Autumn Days When the Grass is Jewelled

It's that time of year again. The road racing season has diminished and focus turns towards next year and the challenges on offer. In certain ways, this is a cyclist's easiest time of the year - you can start all over again and lay out a structured plan to achieve your goals, knowing you have the time to get there. On the other hand, it's sub zero outside, there are no significant upcoming races to motivate you and your initial instinct is to sit by the wood burner watching T.V. comedies back to back until the spring. However, after a bike ride I know I will always return home feeling better than I did before I left.

Next year will be different, for those of you who don't know I'm going over to Italy to race for Zappi's Racing Team for the season. This means more races, more opportunities and most importantly some of the biggest Under 23 races on the international calendar.  Another change this year is that I'm not at school so I can get more training done in the day. I'm still doing a few part time jobs to raise funds for next year, but I've got enough time to train properly. My typical week at the moment involves endurance rides, strength work in the gym, swimming and yoga. At this time of year I'm trying to stay as mentally fresh as possible because there is a lot of hard work to come! Physical health is so often talked about, but it is the mental state of a rider that allows them to unlock their physical fitness. I'm still getting in many miles on the bike, but I'm focusing on enjoying myself whenever possible, visiting new places and playing with my band.

I shall be based in Devon until early January, when our training camp begins in Calpe. We then travel to Italy for the race season in March. Recently, it has dawned on me that I don't have much longer left until I go on my travels, so I'm trying to make time to catch up with friends and family while I'm still here. I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has helped me this year, especially Team PB Performance and my parents.

Tarmac Reacquaintance

I was really enjoying yesterday's ride. All of the hard training for the week had been done, so Ryan and I were just taking it easy, spinning out to Ivan's for a coffee. I was only two miles from home, descending to Colliton Cross when I came to grief. There was a van parked on the edge of the road, so as I have done countless times, I checked behind and moved in to the middle of the road to pass the van, leaving a gap of around one metre.

The next thing I knew there was a massive impact and I went flying, landing in the road. The driver had opened his door at the exact moment I was passing, this happens more often in cities and is commonly known as 'dooring a cyclist'. Fortunately the driver was a genuine guy, apologising straight away and calling an ambulance. The worst thing that can happen in this situation is a 'hit and run' incident. Initially I feared the worst, I had managed to crawl to the side of the road, but this was my first crash that I didn't get up from.

Within a few minutes a trained first aider had stopped, soon followed by a doctor and even a man who works for mountain rescue. They did a great job of looking after me until the ambulance came, which took forty five minutes. After my assessment from the paramedics, I went to hospital for an X-ray, praying that nothing was broken. Most of the force had been taking by my left thigh, but I was told by the paramedics that the femur is a very hard bone to break! I was more concerned about my forearm, but I was incredibly relieved when the X-ray came back all clear. I guess I have my genetics (and eating petit filous yoghurts) to thank.

I am hoping to be back on the bike for the National Hill Climb in 10 days, but the truth is I have no idea how long the recovery is going to take. If there's a message to be taken away here, it is please double check your mirrors and blind spot before opening a door into open traffic. It really could save a life. Interestingly, in the Netherlands, drivers are taught to open their door with their opposite arm, so they automatically look over their shoulder. I shall try and get in to this habit in the future.

Now for the other sad part. I may have survived, but the bike didn't. The top tube has snapped and there is a crack in the fork. If anyone out there has a bike I could possibly borrow for the National Hill Climb, please let me know. I'll keep you updated and hopefully there will be a blog from the National. Over and out.

Belmont and Jennycliff

Seven thirty a.m. at Cullompton services. Why on earth is Mcdonalds that busy? Mainly it's a mix of people at the tail end of a long night out (we've all been there) and workmen getting their breakfast mcmuffin. Josh Coyne was kind enough to offer me a lift up to Bristol with his coach, Nigel, both of which made fine company for the journey, which was passed by talking about watts, wind and weight, the equivalent of cycling small talk.

In the hour before the race, I experienced a mental clarity that made the whole event especially enjoyable. Headphones on, familiar warm up routine, getting in the zone. I like to spin my legs at a high cadence (100 rpm) during the intense parts of my warm up, so I choose songs that have a tempo of around 100 bpm, this way I just pedal to the beat. 'Someday' by The Strokes did the job perfectly. Considering I didn't know the climb well, I was happy with my ride. Two minutes and forty six seconds was my time up Belmont and I knew this was nine seconds quicker than the course record, but was it enough for the win? No. Sam Lindsay had gone one second faster. Hey ho, I thought, I just need to win tomorrow.

