It transpired that we were being accompanied by part of the National Escort Group who were using us to practice for the following day when they would be protecting the professional riders. This was the first stage of the Tour so it was the only opportunity for them to work together beforehand. Never in my life have I experienced this. The police outriders supported us all the way up the coast to Great Yarmouth, stopping oncoming traffic and then zooming past us, so we were in a sort of constantly shifting cocoon. Tearing through places like Aldeburgh, Southwold and Lowestoft on a busy Saturday morning was a unique experience. The looks, and even the few cheers we received from onlookers, were really uplifting. I am sure quite a few people were confused as they would have been expecting the race the following day.
Sadly, we were back on our own as we left Great Yarmouth. We got a few thumbs-up from the police outriders and the sergeant leading them reminded us that we now had to obey the Highway Code. What a drag! The rest of the ride though the Broads and eventually back to the finish was largely unremarkable. We stuck together and crossed the finish line as one group.
I have no idea where ‘Mr Respect’ finished, or even if he finished. I watched the highlights of the following day’s pro stage on television and enjoyed a few smiles whenever I caught a glimpse of the outriders. Been there; done that!
Sunday 16 June 2013, 103 Miles
Etape Eryri Mawr
I’ve enjoyed a long-standing love affair with North Wales. I spent three very happy years there in the mid-1970s as a student in Bangor. I returned in the early 1980s and lived in Dolgellau in southern Snowdonia for four years. Although I didn’t do that much riding while I was a student, my time in Dolgellau was a different matter, and most weekends and summer evenings after work found me riding on the region’s roads. My father and his ancestors were from Mid Wales so I consider myself to be a sort of honorary Welshman.
North West Wales and Snowdonia provide a great range of riding opportunities. These include lots of strenuous hill climbs, spectacular coastal rides and the contrasts of Anglesey. I have enjoyed some fabulous long circular rides which include a bit of everything the region can offer. Although I haven’t lived in the area since the mid-1980s I have made regular visits back there over the intervening years. A few weeks ago whilst I was surfing the Interweb, I came across some information about a sportive, the Etape Eryri. It was being lauded by Team Sky’s Head Honcho, Sir Brailsford, who I discovered grew up in the area.
Reading the blurb, it didn’t take me long to decide that the Etape Eryri was a must-do event. Three routes were on offer: the Bach (35 miles), the Canol (70 miles) and the Mawr (100 miles).1 The route for the Mawr seemed to offer everything that I could wish for, including some roads that I knew reasonably well. I paid my entry fee and booked a couple of nights in a local Travelodge. Although a 500-mile round trip to do a 100-mile ride might seem a tad excessive, or even obsessive, that was never a consideration for me.
The event started and finished in the centre of Caernarfon in the shadow of the historic castle. I was at the start line and ready for the off at just after 7am. A quick safety briefing and then the announcer set us off, speaking in Welsh of course. The first mile or so out of the town was steady going as the group sorted itself out. There were about 30 of us, most of whom didn’t seem to know each other. At this early stage of a big ride it is important to set the correct pace. There are always some riders in a group like this who start off like rockets and regret it later. Others opt for a more sedate pace and are less concerned about their finishing time. I’m probably somewhere in between. Yes, I always want to clock a good time, but not at the expense of enjoying the ride.
After about 1 mile the route crossed a small river and headed back towards Caernarfon. As I approached the Menai Straits there was a spectacular view of the castle. I spotted a photographer at the side of road snapping riders as they sped past. I was subsequently able to buy the photo, which showed me in full flight with the backdrop of the castle. The route followed the foreshore with lovely views of Newborough beach across the Straits. Gradually the group thinned out and by a process of natural selection I found myself riding with four others, two of whom had started a couple of minutes before me. After about 5 miles we turned inland and I could see Snowdonia’s mountains ahead of me, which for once weren’t shrouded in cloud. If the good weather lasted, this could turn out to be a spectacular day.
