Poor Performances Preceding Parisian Precipitation
Well here I am, all recovered and ready to get back into training following the 2013 HotChillee London to Paris ride. Yes, that's over 100 miles a day for three days, finishing in epic style alongside 400 odd fellow velocipedes along the Champs Élysées, finishing up to a huge reception under the Eiffel Tower. It was quite the experience, completely different to the adventure of the Alps, so here goes;
It's Wednesday afternoon and my friend Mark and I arrive with bikes and bags at Imber Court, we're relatively early but the start line is already busy with energy and excitement. I chat to my fellow cyclists and ride captains, swap advice and prep my bike ready to put in the lockup for the morning. My hands, by this point, are already shaking with nerves. We're greeted with a fantastic opening speech by the HotChillee guys, introducing the likes of Fondriest, the two Mansells, Downing and Roche and also some guys who I have grown to appreciate over course of the event such as the 10x L2P completer Ian, and also Nic, a very talented young development rider from SA - keep your eye out for that lad, good set of legs!
Sleep that evening is almost impossible, I toss and turn in my stuffy Teddington Travelodge bed and before I know it the analogue sound of Super Mario Bros jumpstarts my journey to Paris, quite rudely, at 4am. So it begins, goodbye edible breakfasts, well rested mind and comfortable legs, you've got three days of "very much out of the ordinary" to cope with and your OCD's aren't welcome.
Stage one, 6am and we're at the start line. I'm a bag of nerves but friendly words from the ride captains and fellow riders put my mind at ease. The weather is grey but warm and friendly enough to the peloton. We navigate the likes of Surrey and Kent with relative ease, Group 2 averaging over 29kph throughout the day. Although this first day apparently had the largest ascent, it felt relatively easy in comparison to what was to come. Day one would be where I left my legs, and wouldn't see them again until Paris.
A quick coach trip via the Channel Tunnel left us at Calais and tea with some new and old friends, oh and sharing a room with my new bud Lucy (hiya!). It's these moments and experiences that make L2P what it is, the family-like banter off the bike binding all of us together on an emotional level, forging life long friendships and building confidence and camaraderie as we go. It's also where we find out that a good therapist is a valuable commodity, the Tri Touch giving me a bit of a squeeze and actually fixing a 6 month old problem in the process.. magic hands.
Stage two. Here it is, the beast that is the tellytubby-land, plane like windswept north of France. My stomach churning, I end up re-visiting last nights, this mornings and this mornings second dose of food and fluids in some fairly uncomfortable bouts of sickness. Perhaps I could pedal this dire feeling away? Probably not. The north of France.. This is where cyclists bring their souls to rest. Yearning for respite from the constant up and down drags and the ferocious crosswinds, Group 2 bunched together in soldier like form to ensure no man was left behind. Fluidly we trouped across the fields and the villages, our resting place in Amiens seemingly forever away. The GC looming and my body ravaged from nutritional supplements and lack of solid breakfasts, my mind is concentrating only and purely on survival, tapping a rhythm away to allow myself to get through the timed section I find I'm missing the ability to change gear. Alas! My cable snapped, Bob the mechanic for our group happens to be some sort of genius and single-handedly restored my precious steed to her former glory in record time, allowing me to cross the final GC flag and also gather my innards and pop them back where they're supposed to go. Less than 6 hours of riding and we'd made it in great time once again. The team functioning as an impeccably well oiled unit. One more day to go, would this wind die down? Would my stomach turn all the way inside out?
Day three and I'm feeling a little fresher. Everyone a mixture of fear and familiarity as they force the odd friendly smile at each other. So near, but yet so far. We have some pretty hard work to do.
And so we set off. Did I mention I'd left my legs at Stage One? Yeah, they were a couple of hundred miles away now and the 135km pre-lunch slog from Amiens meant I had nowhere to hide... not even in the bunch as each and every climb saw me being spat out of the back of my safehaven of friends and into the windy wilderness alone and afraid. One moment saw me having to collapse off of the bike mid climb, my body was not playing ball. Before the timed climb and after the GC I found I had distanced myself so far from the
group that mentally I could not cope, as I pushed as hard as I could alone and into the wind I began to cry.. "I want to go home" I thought to myself, over and over again. It felt never ending. But then, out of the blue and like a knight in shining armor, the familiar green of a ride captains shoulders blurred into sight, it was Martin, here to lend me a wheel... as he had done in March 2012, when I'd joined Group 6 and just learned how to prop up a road bike. There is something maternally warm and womb-like about catching the wheel of a ride captain, you do not give up on the wheel of a ride captain, you'll always get home when you're following the metronomical rhythm of a well bred ride captain. I will miss this. He trudged me to the top of the hill where I was propped onto the edge of the lead car (during the lad's pee break) - I was given food, water, all of the things the body needs and there it was - my energy regained and my hope restored. We had a ride to finish.
Lunchtime saw all 450 riders gather, ready to make the final 45km journey together. I was re united with my team mates Steve, Alex and Juan. We made it, we were nearly there and it was such a glorious feeling to know that all of that suffering was about to pay off. We rolled gradually into Paris, 1km of exhausted yet ecstatic cyclists bumbling along the cobbles of the Champs Élysées to find ourselves finishing to an amazing, cheering crowd underneath the Eiffel Tower. There were some butterflies felt then I'm telling you!