I'll keep it brief about Sunday. The weather was grim. The hill was too short for my liking. I had bad legs. I didn't win. Not one to write home about, I did however come second, but couldn't get near the time of Josh, who made mince meat of the Jennycliff course, taking four seconds off the course record. He was simply the best rider on the day. People often ask me 'are you a better climber than so and so?' and expect a one word answer. The reality is, at a high level, there are so many small variables that mean you really never know. For example, I was ten seconds quicker than Josh on Saturday, yet he was five seconds quicker than me on Sunday.

This weekend I realised how much I like winning and yet I didn't win either of the hill climbs I raced. When I have won races, obviously the feeling is great, but you never fully appreciate it until you look back on it, hence the cliche so often used in post race interviews - 'It hasn't sunk in yet'. If only it was the same when losing - 'I'm not that annoyed, but I'm sure the frustration will sink in over the next few months', said no one ever. Second place is never a nice place to finish when you're chasing a win and after this happened to me on two consecutive days, I was in a fairly bad mood for the next few hours, but all the while previous victories are still 'sinking in' and began to override any negativity.

Thanks to the University of Bristol CC and Plymouth Corinthians CC for putting on the events.

Peak Hill Climb

For the fourth time in as many years, I found myself sitting in the familiar, slightly dingy setting of Jack's Bar in Sidmouth, which always feels somewhat strange at 9 a.m. The Peak Hill Climb is one of the most memorable events of the cycling calendar for me, mainly because it's the steepest climb I race up all year. It's the sort of climb where you feel like your head is going to explode, or for the data nerds out there - eight watts per kilogram in a 36x28 gear will leave you grinding. The sign at the bottom says twenty percent, but this is clearly an inaccurate approximation. Send the bloke from Highways England up there on a bicycle, then ask him how steep it is.

The climb starts steadily and then gets gradually steeper before easing off in the final two hundred metres. The nature of the climb meant that I threw caution to the wind, going hard from the gun, hoping to carry my momentum half way up the climb, which worked and I held on until the finish clocking five minutes and nine seconds. I had hoped to dip under five minutes, but this was a tall order as only one man has done this in the history of the event. James Dobbin's ride, back in 2006 earned him the British hill climb title. Upon return to HQ I caught up with fellow riders, chatting about how 'that steep section by the house is bloody horrible' etc. When the results came through I was happy to see my name at the top of the list, along with my mates Ryan and Jack taking second and fourth respectively.

Ryan and I blew part of the prize money at a cafe on the way home, but didn't get through the magnum of Champagne, which will be kept until this evening at least. Thanks to Ron from Sid Valley for organising the event, all of the marshals, Team PB Performance and my family for coming out to support.

Porlock Toll Hill Climb

Without doubt the most prestigious hill climb in the South West calendar, the Porlock Hill Climb always lures talent from all corners of the country - all of whom are within a shot of the £350 cash prize, not a bad reward for fourteen minutes of work. However, it is not just the economic appeal that makes this event so special. This is an event that my own mother gets excited about and it's not because she's interested in gazing at sub five kilogram bikes. The appeal of Porlock depends on who you are...

The Cyclist:

• Closed roads, six and a half kilometres of relentless climbing, averaging nearly six percent. Not only is this climb long and consistent enough to imagine you're on Alpe d'Huez in the tour, there's also two hairpins and a start ramp to make that dream a reality.
• Witness the best in the United Kingdom ride up a hill very quickly. We're talking professional riders, up and coming talents and even the current senior british champion, Dan Evans. Also expect a selection of custom built bikes, with the added consideration of aerodynamics due to the steady gradient. 
• Other nice touches include a computer screen back at HQ which automatically puts the times in order, a personalised race number to cherish and of course, a plentiful supply of coffee and cake after the race.  

The Tourist:

• Views that are to die for. Exmoor often plays second fiddle to Dartmoor on the tourist map, but is every bit as spectacular. From the top of the climb it appears as if you can reach out and touch the Welsh coastline. 
• Postcard perfect villages. The village of Porlock itself is a very pleasant place to be, but travel a few miles in any direction (apart from towards Minehead) and you'll soon be greeted by a tranquil river running under a stone bridge, traditional cottages and maybe even a Exmoor pony...
• An extensive list of unique attractions including Dunster Castle, Tarr Steps and many more, why not stop on your way home?  