The first challenge of the day arrived soon enough. The organisers had included a timed hill climb at Drwys-y-Coed. This covered just under 5 miles and started gently enough for the first 4 miles before ramping up to a maximum of 15 per cent during the final mile. Approaching the top there’s a right-hand bend which marks the start of the steepest section, but fortunately it only lasted for a couple of hundred yards. By the top I was riding on my own, having dropped the other four on the climb. In case you get the wrong idea about my climbing prowess, I should mention that I was overtaken by several riders, including one who was ascending almost faster than I go on the flat!
The climb flattens out very quickly before dropping down to the hamlet of Rhyd-Ddu. Directly opposite is a great view of Snowdon, which towers above the valley. This is Snowdon’s ‘gentle’ side so the full height of the mountain isn’t fully apparent. From Rhyd-Ddu it was a long steady descent to Beddgelert and the first feed station.
Leaving Beddgelert I then rode along the Pass of Aberglaslyn. This is my favourite valley in Snowdonia. With deeply wooded sides and the river cascading over a series of rapids, it is a delightful place. Even more so in the autumn when the yellow and gold of the tree leaves enrich the spectacular views. All too soon I reached the bridge over the river and resisting the temptation to linger, I turned out of the valley and headed eastwards and upwards.
The next section of the route from Garreg to Llan Ffestiniog was, in my view, the toughest section of the day. A short steep climb to Rhyd had my heart rate racing upwards to over 180 beats per minute. Fortunately it returned to a more sustainable 120 beats per minute on the descent to the Vale of Ffestiniog. Having ‘rested’ on the descent, the second challenge, the climb back up to Llan Ffestiniog which starts at sea level, and with tiring legs, proved to be quite tough. A feed station in the village was a very welcome refuelling point and I scoffed some malt loaf and a banana. It was interesting to listen to the comments of other riders, especially those who didn’t know the area. Modesty prevents me from repeating most of what I heard. Let me just say the language was quite colourful!
From Llan Ffestiniog the route took on an entirely different character over the next 20 miles. Instead of the short, sharp ascents it was one long climb to reach the day’s highest point at 1,600 feet. The surrounding countryside, with its rolling heather moors was also much more exposed. This is a bleak place inhabited by sheep and a few hardy hill farmers. I have fond memories of the ascent from Trawsfynydd to Llyn Celyn which is on a broad sweeping road. This was one of my favourite spots for riding when I lived in Dolgellau. In those days I used to ride on down to Bala; today we turned off to continue the climb over the moorland before descending to the River Conwy and another feed station at Pentrefoelas and another banana.
From here it was a lumpy ride until I dropped down almost to sea level again to Llanrwst. The long descent would have been quite exhilarating but unfortunately the road had just been resurfaced so it was covered in loose chippings which rather spoilt the experience. The next 15-mile section from Llanrwst through Betws-Y-Coed and Capel Curig to Pen-y-Pass was probably the longest continuous uphill section of the whole day. With an average gradient of just under 2 per cent it was fairly easy going, although a strong headwind over the 5 miles after Capel Curig added to the effort needed. A sharp right-hand turn took me out of the wind, but this was replaced by the steepest section of the climb for the final mile. As I rode upwards there was a superb view down to Nant Gwynant over my left shoulder with the backdrop of Snowdon above it. I enj
oyed a real sense of achievement as I crested the summit of Pen-y-Pass. This was made even more exhilarating by the shouts of support from the many spectators standing at the roadside. They seem to have come prepared because many of them were ringing cowbells. I gave them a quick wave and a smile of acknowledgement.
The descent from Pen-y-Pass is one of my favourites. It’s long, and apart from a dog-leg corner halfway down it is also relatively straight. The only real hazard is the possibility of sheep on the road. It was a chance to get a bit of speed up. I recorded a video of the descent which, when I watch it now, brings back many happy memories.
