You see I am of the belief that cycling and ice don’t mix.  I was converted to this view on a cold December day when my front wheel disappeared from under me twice in a matter of few hundred metres.  Even if you’re rolling slowly because someone has warned you about the black Ice ahead it’s an unnerving experience that I have no intention of repeating.

But I’d promised Paul the organiser that I’d make tea and toast at the start (Pictures from Els here)so I was always going to turn up at the start…and on Friday night, as I froze on my homeward commute, I reasoned I might as well load the bike in the Landie in case it wasn’t as dire.

So, at 6 am there wasn’t any ice – and despite the fact that the heating in the Landie has taken an extended sabbatical/left the country to visit relatives I was thinking a 200 might be on the cards.

But this is where the psychological bit gets interesting.

I’d already told myself I’d be at home in the afternoon to get my hair cut and do a few jobs.  And at the start a couple of old friends were doing the shorter 125 course…which Paul has adapted a bit…

So before I knew it I’d switched to the shorter event and later start.  And I’d grabbed a card for on of the non-starters and I was off up the road with Ian Oliver.

The funny thing though I how the mind works when it comes to thinking about distances.

125 km is not really very far – it should be relatively easy in between five and six hours.  And Paul had laid on a course that managed to avoid any significant hills or climbing apart from a few road hums around Maidenhead.  It’s an easy ride.

It’s 50km to the first control at Pangbourne – you share the control with riders on the longer 200km ride (it’s the point where the two rides split).  For them it’s the first quarter done – for us it’s coming up to the half way point.  And we arrived there quickly – there were still plenty of the slower 200km riders in the café when we got there.

Over the years I have become convinced that how tired you feel is a function of how far you still have to go.  I am sure that those riders on the 200 looked like they had done a quarter of a ride – the rest of us looked like we’d done nearly double that.

Later on, as we rolled through Winnerish past the Sainsbury’s that is the final control for the 200 riders I felt as spent as if I’d ridden 160 km – not the 85km or so that I had managed.

Perhaps this is one of the secrets to long-distance riding – not to focus on how far you have travelled or what proportion of the ride you have to go.

The ride did have a couple of high points.

The Non-starter, whose card I’d grabbed at the last minute when I set off, turned up in the Pangbourne control.  I’ve known him for years through swimming and this was his first Audax.  Chris is giving Audax a try as part of his preparation for Lands End To John O’Groats in August.

And I discovered a new climb out of Maidenhead via Mill Lane – which I used again today after I’d dropped the Landie off at the garage (they are going to start a hunt for the missing heating).

Paul is asking me if I fancy trying the 200 again next weekend – I am tempted, Els’ blog post here suggests that it might not be a waste of time!

Liam

In the first week back after the long Christmas break the truth behind these words really rang true.

Everyone knows what it’s like – the short hours of weak daylight, the getting out of the habit of late rising and the general fat-induced lethargy make the early days of January a struggle.  Any distraction, no matter how feeble is leapt upon and any work that doesn’t come with a life-threatening deadline gets put off.

So for me, the challenge this week was to stop looking at weather forecasts for Saturday (yesterday), the day when I rode the Poor Student – my first 200k of 2011 and possibly the beginning of my PBP campaign.

I’ve hardly ridden my bike since the end of November.  Freezing fogs, snow and ice have provided easy excuses to concentrate on the more important December business of drinking, eating to excess and drinking.  My fear of slipping on black ice or being run over again by skidding motorists has allowed my natural gluttony to create over half a stone more of me.

Through the week I have been watching weather sites, praying that ice wasn’t going to show up on Saturday.

And watching weather sites can be a full-time occupation.

Firstly there is the BBC weather site – which changes quite a lot, especially when you research weather that is more than a few days away.  Accuweather has a better track-record for a week ahead although Metcheck offers a few interesting details about wind direction and chill factor.

Secondly, the sites change a lot.  Over the course of a day they can shift their predictions by small increments – but enough to warrant rechecking.

And finally, for a ride of 200k you need to look at the forecasts for several places.  I was checking Oxford, Cirencester (because I keep confusing it with Malmesbury – understandably I think) and Chipping Camden.  Plus I want to keep an eye on the conditions here in Rickmansworth and also in Central London where I work.