Turns out Martin, Will and Gilly - our Group Two ride captains (actually just another word for "heroes" to be honest) voted me in for the "Spirit of HotChillee" award for our group. This meant and will always mean a hell of a lot to me, both Will and Martin have been there from the start, and have seen me start from basically zero fitness to make it to Group Two. I didn't want to let them, or myself, down and I'd finally completed such a massive goal in finishing with that group. This will simply be an unforgettable experience, not just for the fact that HotChillee and all the brilliant people involved with them put on the worlds best events for cyclists, but in that because of these people and these events I am the person I am today.
A huge thank you has to go out to the boys of G2 - especially our little mini-grupetto at the back, we worked so hard together to make sure we all made it, it's this sort of stuff that makes cycling the most awesome sport in the world.
So, how was riding to Paris? It was fucking hard. Probably the hardest thing I've done so far. I loved every minute, every tear, every inch and every searing agonising moment of it. I'd give a lot to be back in that swift moving peloton right now, but it's time to hand over the baton to the genetic mutants that are the the pros, le Tour starts on Saturday and I'll be watching it from the Isle of Man (screaming for Pete & Cav of course) - enjoy! x
It's Wednesday afternoon and my friend Mark and I arrive with bikes and bags at Imber Court, we're relatively early but the start line is already busy with energy and excitement. I chat to my fellow cyclists and ride captains, swap advice and prep my bike ready to put in the lockup for the morning. My hands, by this point, are already shaking with nerves. We're greeted with a fantastic opening speech by the HotChillee guys, introducing the likes of Fondriest, the two Mansells, Downing and Roche and also some guys who I have grown to appreciate over course of the event such as the 10x L2P completer Ian, and also Nic, a very talented young development rider from SA - keep your eye out for that lad, good set of legs!
Sleep that evening is almost impossible, I toss and turn in my stuffy Teddington Travelodge bed and before I know it the analogue sound of Super Mario Bros jumpstarts my journey to Paris, quite rudely, at 4am. So it begins, goodbye edible breakfasts, well rested mind and comfortable legs, you've got three days of "very much out of the ordinary" to cope with and your OCD's aren't welcome.
 |
| All pics are official HotChillee pics & can be found at londres-paris.com |
A quick coach trip via the Channel Tunnel left us at Calais and tea with some new and old friends, oh and sharing a room with my new bud Lucy (hiya!). It's these moments and experiences that make L2P what it is, the family-like banter off the bike binding all of us together on an emotional level, forging life long friendships and building confidence and camaraderie as we go. It's also where we find out that a good therapist is a valuable commodity, the Tri Touch giving me a bit of a squeeze and actually fixing a 6 month old problem in the process.. magic hands.
Stage two. Here it is, the beast that is the tellytubby-land, plane like windswept north of France. My stomach churning, I end up re-visiting last nights, this mornings and this mornings second dose of food and fluids in some fairly uncomfortable bouts of sickness. Perhaps I could pedal this dire feeling away? Probably not. The north of France.. This is where cyclists bring their souls to rest. Yearning for respite from the constant up and down drags and the ferocious crosswinds, Group 2 bunched together in soldier like form to ensure no man was left behind. Fluidly we trouped across the fields and the villages, our resting place in Amiens seemingly forever away. The GC looming and my body ravaged from nutritional supplements and lack of solid breakfasts, my mind is concentrating only and purely on survival, tapping a rhythm away to allow myself to get through the timed section I find I'm missing the ability to change gear. Alas! My cable snapped, Bob the mechanic for our group happens to be some sort of genius and single-handedly restored my precious steed to her former glory in record time, allowing me to cross the final GC flag and also gather my innards and pop them back where they're supposed to go. Less than 6 hours of riding and we'd made it in great time once again. The team functioning as an impeccably well oiled unit. One more day to go, would this wind die down? Would my stomach turn all the way inside out?Day three and I'm feeling a little fresher. Everyone a mixture of fear and familiarity as they force the odd friendly smile at each other. So near, but yet so far. We have some pretty hard work to do.
And so we set off. Did I mention I'd left my legs at Stage One? Yeah, they were a couple of hundred miles away now and the 135km pre-lunch slog from Amiens meant I had nowhere to hide... not even in the bunch as each and every climb saw me being spat out of the back of my safehaven of friends and into the windy wilderness alone and afraid. One moment saw me having to collapse off of the bike mid climb, my body was not playing ball. Before the timed climb and after the GC I found I had distanced myself so far from the
 |
| SUFFERING. |
Lunchtime saw all 450 riders gather, ready to make the final 45km journey together. I was re united with my team mates Steve, Alex and Juan. We made it, we were nearly there and it was such a glorious feeling to know that all of that suffering was about to pay off. We rolled gradually into Paris, 1km of exhausted yet ecstatic cyclists bumbling along the cobbles of the Champs Élysées to find ourselves finishing to an amazing, cheering crowd underneath the Eiffel Tower. There were some butterflies felt then I'm telling you!
 |
| I don't drink, the Moet went to the lads. |
 |
| Ride Captains = heroes |
A huge thank you has to go out to the boys of G2 - especially our little mini-grupetto at the back, we worked so hard together to make sure we all made it, it's this sort of stuff that makes cycling the most awesome sport in the world.
So, how was riding to Paris? It was fucking hard. Probably the hardest thing I've done so far. I loved every minute, every tear, every inch and every searing agonising moment of it. I'd give a lot to be back in that swift moving peloton right now, but it's time to hand over the baton to the genetic mutants that are the the pros, le Tour starts on Saturday and I'll be watching it from the Isle of Man (screaming for Pete & Cav of course) - enjoy! x
Brilliant!!
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