Let's make it a date

Nine lots of three minutes. I can do this, easy. I tell myself to stay focused, breathe steadily, sit up straight and keep the wine flowing. Wait... what?

With daylight diminished and storm season definitely upon us, the darkened evenings will find many a cyclist, keen to maintain as much fitness as possible, swapping out at least a few of those outdoor kilometres for the odd static bike session or roller derby. For once though, tonight’s indoor activity is not a torturous turbo trainer workout but Cycling Speed Dating at Look Mum No Hands!, Old Street’s lovely bike café, bar and workshop. My legs might appreciate the rest but I’m still expecting to spend plenty of time in the red...

Why would someone want to date a cyclist? Well for one thing, we have nice legs. For another there’s… no, I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got. Every one of my ride buddies who has, through no talent of their own, somehow managed to sustain a relationship to the point of cohabitation has a partner with saintly levels of patience/tolerance. That tired stereotype of women taking up the wardrobe space is as nothing compared to the sheer cubic footage of bike... stuff that we possess. I don’t even care that much about the kit, but it’s still bloody everywhere. Frames, wheels, tools, summer kit, winter kit, spare winter kit, the aforementioned turbo trainer… Then there’s the early morning abandonment, the obsession with data, the interminable tiredness, the need for every holiday to feature at least one Cat 1/HC climb and we’ve still barely scratched the surface. So, to rephrase the question, what kind of person would actively seek this out? Do these women really know what they’re letting themselves in for?

They don’t seem to. Most of the women at LMNH are not so much cyclists, as people who ride bikes. In other words, completely sane. When I mention to one - we’ll call her Pinot - that I have stopped shaving my legs for the winter, she recoils, aghast that this is something I would even consider doing in the first place. All I had to do was resemble a human being for one hundred and eighty seconds, but no.

In case conversation runs dry, the organisers leave on each table three cards containing conversation topics. Chat-doping, basically. Given the theme I’m expecting them to be cycling-related: What was your highlight from this year’s Tour? What’s your VO2 Max? Shimano or Campag? Although at no point do I need to resort to them I do sneak a peak and I’m disappointed. What’s your favourite holiday destination? (Mallorca, duh) What’s your dream job? (Come ooon.)

So did I meet a future team leader to whom I might one day serve as super-domestique? Sadly, not this time.

Perhaps due to having ridden here in the rain, Terpstra seems a bit stroppy so I’m relieved to be saved by the bicycle bell rings as she is obliged to move on. Although there’s no spark, as such, Hesjedal is enormous fun to talk to and could be a great accompaniment on training rides. Kittel has stunningly shiny hair, so (naturally) I find myself asking if she’s a fan of Alpecin shampoo. This (naturally) produces the most awkward moment of the evening. Oh for a sticky bottle.

Names have been changed.

From neo-pro to no-pro: Thoughts on Campbell Flakemore Calling it Quits

BMC’s Campbell Flakemore announced last week that he was walking away from professional cycling, after a single succinct season with the Swiss/American outfit.

Speaking to Australian website CyclingTips, the 23-year-old discussed difficulties both on and off the bike, with the loneliness of Nicoise-living proving as hard to cope with as the pace of the pro peloton.

Far from a snap decision, an interview as far back as May found Flakemore struggling to adapt to life as a professional racer:

"The WorldTour is a different level. You've really got to suffer just to get to the finish…

"The big challenge though is not just the racing. It's also sorting out my own apartment. Living on your own, looking after yourself, sorting out the apartment, the internet… and doing it in France was a big part. It's just all a big learning curve…"

We students of the sport who also ride (and even race) think we have at least some sense of what life must be like at the highest level. Flakemore’s announcement should serve as an important reminder to us ageing never-weres that we really have no idea.

As thrilling as it may look through the window of Eurosport, the cyclist’s life is a long way from that of the rock star or Formula 1 racing driver. Perhaps it contains the occasional moment of glamour but for the most part it is as David Millar describes it in his recent book:

Train. Eat. Sleep. Eat, train, sleep. Sleep train eat, train eat sleep.

You can see why a forty-year-old might covet that lifestyle, but someone in their twenties? Any “normal” young bloke is going to want to add “mates”, “girls”, and “booze” to that mix, activities which are rarely, if ever, compatible with the job of professional cyclist. Obliged to move away from family and friends to a part of the world more suitable for training, literally everything the cyclist does is designed so he can deliver on two wheels.

Campbell Flakemore sampled the sacrifices he would have to make to fulfill Cadel Evans’s hopes that he would one day win a grand tour and found that, on balance, he’d rather do something else. The person he is in ten year’s time may find himself with a few regrets, but hopefully he won’t. The person he is now has made a brave choice.

Imagery by Nic Stevenson

On the shoulders of giants

Each of the Grand Tours seems to be engaged in an ongoing battle to assert itself as the definitive benchmark by which the others will be judged. Fired up and fuelled with national pride, these tours reflect the best features the hosting countries have to offer.

We are presented with a bespoke three-week cultural and geographic insight into Italy, France and Spain that's better than any tourist board commercial.

This year's Vuelta a España began a fortnight ahead of the Tour of Britain - enough time for it to get firmly engrained into the hearts and souls of an audience still in denial about the last Grand Tour. The Tour of Britain was televised back-to-back with the Vuelta, allowing a direct comparison between two nations. It's always good to see your homeland but the constant sun and jaw-dropping beauty of Spain won every round.

