Inspired by team mate Simon's recent blog about photos (see here http://simonernest.blogspot.com/2011/03/life-in-colour.html ), here's a photo "diary" of me exploring the Ochil Hills on the day of Paris Roubaix.
The Ochils, where i got genuinely confused as to which side of the road i should be on thanks to a combination of Alpine scenery, warm weather and no traffic. In fact, the only vehicle i saw on this whole stretch of road was a horse!
A view out over the Firth of Tay. Beautiful.
Twas a fair old climb up to the car park at Pitmedden forest, somewhere i've been meaning to try out on the MTB for a while. Someone leaned out of the back of a land rover to take my photo as i struggled up the hill too, which i thought was only adding insult to injury...
On the day of Paris-Roubaix, it just seemed right to hit the pave (or maybe grave, in fact), although cobbles were lacking (perhaps not a bad thing!). Even with road maintenance like this, I love Scotland.
The rather imposing silhouette of Falkland hill, where there's much more scary mtbing to be had - not sure i'm tough enough for it though.
Nearly home - heading for Ceres with the first buds of spring just starting to burst on the trees. Ah, bliss.
I’m already failing on my New Year’s resolution to keep my blog up to date – the last few weeks have been mostly spent running to stand still however. So, here’s my update from the last two weekends, just before the next one starts. Firstly, BMBS 1 at Sherwood Pines.
BMBS Round 1 Clipstone, it transpires, is really quite a bit further from home than it was last year. However, it would also be fair to say that last year, it would have taken a less feasible, and much less desirable journey to get to the first round, as Rachel and I were sunning ourselves, and trying to fix her ankle in Gran Canaria. What a difference a year makes!
In the week running up to Sherwood, the weather switched from cold, windy and rainy to warmer, windy and slightly less rainy. Spring was coming to the East Neuk, which meant it had probably arrived down south; the Sherwood effect of warm sunshine, dry fast trails, and dust-choked racing looked like a realistic prospect yet again. Yet again, i found myself hoping for some rain to slow the racing down, i don’t know what it is about skimming trees at 30kmph through the singletrack, but i’m just not good at it, especially early in the season when i always struggle for speed (actually, being rather a diesel, i struggle for speed all the time!). Anyhow, my prayers went unanswered (next year maybe i’ll sacrifice a furious fred or two to make it clear i’m serious), and as we headed over the Forth Road Bridge it was dry, warm and sunny.
Waking up the following morning after a night spent at my parents, it seemed like maybe the weather gods had been listening after all, as it was overcast and noticeably colder than the day before. I was feeling hopeful, maybe Sherwood wouldn’t be a dirt crit after all. The remainder of the AW team were driving up from Reading, minus “Turbo” Tim Dunford, who had had rather a rough week and was too under the weather to race (given how tough Tim can be, you know it’s bad when he says it’s bad!). We all met up for a couple of laps of the course, which showed significant improvement over my last experience of a Sherwood BMBS with some trickier lumpy sections through the trees to keep you on your toes at race pace. Suitably prepared, we then had some photos taken by the inimitable Jake James, photographer to the stars (well, an excellent cycling photographer anyway!), including at least one of me gurning as i feared for my life on the wall ride on the skills loop – oops.
A relaxing evening spent at a luxury apartment near Derby, and an excellent Jamie Oliver pasta-based dinner provided by Dr. Ernest, and it was then time to go to bed. Rachel and I were first up, just in time to get her to the Elite women’s start at the unsociable time of 9:30am, especially given the loss of an hour’s sleep (it always feels like more, i reckon she started at half-six at the latest!). I had a nice chat with Maxine’s mum in the feed zone, and we compared notes on what it’s like to live with these elite women in some depth, whilst simultaneously trying to keep track of who was where. It’s a tough life being a feeder!
After Rachel finished, i had a few minutes to kit up, warm up and head over for gridding. From the second row of the grid, i had a good view when the Elite riders demonstrated how not to duke it out in a start, as half the field came to a stop after a crash on the very first (and very slight) corner of the race. Thankfully, this year, we got away with relatively little incident, and with less cruel “roadie traps” than the log on the 2009 course that claimed two collarbones, and showed up my total ineptitude at bunny hops (see video below) that was probably just as well. I had an ok race, not spectacular, but not terrible. I felt like i rode hard, and i was chuffed that only the front 5 elite riders caught me on my last lap, but i wasn’t exactly challenging for the podium. Early on, Nick Evans and i rode together, but as we turned onto a fire road mid-race, Nick turned up the pace and i was soon on my own. On the last lap, i came across Doug Shearer on his fancy new Rocky Mountain, evidently not having such a good ride as a year ago, but then the season is long! I rolled across the line a few second adrift of Doug in 28th, with my usual post-Sherwood regrets of feeling able to carry on at the same pace.