Reaching the bottom at Llanberis, the rest of the ride was unremarkable. There was one final surprise though. Although I could see Caernarfon Castle ahead of me in the distance the route turned away from the town to take me up one last short, sharp climb. With over 90 miles in my legs this was no small challenge. Successfully cresting the summit it was then all downhill to the finish in the centre of Caernarfon.
With a lap around the castle I arrived back at the finish line. The town centre was totally transformed. When I had left at 7am it was largely quiet: just riders, a few support people and the announcer. Now there was a real party atmosphere. A stage had been set up, a band was playing, the finishing lane and the square were heaving with hundreds of people. I got lots of applause and even a cheer from the announcer who called my name out as I crossed the finish line. What a thrill.
As I stopped I was given an energy drink and my finisher’s medal. I say ‘medal’ but in fact it was a rather fine slate coaster engraved with the details of the event. I was also given a small cowbell provided by one of the event’s sponsors. Now I really understood what was going on when I crossed over Pen-y-Pass.
For the record, I completed the 103 miles and 8,000 feet of climbing in 6 hours 17 minutes. Was it worth a 500-mile round car journey? I really don’t think I need to answer that. Cymru am byth!
Tuesday 12 August 2014, 71 Miles
Martin’s Van (Part 1)
Today was an average sort of ride. There was nothing special in my choice of route. I spent the morning meandering around some of the lanes south-west of Bury St Edmunds. I quite like riding here because the countryside is gently rolling, so there are a few opportunities to do a bit of hill climbing. Well, hill climbing is a bit of an exaggeration, as nowhere in Suffolk has any hills in the accepted sense. The highest point of the county reaches the lofty height of 128 metres.2 Hartest Hill isn’t that far away either. I think it’s the only road in the county to have one of those gradient (arrowhead) symbols on the Ordnance Survey map; it hits 16 per cent briefly.
The opportunity to get out of my saddle and stretch my leg muscles is one I always welcome. With a bit of planning it is possible to do several short climbs by following the lanes up and over the ripples and rolls of the countryside. Having used up my quota of climbs I was starting to think about getting home for a shower and a nice cup of coffee. I suppose I was riding on a sort of autopilot – aware of what was going on but not concentrating particularly. A near trance-like state that I quite often enter when I’m feeling especially relaxed.
My stupor was suddenly shattered as I was overtaken by a white van. It was a bit like opening the lid of my laptop to wake it up. More often than not a white van on the screen signals trouble, and my inner cyclist defence system automatically engages. Today was very different, though. What my radar had picked up was something quite unusual.
The white van was emblazoned with the rainbow stripes. Now the rainbow stripes have a specific significance for cyclists as they are awarded to world champions. The rainbow jersey is up there with the maillot jaune of the Tour de France. The stripes are used by the Union Cycliste Internationale, the UCI, cycling’s world governing body as part of their branding. My first thought was ‘Yippee! The UCI are doing a recce. Perhaps the world championships are coming to East Anglia!’ This, I reasoned with myself, was not as fanciful as it might seem since Suffolk has been quite successful in hosting major professional races in recent years.
Unfortunately, all I saw was the back of the van as it overtook me and disappeared up the road. Eventually I decided that Suffolk hosting the world champs was pretty unlikely, and I thought no more about the van.
Tuesday 19 August 2014, 68 Miles
Martin’s Van (Part 2)
I was back in the south Suffolk lanes again today getting in some more ‘hill climbing’. It was another lovely sunny day and I had got about 50 miles under my saddle with another 15 to 20 miles to reach home. A glance over my shoulder revealed a white van a couple of hundred yards behind. Instantly my inner cyclist defence system kicked in. A second backward glance to double check gave me a start. What was approaching me was the rainbow-striped white van I saw a few days ago.
With a couple of bends in the road coming up, I thought I might get a better look at the van. It actually slowed and waited behind me until we were through the bends before overtaking. This time I was able see that it wasn’t a UCI vehicle, and there was a web address which I made a mental note of. When I got home today it was going to be shower, coffee, and a spot of Giggling on the Interweb.