Which, when all things are considered is a pretty poor alternative to working – especially when the weather on the day was so ordinary.

Apart of course from the torrential rain that was lashing down when I left the house at 6 am for the drive to Oxford.

The windscreen wipers on my Defender were struggling to cope as I charged along the motorway.  But it all miraculously stopped as I arrived at the car park on the outskirts of town.

The Poor Student 200k is an institution in Audax cycling.  It’s the first ride after Christmas and you’ll normally meet all the regulars from all over Southern England.  It feels a bit like the Charity Shield – the start of the new season, a prologue to the coming year – a year which includes Paris Brest Paris.

In the gloom of the car park bikes are assembled and gossip is exchanged before, just as the day arrives we’re off.

Through the Centre of Oxford, around back alleys behind colleges before escaping the City up Cumnor Hill into rural Oxfordshire with its yellow-stoned houses and quiet lanes.

The first 80K of this ride is pretty-well a straight line westward to Malmesbury – into a constant and forceful headwind that carries a chilly bite and which gnaws away at your hands and feet.  Remembering the first time I did this ride when the wind carried a driving rain and I discovered what people meant when they talk about ‘grinding it out’ I was glad of the company of two old friends who had caught me on the climb out of Oxford.

Paul, Martin and I talked nonsense – but distracting nonsense.  I remember discussing brake callipers, web site content management systems, the work of Helena Bonham-Carter, the Sea Cadets and the absence of hills on a ride that Paul organises.  It got me to Malmesbury and to the turn northward.

The wind sort of helped a little as I rode alone through the tourist-board designed villages of Hankerton, Oaksey and Poole Keynes en-route to Cirencester after which the Cotswold Hills threw some big climbs at me.

It was around this point that the additional volumes of me that were created over Christmas really started to make their presence felt.  My heart-rate thumped through my ears and my inner thighs started to scream as one short brutal climb followed another.  Somewhere along the way there were some descents – I don’t remember them apart from the sheering cold that they brought.

But almost as suddenly as they seemed to have started they stopped for a rolling ride into Chipping Camden (which arrived at the bottom of steep winding exhilarating pot-holed descent).

After an outrageously expensive cup of tea, it was time to spark up the lights for the final leg back to Oxford.

I hooked up with another rider for more chit-chat about lights, Manchester, snobbery about universities and cars as the villages of Broad Campden, Draycott, Evenlode, Kingham, Shipton and Leafield flashed by unnoticed.  Before I really noticed we were flying through the last 20k of Finstock, Hanborough and Yarnton back to the car park and the finish after about 11 and a quarter hours.

In January you couldn’t really ask for much more.  A challenging route that wasn’t sadistic, stunning scenery through Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire, good company and no rain, snow or ice sort of justifies the endless weather watching of the preceding week.

The problem now is going to be getting through the next fortnight until the next one!

Liam

For another, far better written account of this ride check out what Els has written here…

I’ve been riding my bike on Audax events for some time – you ride between designated points within maximum and minimum time (it’s all about the challenge) and have normally enjoyed them.  But yesterday was rather special.

It all kicked off at Cholsey, which isn’t a million miles from Didcot.

A grey 7.30 start for a mixed collection of roadies gathered at a village hall.  Away in a big group of about 50 that quickly started to thin out to a long line along the main road.

To the left the line of the Chilterns rose above up above us through the weak November light.

Almost as soon as we started I found myself chatting to someone I’d met about two years ago and hadn’t spoken to since.  Then, we turned up a climb into the Chilterns towards Ipsden and Stoke Row.  And on the climb another rider introduced herself as someone whose blog I’d Twittered about.

Soon almost all the traffic had disappeared as we worked around in a loop toward Stoke Row.  We were riding through wooded lanes, which occasionally opened out to give stunning views down valleys and into open vales.

Red carpet at Bix

Despite the winds of the last few days many of the trees still held their leaves; creating vast banks of reds, golds, russets and greens.  And near Bix, to the north of Henley woodland floors were rich carpets of copper beech leaves.