I did find one photo of my trying to give it the beans courtesy of Arthur Green. I’m looking forward to Dalby more now though, i’m liking my climbing more and more.
Goatee of Filth 2011 The following weekend, it was time for the much vaunted “Goatee of Filth” an homage to Shaun Kelly, and the fantastic early-season classic de Ronde van Vlaanderen. Put another way, it’s an excuse for the VC Moulin guys to get together, go for a nice ride in the hills in Fife, try their best to find as many cobbles, and then eat cake at the house of Martin and Susan. Having never been to Burntisland before, we were a bit concerned that we may do our usual trick of setting off in plenty of time and still being late. Our over-planning backfired spectacularly and we were the first ones there just after 9am – oops.
We set off up the “warm up” climb just after 10am – and what a warm up! A SRAM fail later, followed by a short stoppage at Ian’s house to pick up a spare bike (good old cyclists eh – how many motorists do you know who have a “spare car” lying about?!) for Marty Savalas, and we were off again. The last 20 miles of the ride were spent trying to play roadrunner to the big black clouds on the horizon, similar to those that had made the last year’s epic all the more, well, epic. Amazingly, we survived, and returned just in time to see Nuyens win the RVV in an amazing sprint against Chavanel and Spartacus. Oh, and have a chortle at Simon’s last climb cramp that ended with him making a spectacular leap into a ditch, resulting in a chicken and egg confusion about which came first. Amazing food was laid on by our gracious hosts, and all too soon it was time to head home tired but happy.
Until today i wasn’t sure how this weekend could possibly try and match the last two, but now it’s clear as Scottish tap water – this weekend will definitely be the one where i get my first sunburn of 2011! Bring on the wrinkly knees....
The last race of the 2010 XC season saw us compete in the Eastern Championships, on a fast, flat, sun-baked, erm...”Eastern” course. So when the 2011 Dales Cycles Scottish XC Series got underway last weekend at Kirroughtree in the Galloway Forest Park, things couldn’t have been more different! Let’s set the scene. Saturday evening and what seems like half of the Scottish mountain biking world are tweeting about the fast, dry conditions . Sunrise over the forth road bridge seemed to confirm their predictions and left both of us wondering whether our early morning packing frenzy should have included some semi-slicks. An hour later, with scotch mist hanging in the trees and very damp looking sheep by the roadside we had our faith restored in Metcheck!
For those of you that don’t know Kirroughtree is a gem of a trail centre. One of the 7 Stanes it is particularly well known for “McMoab” (southern Scotland’s damper but greener answer to Utah slickrock). Thankfully for Rachel, who finds the idea of a big slab of rock, let alone the cheesegrater granite found around Newton Stewart, quite quite terrifying, it didn’t feature in the SXC course. Damned lazy first-aiders! What the course lacked in white granite-covered whales, however, it more than made up for in a classic SXC mixture of big climbs and fun, sketchy descents. The overnight rains had not been kind to the early “natural” section of technical climb, however, which had gone from dry, to spongy to mud-spraying, wheel spinning give up and run territory. It did make for plenty of chirpy conversations, though, nobody prepared to admit that they didn’t have the breath left for a chat after hauling a mud-plastered bike up the hill! By far the defining section of the course was a slick, mossy, over the edge of control descent where i was expecting (based largely on total racist bias that all Scots are born knowing how to descend effortlessly on two wheels) to be taught many valuable lessons, all with style and panache. Suitably adrenaline-filled, you were then spat out onto a fire road through the arena to start the whole process again.
After second breakfast, and a fully waterproofed reccie (both perhaps signs of a seasoned competitor? – i like to think so!), it was time for Rachel to line up with the rest of the women’s racers. The elites, doing 4 laps of the course, were shown the way by Torq rider Lee Craigie, who led into the first corner and never looked back, with last year’s series winner Elke Schmidt comfortable in 2nd, and Leslie Ingram in 3rd. Rachel made up a place on the last lap, after marooning me in the feed zone with only the wildlife for company during her final lap, to come in 4th, and she assures me much more importantly “not last”! Having spent the last month searching out new places to ride, and watched Rachel ride with common sense and temerity, it was good to see her back to her old descending ways and with a smile on her face!