The Giro saw Alberto Contador announce his intention of completing a Giro/Tour de France Grand Tour double. He rode well, winning the race and setting the stage for an intriguing TdF. It was interesting to note the appearance of Fabio Aru and his single day in pink.

For us the Tour de France, although a great race, felt a bit flat this year. Yes it was amazing to see the tactics of Chris Froome and Team Sky pretty much dominate the race but it all began to feel a bit like another era of one-team control. Sorry Chris, you are a great rider but for us the real excitement revolved around who was going to come second. It was the constant attacking of Alejandro Valverde and Nairo Quintana that gave the race its real edge.

The Vuelta is the purest, least spoiled and, in some ways, most innocent of the Grand Tours. The riders come across as being calmer and more relaxed as the season's end draws near. Chris Froome was ready to attempt his own Tour Double, Vincenzo Nibali wanted to another opportunity to shine at a Grand Tour along with a host of riders including Tom Dumoulin, Dan Martin and Tejay van Garderen sidelined by crashes and injury at the previous Tour.

This year's Vuelta was extreme. The climbs, the crashes, the heat, the cheating of Nibali and the spirited performance of one rider... Billed as the best time trialist in the race, Tom Dumoulin was never rated as a contender but as the race unfolded he emerged as one with some inspired, spirited and talented riding. For us, his will to succeed will remain as the defining spectacle of this year's Vuelta. Seemingly out of nowhere he took the red jersey and looked capable of securing overall victory from the likes of Fabio Aru. Dumoulin's ride was the type of performance that dreams are made of. He literally came from nowhere to ride the race of his career (so far).

It's true that everyone loves an underdog - to see a rider excel like Dumoulin, it's easy to see why. He made this year's Vuelta unmissable - we just didn't want it to end! If you missed it first time round we highly recommend you catch it on YouTube

www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9maK3OJ5NA

Saluting lives well lived

There’s something incredibly heartwarming about the way the cycling community can pull together when the chips are down. 

In recent months, Sussex has seen two tragedies that claimed the lives of local cyclists. Two were killed in the Shoreham Airshow disaster - 26 year-old Richard Smith and Dylan Archer, who was 42. Just weeks earlier, Don Lock, a 79 year-old member of Worthing Excelsior Cycling Club, was stabbed to death in a road rage incident on the A24.

All three leave devastated loved ones as well as friends and fellow cyclists left stunned by the random nature of the awful events that took place. All three are being mourned and missed.

There have been many tributes made and events held to mark the three deaths. One of them was a ride organized by Excelsior to celebrate the life of Don Lock, who’d been a member of the club for 50 years.

Around 150 cyclists joined the ride, a gentle meander through the West Sussex countryside, ending at a little village hall in the shadow of the South Downs, where tea and cakes – lots of cakes! – were available.

Standing there admiring the views and devouring the cake, we reflected on how wonderful it was to see so many different club strips in the same place, alongside more casual cyclists on their shoppers and folding bikes and hybrids.

There were no speeches or presentations or great outpourings of emotion. This wasn’t the time or place for any of that. It was just a collection of cyclists enjoying each other’s company and saluting a life well lived – a tribute as pure and simple as the sport we all love.

Come on, dive in!

Just over two years has passed since I popped along to Look Mum No Hands! for the Simpson Magazine launch. That night was a mix of friends, family and excited publishers – evidently a dream come true for a few pals with a vision of putting out a well made, delightfully designed and lovingly written magazine. Was there room for one more? Certainly. It’s still going strong with the same charm and care the initial arrival heralded. Dig the new breed indeed.

The same care and attention now extends to Simpson’s kit. With a day’s notice I was tempted by one of my riding pals to jump in a van and scarper off to France, trading laptop watching for some in-the-flesh TDF. “Damn, I wished I’d grabbed a Simpson CC top” I thought, as I threw assorted items into a bag. Via the power of Twitter I asked if there was any hope of grabbing a jersey before leaving. Writing this now I don’t really know just what I was expecting as an answer - “yeah mate, we will bike one over”? Two hours later I was trading money I probably needed for food for a new top and matching socks at a clandestine hook-up at the nearest Northern Line tube station. That is some service (the jersey and the tube network).

Despite my best efforts I don’t entirely look pro. I’m certainly a few pints of real ale the wrong side of Chris Froome’s shape. A quick glance at Strava confirms I don’t ride very much like a pro either. But in the right clobber and with the right shoes and a carefully procured sun tan, it’s possible with a splash of escapism to feel pro. In a similarly dramatic and fascinated-with-sport way that I’d scream “Neeskens!” when kicking one of those cheap plastic newsagent-supplied footballs back in the 70s past a set of rolled up parkas, I did have the odd moment climbing in the Alps when I allowed myself to have my pain and suffering described by the commentator’s voice in my head. I’m sure there’s a Dutch corner joke there too but I’m too worn out to make it.

So what of the “Simpson CC”? Does it actually exist? Is this another of those gangs of earnest-looking Sunday riders who grind past solo riders without a perfunctory nod, let alone a smile? Well no, it’s more a statement of intent, a show of support and, from what I can tell, a commitment to that famous Eddy quote about just riding your bike. It seems to be a cycling gang whose members are far less likely to spend their time bragging about who has the fastest segment or who got dropped. The only award you’re likely to get with this lot is nicest bloke you met that day. Fancy that!

By the way, the jersey is as good as anything I’ve got in terms of quality and that design…well, you can see for yourselves that it’s got the same panache as the mag. Hurry up and dive in.