After the first control near Wheatley I hooked up with two old friends and ploughed on towards Bicester swapping news about jobs, illnesses and bike components.  One lent me a spare inner tube as I’d already used all my spares.

Then, around Bicester, through the strange acres of the garrison, before turning up through the Oxfordshire villages towards Chipping Norton.  Here the Cotswold stone dominates everywhere bringing a brighter light.

South Oxfordshire from Christmas Common

A fast descent into Chipping Norton for a crowded and busy café stop.  And one of the pleasures of these rides for me is to sit at a table with people I rarely see and chat for 20 minutes about nothing in particular.

Over the years I think I have made dozens of friendships which exist only in the punctuation of these long rides.  In time I have met a wide range of people – a serious minded partner in a City law firm, a generous and warm builder (who welded together his own bikes) and countless other people who have made me laugh, think and resolve to carry on when I was feeling like giving up.

Other roadies joke about the cake eating obsession of Audax riders when in fact the cake is just the excuse – it’s all about the ten to twenty minutes of comradeship that happen when a bunch of people doing the same challenge stop at the same time.  I’ve not experienced another area of life where Brits are so easy to meet and connect with.

As I left the café, I hooked up with a friend from earlier and downwards into the Thames Valley at speed though Minster Lovell, Brize Norton and Stanford in the Vale as the light went.  Driven by my companion’s desire for a pint at the finish we hurtled along dark back lanes and watched firework burst in the sky from far away.  From high ridges we saw the orange glows of November bonfires picking out vales and valleys as we swung to the south and Didcot and returned to the start just before 7 pm.

And I marvel that we got all this for a fiver.  For such a tiny sum someone worked out a fantastic route for us, organised a starting point with a car park, laid on coffee and Danish pastries, bright together a large number of friendly people and provided fantastic soups and cakes at the finish – next door to a pub!

On top of that we had clear and mild weather all day, amazing views by day and spectacular entertainment in the sky after dark.

All this for a fiver.

Liam

Perhaps that slight obsessiveness is one of the reasons why Audaxing doesn’t seem to appeal to as many people I would hope.

In fact there has been quite a lot of debate on the web recently asking why, despite the massive growth in the popularity of cycling, the numbers of people doing audax events hasn’t really risen much in the last few years.

This has led me to a few conversations with a number of people about how do we get more media coverage for audax events and a few weeks back I did a little research into the external image of Audaxing.

On-line no one really talks about Audaxing.  According to Google Insights people rarely search for Audax events (they do search for Audax-type cycles) and a conversation with a very good friend at the excellent Evans Cycles tells me that no one ever walks into a bike shop and asks about Audaxing.

However, a review of media coverage shows that time and again the word ‘challenge’ comes up in the connection of cycling events.  People seem to buy a nice bike, get the hang of local routes and realise that they can do something more.  They realise quickly that actually riding long distances like London to Paris or Lands End to John O’Groats is actually achievable with a bit of preparation.  Whilst most of us couldn’t imagine doing something like the Marathon Des Sables, we can sit on a bike for a few hours – and actually have fun in the process.

And Audaxing should fit the bill quite nicely for people looking for a bit of a challenge.

Every weekend there are events ranging from just 50Km to astonishing distances of 600km or more – which anyone can enter.  They cost almost nothing (most events cost about £5) and they are full of friendly people who will strike up a conversation at the drop of a hat – there are few aggressive young men racing for a time.  And best of all, when you get back to work on Monday and mention that you spent Saturday cycling from London to Wales and back your colleagues hail you as some form of modern Shakleton.

Audaxing is a challenge – but it’s democratic.  All you need is a bike, a fiver and a bucket of determination.  You don’t need to be a member of the Royal Marines, a five grand bike and a year of living as a monk.

But it get’s next to no media coverage.

This is going to be a challenge in the coming months that I’ve agreed to help rectify… so watch this space.

Liam

Last week I rode a beautiful 200K ride from Chalfont St Peter – other people have blogged about it already and more beautifully than I could have hoped to have done.  I’ve particularly enjoyed reading what Swarm Catcher said here.