Free from feeding duties, i had just enough time to scoop the worst of the mud out of my bike’s stays, and oil the chain before it was time to head out and warm up. A quick blast up the hill left me suitably out of breath, clammy, and wondering why on earth i was pinning on a number and not going for a nice ride with slower people. The elites were called forward. Not feeling very “elite” i didn’t respond straight away, but when i did, the commissaire did nothing for my confidence by asking me “are you sure you’re supposed to be here?”. I mumbled something about being an expert rider, and promised i would try not to get in anyone’s way, and he seemed happy enough with that. We were reminded by the start marshall that we would be doing five, not four, but five, count them, five laps. Oh well, i am supposed to be an “endurance racer” i thought!
The whistle went, and for the first time in my life, when not at traffic lights, i found my pedal first time. No excuse in hand not to, i sprinted to stick to the wheels of the proper elites in front. It lasted until the first corner, where the climbing proper began, and my legs decided to remind my brain that i should have been further back. Ahead, i could see all my fellow riders slipping away into the distance, bugger. But something amazing happened, the guys immediately in front started getting closer again, and the ones further away didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. I chuckled at the memory of “the ones in here are small, but the ones out there are far away...”. Coming through the end of the first lap, i could still see Rob Friel and James FM ahead through the feed zone, and did my utmost to chase. It was not to be however, the anthem having the unfortunate side effect of inspiring confidence that this rider’s skills do not match. Going off one of the rocky drops, i landed a little heavy, and heard the snake in the tyre hiss. D’oh.Puncture fixed and back going, i came through the feed zone sufficiently soon that Rachel thought my meltdown was merely physiological rather than mechanical, and my thoughts went back to catching up lost time. I patted myself on the back for riding more tentatively over the drop that had got me last time, and then promptly pinched not 200yds further on. Game over.
Well, not quite. There were still 4kms to cover, on foot, with a broken bike. Being a good citizen, i did a spot of litter-picking on the way, and by the time i got back to the start finish had pockets full of gels packets, several postie rubber bands, and a chain! How do you lose a chain?! I also had a front-row seat for the final-lap battle between GT team mates Dave Henderson and Gareth Montgomerie who had been locked together since minute one, and were only separated by a final sprint for the line, Gareth just pipping Dave. An evergreen (i only ever see that word applied to Nick Craig; surely a compliment then) James Fraser-Moodie picked up the final podium spot passing Rob Friel on the last lap. First expert was fellow Fife-dweller Doug Shearer in fifth.
Thanks as ever to sponsors AW Cycles, to the Scottish XC Series for putting on a chilled, fun and well-organised race, and to Rachel for being a bottle hander & cheerer without compare. Full results can be found at www.sxc.org.uk , and photos will be up on http://www.colinrobinsonimaging.com/ (it’s not all horses!). The next round is a bit closer to home for us at Aberfoyle on April 24th.
So, my first race of the year has been and gone! It does seem like ages since i last ineptly pinned a number to myself, and it’s always good to get the first race nerves out of the way before the BMBS creep into the picture (as they do every year – it’s always a shock!). I had originally intended to get a good training race in by doing the first round of the Sup6r Six road race series (basically the Scottish equivalent of the Premier Calendar, but with lowly races for mere mortals like me too), but alas it seems road racing is alive and well up here, and i didn’t get a ride in the 80-strong 4JWV field. Rachel did get a place, so we decided to divide and conquer – she’d do the RR on the Saturday, i’d do a local mountain TT at Knockhill on the Sunday. I’m just going to repeat my last sentence, because i love saying it so much – there was a mountain time trial held not far from where i live. Ah good, getting rid of the east-anglian chip on shoulder!
So, the first weekend of March rolled around surprisingly quickly, and before we knew it, it was time for Rachel to face her first ever road race at Gifford (just south of Edinburgh). The god of small things in cars had other ideas though, and after having got up at 6:30am to make the race start with plenty of time, we found our dreams of getting across the Forth bridge evaporating in the car park of a bowling green near Windygates as we waited for the nice man from the RAC to arrive. By the time our new ignition coil was fitted, our second of the week i hasten to add, we were already going to be far too late to Gifford to make the race, so a bit disheartened by the failure of our four-wheeled transport, we headed home to have a nice day cleaning and fixing bikes.
