry them *grin*.  They are just amazing.  Faster, more responsive, the tyres are grippier…

Thus we arrived back at the start, complete with amusing sprint finish, but I’m fairly sure my timing chip wasn’t working – no beep, although by then I was past caring.

We parked up by, as it turns out, Ride HQ, so I thought I might as well do the organisers the courtesy of making my feelings known in person.  And was essentially told that well, they’d had more riders than ever before, we should have been there earlier, and that’s just the way it goes…  Not so much as an apology.  *speechless*.

Well if that’s the case, then they manifestly can’t cope with that number of riders!  I have done the Dragon 3 times now, and I will NEVER be doing it again.  Nor would I recommend it to anyone else.  It is the only ride I have ever had to queue in such a way to start for.  And apparently not getting to the cut off point in time is MY fault?!!  The route used to make up for the event’s shortcomings but I don’t think that’s even true now.

I’d have hung around for a coffee – but there was a queue…

Cycling time: 4:16:52 hrs
Distance: 71.09 miles
Avs: 16.5 mph
ODO: 8766 miles

If you want positives, and they are few and far between today – I give you my ascent of the Bwlch, my descents, and my sprint at the end.  None of which have anything to do with the organisers.  The Wiggle Dragon Ride recently attained UCI Golden Bike World Series status for 2012 – and I think it should be taken off them pronto!  I’d like my £32.00 back please, since I sure as eggs didn’t get what I paid for.

*still fuming*.

If you’d like a list of vocabulary I would like to use, today’s entry is brought to you by the words “fiasco, shambles, farcical”.  Hubby reckons I should sign this Apoplectic of Axbridge…and he’s probably not far wrong…*grrrr*.

PS: Regardless of how long I had to queue, the timings should mean that travelling at a reasonable average speed you should be able to start at the latest time allowed and make the split before the cutoff time…  Today I was going faster than I have at the last two Dragons, and it’s never been a problem before.  Missing the cutoff is why I’m quite so mad…