What I subsequently discovered was that the van belonged to ACT Cycling Tours and they were based just a couple of villages away from where I lived. I also discovered that they specialised in end-to-end tours: Land’s End to John O’Groats (Lejog), Ireland, France, Spain and so on. For a while I had been thinking that it would be great to do a Lejog. But I had never got much beyond dreaming about it. So it seemed to me that I had received a message. It was time to stop dreaming and time to act!
A couple of email exchanges with Martyn Ryan who was the riding force behind ACT Cycling, and I was signed up to do Lejog. The only downside was that I would have to wait until August 2015, twelve months away, as all their intervening Lejogs were already fully booked. No matter; I would have plenty of time to train, and having paid my deposit I had definitely left the room of dreams.
Sunday 7 September 2014, 73 Miles
The Tour de Broads and a Meeting with An Icon
I decided that my last sportive of 2014 would be the Tour de Broads, which was in its second year. My main reason for entering was that I had seen a news item in Cycling Weekly (aka ‘The Comic’) mentioning that Barry Hoban would be a guest rider at the event. In my late teens Barry Hoban was one of my inspirations. He was one of a select group of British riders who had successfully made the transition to professional racing in Europe, following in the footsteps of Brian Robinson and Tom Simpson. He enjoyed great success in the major races, including eight stage wins at the Tour de France,3 and was placed highly in several one-day classics. He won the 1974 Ghent‒Wevelgem race, beating Eddy Merckx, another of my inspirations in the process.
He published his autobiography, Watching the Wheels Go Round, in 1981 and I bought a copy on the day it appeared in my local bookshop. By the end of the day I had read it all. Best described as a tough and proud Yorkshireman, Barry was born in 1940 in Wakefield. Both his parents had been cyclists and when Barry showed similar interests his father encouraged him. In his autobiography, he wrote about his initiation into cycling when his father took him on a week-long tour to North Wales. This struck a chord with me as one of my own earliest forays into long-distance cycling was a tour in the Welsh Borders.
The similarities stopped there though. Showing true Yorkshire grit Barry went on to achieve an outstanding racing career both on the road and on the track. One story I read about him was how after finishing a day’s work he would tie a set of track wheels to his bike frame and ride 25 miles over the Pennines to Manchester to compete in races at Fallowfield Stadium. Arriving at the track he would put his track wheels on and remove the brakes. Having finished racing he would then reattach the brakes and swap the wheels back. If he was lucky he would get a lift back home. If he was unlucky it was a train journey and a 10-mile ride. If he was ve
ry unlucky then it was another 25-mile ride to get home. That’s determination for you.
I hoped that I might have an opportunity to meet Barry at the end of the Tour de Broads, which from my perspective would be great. The Tour started at Weston Longville, north-west of Norwich, and followed a clockwise route around the city before returning to Weston Longville. I had noticed that there was some deep gravel immediately after the start line at the junction with the public road, so I chose to walk the first few yards to the tarmac. Several other riders were less cautious and I saw one chap come to a grinding halt and fall over. Judging by the gashes on his elbows and knees it might already have been ride over for him.
As we headed east above Norwich I found myself riding in a group of about twenty others. Half of these were from a local club, the others were solo riders like me. We began to work well together, taking turns to lead the group, and sped along at a cracking pace. Our arrival at Coltishall marked the edge of the Broads where we turned south-east, eventually reaching Reedham and the feed station. A unique feature of this event was the ferry crossing at Reedham, which caused some angst for those riders who were keen to achieve a good time. I was an early arrival so this wasn’t much of an issue for me but I heard later that as more riders arrived the ferry crossing became a bottleneck.
Our group disintegrated at the ferry crossing so I then rode with a couple of others for the final stretch back to Weston Longville. This, together with a headwind and slightly lumpier terrain, meant that my average speed started to drop. In the hot early afternoon sun the final few miles were rather tougher than I had anticipated. Nevertheless I managed to hold a good average speed, just over 19 miles per hour including the time lost at the ferry crossing.
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