Blur is model's own!
Things were a bit more civilised on Sunday – my start time of 1332 made a lie in not only feasible, but in my view an absolute preparation necessity. There were quite a few names i recognised entered in the race, quite a few of whom had double-headed; doing the sup6r the day before for good measure, including Dave Henderson who i’ve had the pleasure of standing on the same podium as was back at the nationals in 2008. A “misunderstanding” between Rachel and myself about how far away the event HQ was (we thought, on the basis of a lie we had repeatedly repeated to each other that it was half an hour, it was actually an hour!) made for a sharp exit when we realised we had some distance to cover. Pasta in plastic tub in the car formed the basis of my less than gourmet lunch, and as soon as we arrived i dashed over, signed on (minus license – oops!), and jumped on the turbo to warm up.
A quick dash down the hill, and i was ready to start, with a hungry like the wolf looking Paul Newnham only a couple of minutes behind. D’oh! I got going, straight into the first big climb of the race that took us all the way up to the knockhill car racing circuit, before dropping us back down to the valley floor on a fantastic serpentine descent. I was too chicken to use my tribars much on the descent, having used them for a sum total of 30 minutes in the past two years, i figured that was asking for trouble, but gradually as the race went on my confidence grew. A little too late, sadly, as a flying Paul N came storming past me on the descent, riding amazingly fast, obviously due to not having the dilemma of whether or not to use tribars to worry about! Either that i was distracted from my usual lightning descending by the amazing views, and the pictures of various scantily-clad ladies strewn across the road at one point – you decide!
Grimace is model's own The mid-section of the course definitely suited a strong time triallist rather than a climber, and left me wondering who this course does suit. I’m not really sure; i can think of plenty of time triallists i know who would have absolutely hated the fact that the whole race required constant changes of pace, but equally someone light enough to climb really fast would have struggled with the faster sections – i guess it just suited hard men. As i got into the second half, people started appearing in front of me – juniors were racing as pairs, and some were starting to struggle on the tough climbs. Equally, people started passing me. Next to come through was a certain Mr Henderson, catching me for four minutes. As the minutes ticked by, i started to wonder whether i might be able to beat Rachel’s best 25 time of 1:04:4?. At the final turn at Comrie, my watch read 1:03. I thought maybe, just maybe, but then i was met by a wall of lumpy tarmac; back down the gears i went for one final grovel to the top. To add insult to injury, the guy who set of a massive 8 minutes before passed me on the final climb to the line, he was absolutely flying. I didn’t even come close to Rachel’s time, in the end, finishing in 1h11m i think. Results to follow, but at the risk of sounding trite, that wasn’t really the point of today!
It would be easy to be upset about this, but losing 5 minutes to Hendo actually makes me pretty happy; it says that although i’ve basically only been back in training for a month after the madness of the move, i’m not totally out of shape. I’ve got three weeks to try to pull something together for Sherwood, and i’m pretty excited to give it a go. I’m now sitting here on the sofa with very sore legs, especially after going out for a spin with Rachel this afternoon that turned into an intervals session. But i’m happy, and i don’t have the race nerves as badly as before this morning. Let’s see what the next six months hold!
I'm settling nicely into life up here in the "Kingdom"; i love my new job, and i honestly struggle to remember the last time i felt this excited by both going to work and riding my bike. It's been a while! Rachel and I have made it a weekend hobby to explore the local riding spots - they're rather more plentiful than they were back in East Anglia - within an hour's drive of our house, there are in excess of 20 places to ride an mtb, leaving us spoilt for choice. So far, my favourite has to be Blebo Craigs/Kemback Woods - a compact gem of a place - a mixture of dark forboding conifers and light, open beech and oak trees, tucked away just a few miles from St Andrews. Even better, it's within easy striking distance of a quick ride from work come the summer time - perfect training to get me ready for the Scottish XC Series.
And what perfect training it is, perched on a steep hillside hidden away in the rolling terrain of Fife, with some extremely steep downhill trails peppered with drops and jumps, followed by a nose on the stem climb back to the top of the woods. There's no respite, but if you feel ready for a challenge it's a great place to test your limits (and occasionally exceed them).
