I had bought myself a splendid black carbon fibre Roubaix style racer. Previous year’s model which saved £500 and only missed out on internal cable routing v the current model. I couldn't believe the power you got from pedalling the beast but I had a BIG problem. I had no idea how to change gear and after a swift try-out I had put the bike into bottom gear and couldn't get out of it. I thought my bike was broken. Little did I know it was a common novice mistake. Gone were the grip shift twist gear shifters, this was a whole new ball game.
Now don't get me wrong, cycling is invigorating and phenomenal exercise and furthermore you see wonderful scenery. That was all good but it comes with a price. It takes bloody ages.
The training regime was long and intense and was punctuated by some good fortune in the shape of a job offer at Motorola. Yes the one time king of the mobile phone land had come calling in the shape of Andrew Morley, former Sales and Marketing Director at Sky.
I took the job and gave my notice in. We negotiated a 2 week notice period.
In that time, I had an operation on my finger to remove an embedded thorn, saw Foo Fighters and Prince and then wound down before winding up again - at Motorola.
Badfinger
At Prince, Hop Farm
The one challenge was that I would basically start in week one, go and do The Etape with the Sky folks and then come back for a fortnight after which I would be on holiday for 2 weeks…nice start although not exactly full speed ahead.
I did the Chiltern 100 (or rather 80 miles of it) in June and this primed me for what was going to be a long arduous slog of a race. My objective was to avoid the “broom wagon” and I was having nightmares about this fire-breathing mechanical contraption straight out of Dr No chasing me round the course.
The majesty of the open English countryside is truly breathaking and I paused to take things in as I passed through Wendover Ridge. I was king of all I surveyed (in my mind).
I didn't do the full 100 miles as I took a wrong turn but nevertheless I had enjoyed it, got lost a couple of times but I was feeling tired but good. And furthermore I was feeling ready for the Etape.
I left Sky and was cycling to and from work right up to the point of my departure in the second week of July.
The weekend of the Etape came round. I had dropped my bike into Sky earlier in the week so that it could be sent down to France in advance of the party of 100 or so eager Sky employees and agency folk. It had cost £500 all in. Pretty good!
We arrived on the Friday evening and settled into a few beers in the town centre of Clemont Ferrand It was shaping up to be an epic weekend.
Posing in Clemont Ferrand
The following morning we jumped on the bikes and cycled to the start point and transported them to a holding pen (to be collected the following morning). I thought the pace was fast but it was such a beautiful day that I persevered. The fields were full of massive sunflowers and the mountains were more hills than massive peaks I was expecting but then this was the warm up to the main event the following day.
Another novice mistake here as well as I realised that you are not supposed to wear underwear beneath cycling shorts – no wonder I had experienced chaffing and rubbing during my training…. I bought a big tub of chamois cream and it changed my enjoyment of cycling no end.
We had a pep talk and the assembled masses sung happy birthday to me. We ate, drank copious amounts of water and watched James Cracknell runs the Marathon des Sables – inspirational stuff to watch before the BIG ONE.
I slept which was a good thing as we left at 4:30am.
The skies were dark and brooding banishing the clear blue expanse of the previous day. We were warned of rain and boy did it come.
We were packed into our start pens and just before 7 am it started to rain. Not just normal rain but heavy rain. This was mid-July and very out of character for the region.
Looking Stupidly Optimistic
I clobbered up with arm warmers and a raincoat but retained my bib shorts and fingerless gloves.
We were off and the pace was fast but manageable. I definitely said to myself that I was a runner not a cyclist and that this would be my only big one – the rest should be pleasure. The rain continued to pelt us but it was enjoyable and I managed to exchange some banter with a policeman from the UK and a French man. The temperature was comfortable but I was soaked through and there were two problems looming.
The first was my feet. The orthotics, which I wore also for cycling, did not drain so my shoes were full of water. I had to stop and empty them – “hang on!”, “this isn’t what I signed up for!”.
The second was my hands but more on that in a while.
We climbed our first ascent and the rain abated a little. Things would take a dramatic turn for the worse as we reached the apex and went through a small town.
I could not understand why people were cycling back the way we came, looking miserable. I soon realised why.
As we exited the village, the temperature dropped and the wind whipped up. The rain had now changed to SLEET. People were sat on the side of the road in foil blankets… a very scary sight and a good indicator as to what we would experience.
I was getting colder and wetter and was definitely starting to dislike the experience knowing that I had hours ahead of me. By this time (3 hours in) of a marathon the end is in sight. By this point we were not even a third of the way round and I had had enough. My work colleague Sara Gibbons spoke briefly to me on the ridge telling me that she was on the verge of jacking it in.
We carried on powering across the freezing ridge but it wasn’t getting any easier. And then we began our first descent into the village just before pas de Payrol. It began to snow. My fingers were numb and worryingly the wound on my finger (caused by an operation to remove a thorn from my knuckle) was opening up.
We reached the bottom and I met some fellow Sky people but I was shaking uncontrollably. I felt like I had the makings of hypothermia. Richard advised us to warm up and told us that many people were bailing already. In fact there was a massive queue of people WANTING to get on the broom wagon... Should I stay or should I go?
“This is NOT worth your health” I said to myself and at that point went into a café to warm up.
The café was rammed and it took ages to get a hot chocolate. When it came it helped – BIG TIME but the prospect of finishing the race was slipping through my fingers.
I stayed with Joe Coleman and Yorick Moes we chatted for an hour as we waited to stop the relentless shivering. I popped outside and saw a Frenchman who looked despondent.
“It’s shitty, I am going home” he said.
Well if a well ‘ard Frenchie can’t take it there is no shame in me bailing.
However after half an hour the sun started to break through and we decided to give it a go…. We would carry on for 30 minutes before I received a call…
“They are closing the circuit due to the weather”…time to throw the towel in.
Now at this point we could have taken the broom bus back to the finish but being hardy souls we decided to cycle back to the finish so we could retain an element of dignity.
We started off back towards the end but after 20 minutes we thought we’d turn back and give it ANOTHER shot… so back we went before we were told that it had officially shut and that there was no point in going back.
About turn AGAIN and we were now on the way back. There were some stunning ascents and descents but we felt cheated that we had been unable to complete our mission.
We arrived into St Flour and enjoyed a small degree of satisfaction knowing that at least we had cycled over 80 miles in the most dreadful of conditions.
We watched the finishers coming in and grabbed a beer or two.
That evening I felt hollow, having failed to complete the Etape. We made up for lost time, celebrating a belated birthday and enjoying some great wine. A couple even got engaged at the finish line.
I returned to the UK and to Motorola full of stories of intrepidness but was unable to claim victory on this occasion.
Perhaps one day I will try again but for the time being I see cycling as a leisure pursuit.
For the remainder of the summer I cycled a great deal, taking my bike with me to France and Corsica and it was here I fell back in love with cycling. I took the bike back to France the following year (2012) and enjoyed it just as much.
For me 3-4 hours is fine. I then want to get on with the rest of my day invariably packing as many different activities into the remaining time.
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