Regarding my race, I can think of no other way to describe it except undeniably average. I remember thinking before, If I rode up at 400 watts I would be satisfied, but if I was on a mad flyer, maybe that number would creep up towards 420. I could make excuses, but that would be a whole different article. The fact is it didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped, but I did manage 403 watts. I stopped the clock in fifteen minutes and four seconds, which put me in fifth place, twenty eight seconds behind the winner Charlie Meredith, well done that man. Perhaps the biggest indication of the quality of the field was seeing the British champion finish third, fourteen seconds ahead of me, but fourteen seconds behind the winning time.

After the chatting and awards, I was rather keen to get home to watch the end of the world championships road race, but my parents fancied hanging around the beautiful area and going for a cream tea. The seemingly perfect hill climb had developed a problem. How I wished that we were in an industrial estate on the edge of Birmingham. The drive takes about an hour and twenty minutes, but when I remembered that the wind was north-westerly, I made the decision to jump on my bike and got home in 2 hours, just in time to watch Valverde triumph in Innsbruck. I heard somewhere that he entered the Porlock hill climb, but didn't get selected, so had to go to the worlds instead. 

Thanks as always to the organisers, marshals, caterers, event sponsors (https://www.tanks-direct.co.uk/), parents and Team PB Performance. 

If you would like a list of my excuses, please drop me a message or leave a comment below. 

Winning - The Stoke Hill Climb

Unforeseen circumstances often arise in bike races. Usually measures can be put it place to prevent these issues, but today I was caught out; my plan was to ride out to the hill climb as a warm up, have a coffee or three, race, then ride home as extra training. Five minutes into the ride the first substantial drops of rain started to fall. No big deal, I thought, skin is waterproof. It was then that I noticed that the temperature was also quite a few degrees cooler than the last few days and the chill was setting in.

Most cyclist's solution to this problem is to ride harder, with the thought of a hot shower at home willing them on, however I needed to save my legs for the race and unfortunately the event HQ consisted of little more than a gazebo and certainly not a hot shower. As I so often do, I convinced myself everything was fine until Ryan, Charlie and I rolled in to HQ. At this point Ryan and Charlie left me in the rain like a couple of parents dropping their child off at a creche. Thanks for the support guys (I would've done the same).

I still maintained the attitude that I was fine until I went to sign on. My hand was too cold to write, but after a while I managed a squiggle which bared a humorous resemblance to a child writing their name for the first time. I was left with two options, continue to pretend I was fine and keep my dignity or admit my mistake and plead for help. I asked the lady serving coffee if there was anywhere inside I could go, but there was not. Instead, she offered me blankets and I couldn't refuse the offer. A few minutes later I was still shivering, so she brought me a cup of tea and a pink hot water bottle...
If you're going to look soft you may as well go all the way! I'm always humbled by how generous strangers can be when someone needs help.

So there I was, half an hour until my start time, unable to think about racing a bike. Fortunately my parents were coming out to watch and they rocked up twenty minutes before I was off, giving me just enough time to raise my core temperature by a couple of degrees and spin my legs on the rollers. At exactly 11:01 I rode to the start knowing I would get there one minute before my race began. As for the race, I don't recall a great deal. I remember my legs still feeling bad from the off, the negative voices started to rise to the surface, but I tried to stick to my plan. When riding a perfect hill climb you don't think much, you almost have to imagine you're in the matrix and 'there is no spoon'. I managed a decent sprint to the finish and stopped the clock at 4:32, three seconds quicker than last year, but a long way off my target of 4:25. After an eager wait for the results I discovered that I had won by nine seconds from Tom Nancarrow. The relief after the mornings suffering was a fitting reward and after copious amounts of hot drinks had been consumed and we finished chatting about our power numbers from the race, it was time to head back to a hot shower.

Thanks to Exeter Wheelers for a great event, the marshals for standing out in the cold and Ann Owens and Chris Godfrey for some cracking photos.

The Hill Climb Season

The hill climb season is a British tradition that I love. For those of you who don't know, a hill climb is a very pure form of bike racing. Riders gather in a village hall, ride up a hill at one minute intervals and the fastest time up the hill is the winner, sounds simple right? I think one of the reasons I enjoy the hill climb season and all bike racing for that matter, is the attention to detail that goes with it. Riders will go to extreme lengths in their quest for speed. In my case, this means removing every piece of unnecessary kit from the bike and I mean EVERY bit, from bottle cage bolts to stem caps. On Friday I found myself needing a haircut and thought, do I swap my usual grade three back and sides for a more aerodynamic grade two? Personally, I can never really notice the difference, so needless to say I went for the latter option. On the other hand, don't think that every marginal gain has to be utilised. Style on and off the bike is good for morale, so you'll rarely see riders wearing no socks. The feeling of arriving on the start line knowing your mind, body and machine are in peak form is wonderful.