Last weekend was a busy one - Rachel and I headed over to Blairadam forest (another cool riding spot, albeit a bit further away) for the Scottish Universities Student's mtb champs - we were both racing in the old gits races, just as an early test of form. The weather had not been kind to the course, the sections that had been a bit muddy the week before were under three inches of thick, sticky, slippery scottish clay having been comprehensively chewed up by the sport race earlier in the day. The race was a shock to my underprepared, over-strained body, and i soon found myself totally unable to follow the pace of the front riders. I settled into trying to ride the course well rather than fast, making the most of the anthem to get through the trickier lumpy sections that had many other riders off and running, but bizarrely i found some of the riders who'd gone off harder ahead of me either swimming into view, or standing at the side of the course looking unhappy. Certainly, some of the roadies who turned up got rather more than they bargained for. The last few laps were a mixture of great amusement and great annoyance - there's nothing more frustrating than picking up some much mud and leaf matter that your wheels cannot turn. I eventually finished third of the alumni, and a lap down on the champs winner who must have been one very speedy runner!
Straight after the race, we drove on to Rock UK - the location for the 24hrs of Exposure later in the year, where the WXC Team were having their team bonding weekend, and Sara and Paul were busy putting the finishing touches to their ideal course for the 24 champs. We were greeted with good food, and good company, and were looking forward to some good riding on the Sunday. The weather had other ideas, and having stolen toast, jam and special k (what kind of a cyclist has special k for breakfast?!). After food, it was time to brave the torrential rain outside, fully waterproofed and ready to go out onto the 24hr course. Sara gave us the guided tour, including showing us a beautiful bit of natural engineering that she had been indulging in during the week, and then left us to our own devices in the rain at Newcastleton (wisely as it turned out). Rachel and I tootled around for a lap of the red route ourselves, and then were greeted by Paul, Trevor and Keith, all looking very cold and damp at the trailhead. We were enlisted to hit the route for a second time to “sweep” for lost riders – i think Paul was glad there were people even dafter than him there. Of course, after 3hrs of heavy rain whilst we were riding, as soon as we stopped so too did the rain. A not-so-quick lunch in “town” and then it was time for the team building activities, which were spectacular fun, especially with Trevor in charge of affairs!
In my newfound enthusiasm for riding and racing, i have “accidentally” entered a road TT, largely because it had the word “mountain” in the title. It’s the Knockhill MTT this coming weekend, and as the organiser told me two years ago that the event was run with 3” of snow on the ground, i’m expecting a tough one. The move has still left me a little sluggish, so i’m not expecting to be chasing a fast time, but it’ll do me good in the run up to Sherwood. With the season moving earlier and earlier, it looks like i’m going to have to resort to early season races more and more as times go by. Anyway, so long for now, ride it like you stole it, Chrispy.
I'm settling nicely into life up here in the "Kingdom"; i love my new job, and i honestly struggle to remember the last time i felt this excited by both going to work and riding my bike. It's been a while! Rachel and I have made it a weekend hobby to explore the local riding spots - they're rather more plentiful than they were back in East Anglia - within an hour's drive of our house, there are in excess of 20 places to ride an mtb, leaving us spoilt for choice. So far, my favourite has to be Blebo Craigs/Kemback Woods - a compact gem of a place - a mixture of dark forboding conifers and light, open beech and oak trees, tucked away just a few miles from St Andrews. Even better, it's within easy striking distance of a quick ride from work come the summer time - perfect training to get me ready for the Scottish XC Series.
And what perfect training it is, perched on a steep hillside hidden away in the rolling terrain of Fife, with some extremely steep downhill trails peppered with drops and jumps, followed by a nose on the stem climb back to the top of the woods. There's no respite, but if you feel ready for a challenge it's a great place to test your limits (and occasionally exceed them). As soon as it rains, the loamy soil becomes slippery, and the trails do cut up and become seriously muddy in places, especially when the snow's still falling on the Cairngorms. The last time i went there, there was even a guy giving up his Sunday afternoon (clearly riding time!) to rake the leaves and twigs off the trails - bliss.
The added advantage of being based north of the border is that right to roam applies to everyone - any navigable path by any non-motorised means of transport is fair game, as long as you behave sensibly. Of course, this is excellent for everyone - ramblers can walk where they like, mountain bikers can ride their bikes wherever it is sensible to do so, even horse riders can add in their two pennith. And the price we pay for this enormous privilege? It's really a very small price, we merely need to behave sensibly and responsibly. This means the application of common sense by all these groups - obviously it would be daft to ride a horse up a downhill mountain bike trail, or ride an mtb fast down a narrow, much-used footpath, so simples - don't do it!
Maybe we could all learn a lot from this little chap!