I’ve uploaded the route here

Chalfont St Gilles 200K Audax

…and now I am starting a personal campaign to get Nicky Campbell out on a ride…

Liam

It all set me up nicely for a 100k on Saturday for the Henley Hilly 100 – route here. It was a lovely day which included some stunning views across the Chilterns – if I could I’d build a house on top of Bledlow Ridge; it has to be one of the most stunning places in the UK.

The week after next it’s the Anfactious from Chalfont St Peter – it’s a brilliant autumn ride and there’s a 100k version.  If you fancy trying an audax they take entries via Paypal – fantastic value for a fiver.  Details on the Audax UK website.

See you there.

Liam

It’s such a miserable sensation that  just thinking about it makes me shudder.

The first time was probably the worst as it didn’t involve real injury or a serious mechanical failure.

It was a 300k ride on 3 April 2004 from Steyning in Sussex and I only lasted 209k.

All day I seemed to be riding into a strong headwind and making a succession of mistakes – leaving controls on my own, promising myself that I would reach certain points by set times. And they were all compounded by starting the event tired and stressed.

Mile after mile I struggled.  I couldn’t find a gear that worked, I could never find a rhythm, I kept being passed by groups of better organised and more cheerful riders.  If I tried to jump on the back of one of these groups I was dropped within minutes because I couldn’t settle.  I was too hot, then I was too cold.  I needed to pee every 10 minutes and my neck started to hurt.

If a day on the bike can be heaven when it goes well – a day when it’s going badly becomes purgatory.

In the end I decided to get the train from near Hastings back to the start to pick up my car and hand in my card.

That train ride was utterly despondent – as soon as I sat down out of the wind I felt like a complete failure and coward.  Every aspect of my character that I regret came crowding into my mind – clearly my failure was symptomatic of the multitude of weaknesses that define my personality.

And the vagaries of weekend engineering works on the british rail system on a Saturday, give you plenty of time to brood during a dark afternoon for the soul.

Finally handing in your card at the final control is doubly depressing.  Early finishers are relaxing with a cup of tea and the rosy glow of completion.  There is nowhere on earth that wouldn’t be preferable to standing in front of the finish controller and saying as I did “some days it’s not happening” especially when your reflections of the last two hours have only underlined in your mind that on most days it’s not happening because you’re a vapid weakling who will always fail in life….

But really it’s a stupid illusion isn’t it?  209k into a headwind when you’ve started knackered is pretty good isn’t it?  And cycling isn’t a matter of life and death is it – it’s meant to be fun.

I promised myself that I’ll never let myself get that despondent again about deciding that I wasn’t enjoying myself.  However, like many of the promises I have made in life I have broken it in spirit multiple times.  I console myself that at least I haven’t actually packed again when I’ve felt that low – but that might be due to the fact that rides rarely go past railway stations just at the moment when I am most vulnerable!

In 2007 I was riding a 400K event that followed a course in a figure of eight.  After 200K you returned to the start – next to a railway station and next to my parked car.  For about an hour before we reached the 200K control I found myself riding in the dark with a chap who had never ridden a 400 before and he was suffering.

But he kept talking about how cold his hands were, about how thin his socks were and about an ache in his neck.  I promised to lend him some spare gloves at the control and offered an extra pair of socks which I had in the car.  At the control I dug out a couple of ibuprofen for him.

An older rider suggested that he should lie down in the back of the hall for 20 minutes – we had lots of time in hand – and he’d feel fine.  I left with the older rider who said as soon as we’d turned the first corner “He’ll be packing then…”

His point was that the rider had been marshalling up a range of excuses for packing – the cold hands and feet; the neck pain were just ways of mollifying his conscience.  My new friend said “everyone has to pack now and again – it’s a mistake to think there’s a shame in it when you do.”

At the end, when I had ridden my 400K my gloves and socks were waiting for me unused.  I hope the young guy wasn’t so stupid as I had been to put himself through some sort of catholic self-criticism session and was glad that he’d got around 200.  Maybe I’ll need to remind myself of that the next time I get envious of anyone else in life!

I’d even recovered from a slipped disc in record time thanks to the physio team at the Harlequins Rugby Club.

But I’m not anticipated the sheer grief involved in between leaving my front door and rolling over the start-line in the drizzle on that August evening.