The two most important factors when racing up hill are power and weight. You can combine these metrics to give a rider a power to weight ratio, expressed in watts per kilogram. I manage my body weight during the hill climb season by eating healthily whenever possible, but don't meticulously calorie count like some do. Power is developed by the hard hours out on the road. Ninety nine percent of the time I enjoy my training or at least enjoy the feeling of knowing that it's making me stronger. Being out with your friends (you know who you are) can also make a massive difference. With the right combination of personalities, you can turn a sporting atmosphere in to that of a party atmosphere, albeit with a flat white in your hand instead of a Peroni. 

Last week I went on a ride where this spirit was summed up perfectly. The plan was for five lads to go out for an eighty mile ride out to Dartmoor, stopping at the new cycling cafe in Bovey Tracey, perfect. We hadn't even started the ride when we had a call from Charlie, saying he'd just woken up and would meet us en route, which meant more hanging around. Four hundred metres in to the ride we hear a shout from James, he'd punctured and none of us had a spare tube with a valve long enough for his deep section wheels. Fortunately Jake had some patches in his saddle bag and James manage to repair the puncture and the hole in his tyre. Events had run smoothly for the next thirty miles and we were tackling the second climb of the day. I was halfway through my effort when I felt the air leaking out of my rear tyre, you've got to be kidding? A quick inner tube change and we were back on the road. At this point it would be easy to get frustrated and write off the ride, but after it took me three attempts to get my tyre off (I blamed my recovering wrist injury), I was the subject of the next joke, which kept the others entertained. 

Around ten miles later it was Ryan's turn to be mocked when he claimed that he rode up the hardest climb of the day in the big chainring. We were giving him the usual "oooh you're hard" when I heard the 'ting tinging' of spokes and turned around to see Ryan in the hedge. There are many different stories of how this occurred, each one blaming a different person, but the most factual account is that James' quick release skewer somehow got hooked on Ryan's rear mech cable and it went downhill from there. The consequence? Ryan's rear mech hanger snapped rendering his bike unrideable. Since we were only two miles from the cafe a very kind man offered him a lift, while I benefited from some motor pacing on the bumper. 

Cafe 360 in Bovey is not far off a perfect cafe for a cyclist - a bike shop downstairs, retro bikes on display upstairs and of course, great coffee and cake. The only option to save Ryan's bike was to turn it into a single speed. When he told the mechanic he had forty miles left to ride including Haldon Hill, the mechanic thought he was having a laugh. Luckily Ryan's made of tough stuff and he made it to Exeter by grinding his 39x16 gear up the climb, spinning on the flats and holding on to my saddle at speeds over twenty five mph. This was working OK until his hub starting disintegrating on the outskirts of town, at which point we had to put our heads together to get him home (see video on my instagram) by forming a borderline genius system where we all helped push/pull him along. The fact that I look back on this ride with fondness is due to the camaraderie and laughs we had, despite the catalogue of errors.  

Three days had passed and I was ready for my first hill climb on a local climb of mine, Chineway Hill. This was my first race back after breaking my wrist, so I didn't go in with high expectations. My form on the day also wasn't helped by not getting much sleep the night before - Albert Hammond Jr, the guitarist from one of my all time favourite bands, The Strokes, was playing in Bristol and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I arrived in good time at HQ and caught up with familiar faces I hadn't seen since the national HC last year. The minutes ticked down until my start time and after a good warm up, the adrenaline started to kick in. 

If someone asked me "do you enjoy hill climbing?" I would probably say yes, but 'enjoy' isn't quite the right word. Chineway is a particularly painful climb, the first half is a steady four percent and the second half averages eleven percent, with the final slopes at twenty percent. During my effort, I rode to my power meter for the first half, then emptied the tank on the steeper section, testing my physical and mental limits in the process. Ryan and Charlie gave me a good shout, but I could tell I wasn't on the best of days. I stopped the clock in six minutes eighteen seconds, eleven seconds off Andrew Feather's winning time, which was good enough for third place. I felt a tinge of disappointment stepping up on to the podium, but I had to remind myself that I'd only had my cast taken off a week ago. I'd already started thinking about the next one, Stoke Hill on Saturday and more importantly, how to win.