You can imagine my disappointment then when last ride at Blebo, i was met by a man walking his dog up what must have been an impossibly unpleasant trail to walk - it was part of one of the steep chutes i mentioned above. He was invisible from the top of the trail, and when we did see him, we did our very best to control our speed and be courteous, only to be met with a tirade of abuse about the mess mtbers were making of the forest. Granted, the weather and riders had not been kind to this section, but really it would have been far more sensible to set off with the intention of riding down it than walking up it, regardless of the condition of the topsoil. And therein lies the rub. When we are all equal in the eyes of the law, and common sense is to be applied by all, then the one barrier we have to overcome as mountain bikers is the perception of "how it was". Sure, it used to be the case that he would have been well within his rights to shout and scream at us for riding on footpaths or private land, but no longer. All access groups stand together in the eyes of the new laws, and we have to make it work together, or really we all stand to lose a great privilege and opportunity to squabbling and infighting. Ultimately, that outcome benefits noone apart from the landowners that the access charter was set up to protect us all from. So next time you come across a walker on the trail in Scotland, be polite, be courteous, and if they cut up nasty - remind them that now we're all in this together.
Hello loyal readers – i’m assuming that there’ll be more than one of you, or i might be sued for that remark under the trades descriptions act or the like, but never bother. Let’s try that again, shall we. Good day. And welcome once again to my online diuretic of my thoughts and adventures hosted here on the world wide fund for spiders...web. Although this is the first one i suppose, so i might get sued for that and all.
For those that don’t know me, i’ll introduce meself. Often imitated, but never innovated, i have been compared to a young Arthur “the Engine” Smith (winner of the Wetherby BAR on 4 non-consecutive occasions, and Yorkshire’s premier Fred Astaire impersonator), and also now i’m not so young, to an older Arthur Smith. Mind, i did make the comparison meself, after which things got a bit ugly, and Arthur stopped talking to me. Having spent my long and varied career in alpacka jackets of many colours (but mostly black), i feel i have much to teach the “younger generation”; vet riders have no stiff upper lip these days. Why only the other day i was out in the rain with my group (“the lad’s” as i like to call them), and as i passed the turn to head back out for another fifty, i could see out of the corner of my eye the tears of joy rolling down their faces. Albert was the worst; having had a couple of months off for his hip replacement, you could hear him yelping with delight all the way home. We’d have got our ears boxed for such a display when i were a lad. I remember a cold Christmas in 1946 when me da gave us nowt but individually wrapped coals...but ah’ve digressested again. You good people (person) haven’t come here to read the ramblings of an old fool. So i’ll get straight to the point.
This morning, on the way back from the butcher’s where i’d bought my daily pound of offal (it’s a right treat with a boiled cabbage, and good for your humours too – you kids might want to write that down; that’s a golden tip is that) i got waylaid into the local newsagents. How you ask? Well, i’ll tell you (and you should know better than to question your elders). On’t magazine rack in the window, plain for all the world to see, was a copy of the so-called “Pro Cycling”, it’s cover adorned with the a image of a sun-bronzed Adonis climbing through the sun-drenched hills of some distant Mediterranean landscape. “Blood and sands” i thought, rudely awakened from daydreaming about what the Mail might claim caused cancer today, “what kind of an image is that to project to the youth of today?”. And I was right, What kind of an image is it indeed? Where’s the true motivation in a picture like that? There’s not a juggernaut around to take a tow off, and you’re hardly going to break the comp record if there’s a bloody great alp in your way.
And it gets worse. Oh aye. INSIDE this alleged publication, they have adverts for shorts. But not the woollen ones that we all know and love, no, these are made of a new, space age material called “lycra”. Now tell me this, if you don’t have the classic woollen keks on, how d’you know when to go home on a rainy ride, because these lycra jobs won’t have you spending a night in the cells for indecent exposure, that’s for sure! And Chamois Cream? There’s no way you’d catch me putting cream down there, it’d spoil the taste of the prime cuts of beef it is my pleasure to use for padding. No bloody way, i don’t care if it’s got a nice minty tingle or not! So, in surmise, it’s no surprise to me that these young bucks who ride the Gyros d’Italy and the like dope, they’ve had it so easy they don’t know what hard work is. A few 100milers would have them straight, i happen, maybe this Contador lad’d be alright if he beefed up a bit. What? Why are you walking away? Was it something i said?!
Stay tuned for instalment two when i’m once again feeling like a grumpy old man.
