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Day 132 in France. For you math geeks out there in those 132 days I’ve ridden 5,396 miles. The equivalent of riding from the infamous Punchbowl in Spalding, straight to Myanmar in South East Asia. In these 132 days I have averaged 40.87 miles per day, averaging 2 hours a day meaning I’ve spent on average 8.3% of my day on a bicycle. I’m no Mark Beaumont, but that is a rather considerable distance to travel on a bike. Who says you don’t use maths after GCSE’s?
Anyway, from my 132 days living in France I’ve learnt a few things from riding a bike here. One simple thing is to always take a rain jacket with you, even if it’s rather mild. Clouds can appear out of no-where.
If, on a Sunday, you do go out for a long ride in the sun, don’t bonk any time after 12:30pm. Nowhere will be open. If you do somehow happen to find an open café, don’t expect a large slice of carrot cake, a warm scone or even just a flapjack. From my experience you’ll either get a large lunch or just a cuppa coffee. In the mountains, small isolated villages, surrounded by the faint sound of cow bells can also be the home of fresh water fountains. If ever you find one, be sure to fill up a bottle, because it’s not guaranteed that the shops on the way home will be open, even on weekdays. One fact I found out the hard way. The further up the mountain you go however, the lower the probability that what you’re drinking hasn’t come out of another animal. Or Human.
Over the last few weeks racing I’ve had all I can describe as a mixture of ill fortune, and incorrect bike positioning. I’ve learnt the hard way that lowering the stem may not actually make you faster, but it can make places that have never hurt before, hurt. Not knowing a course has also affected me, such as in the Tour d’Auverge elite national, where I went back to the car for a bottle, not knowing that there was a long drag, where the race would eventually explode. However, an English boy in 36 degree heat needs his water, and lots of it. 39ththat day. The day after I worked for the team, 1-2ing with Paul to get in the breakaway. After Paul was away, I followed anything that moved, much like a young Labrador. After 75km I was done, jumped in the van and that was that. I did another elite national. It rained on the start; meaning lap 1 and 2 was like an ice rink. Unfortunately on lap 2, a guy decked it in front of me; I hit his Garmin, locked up, slid sideways and managed to hold it up. But the race was gone by this point.
I did a 2/3/J race, which was quite enjoyable compared to the elite national races I’d been doing. Again, the slammed stem I feel was to blame for my cramping up. But even while cramping up I managed to get away on the final lap to finish 14th. Position changed, back pain gone, cramping gone. I felt 100 times better. The next race I was in the front, making it to the decisive group early on in the race. We hit a twisty descent, and once again the guy in front had a wobble on a deceptively long corner forcing me out wide. I ended up narrowly missing a telegraph pole. I thought I had made it, but no, a large drop on the side of the grass meant I plummeted a few meters down, subsequently getting stuck. The following car didn’t see me, so therefore had to shout to a member of public on a motorbike to drag me out. Luckily just bruises and scratches from the sharp brambles at the bottom of the hole. Coming to the end of the season now, with my normal bike position, good legs, and hopefully my spell of bad luck out of the way. We go again.
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