Things started to go wrong before we got to the end of the road en route for the railway station.

First we had to turn back because I’d forgot my rail ticket.  Then it was my passport.  I never owned up to the fact that Saturday afternoon that I’d left the ipod behind so I went without it.

In Paris I managed to get in the only cab in my life where I was ripped off.  Fifty Euros for the ride from Gare D’Nord to my brother-in law’s flat in Boulogne Billancourt in the southern suburbs.  I’ve travelled the world and taken taxis everywhere and I think that’s the first time I’ve been had!

Then, the first thing I did on getting out of the cab was to step on one of the biggest  dog turds I’ve ever seen gracing a city street.  Bienvenue en Paris!

Into the flat, up four flights of narrow stairs humping my bike in its bag to Michel’s flat.  Dump my stuff in the hallway and straight out to buy milk and Pizza for my Friday night feast.

Only when I got to the checkout in the supermarket did I realise that I’d left my wallet on the hall table.  So back to the flat to realise that the keys were on the hall-table – on the other side of a locked door.

At this point my phone rang – it was one of the Willesden crew down at the campsite on the other side of Versailles asking if I was coming over for a beer.  It was all that I could do to hold back the tears.

Thankfully Michel hadn’t gone on holiday yet and a call to him in Lyon resulted in finding the only locksmith in Paris who was still working on an August Saturday night.

On the door step of the flat the conversation went something line…

Locksmith “Oh dear this is a very good lock I don’t think I can help you”

Me: “What’s the problem?”

Locksmith “it’s a very good type of lock – there’s no legal way for me to get you in…”

Me “How much would the ‘illegal’ way cost?”

Locksmith “€100”

Me “I happen to have €100 in my wallet in the flat”

About 15 seconds later we were inside the flat, there was a tiny hole in the door and I was €100 poorer (although the locksmith did actually give me an official-looking receipt!).

The Sunday was registration day – so up early on a gloomy and overcast day to ride up to the start at St Quentin – the other side of Versailles.  I managed to get a little lost en route and work in a couple of unnecessary hills

But the scene at the sports centre for the registration was one of organised mayhem.

First there was the queue to collect the rider pack – a strange collection of sheets of A4 paper full of PBP facts, stickers for the bike, a rider card and a plastic wallet to be worn around the neck.  There were also tokens for my pre-ordered PBP shirt and a PBP bidon (which I have kept despite the fact that when I try to drink from it my face is covered in a fine spray!).

I also got a medal for completing the qualifying rides – which was unexpected!

On reflection, this was one of the best bits of the whole experience – seeing for the first time all the different nationalities that were taking part and beginning to get a sense of scale for the whole thing.

As well as bumping into people I’d met on qualifying rides I inevitably found myself chatting to people from the US, from Australia, in fact from pretty well anywhere you could mention.

And everyone – except the Brits – seemed to have a national or regional shirt.  I was particularly impressed by the merino wool outfits worn by the guys from Seattle.

I rode back into Paris with a Finnish rider and got chatting about his qualifying rides.  Bearing in mind that most of the rides had to be completed before the summer and that Audax isn’t very popular, this guy had ridden the distances mostly alone, mostly in the dark and often in the snow and ice.  It rather put my whinging about rainy rides into perspective.

There was nothing much to do until late afternoon on the Monday when I returned to have dinner with the Willesden guys at their campsite.  Ray Kelly gave me a Willesden-branded Hi Viz vest which turned into a stroke of good luck later on.  And then at about 8.30 I slipped off to see the start of the Verdettes – the fast riders who do the whole thing in a stupid time!).

But I missed it as I got caught up in my first-ever bicycle traffic jam on the way into the sports stadium.

Gradually I worked my way in and we were fed onto the running track – it was completely covered in riders.  I met Damon Peacock (http://vimeo.com/9310557) and endured banter about the Willesden not being a proper cycling club.

As dusk fell our lights were checked and we started to filter towards the start tent to have our cards stamped and then, at 30 minute intervals, we were fed up to the start line.

At 1030 I was in the front row chatting to a woman from Florida, just as the drizzle started.  Suddenly we were off and so began one of the most memorable 90 hours of my life.

Liam