Well, this was pretty much what my year had been geared up towards. The big one. Simon and I arrived in Geneva on Wednesday and drove towards Verbier, jaws dropping at the sheer size and majesty of the scenery. “er…these bloody mountains look a bit on the big side eh?” we both said on a few occasions, somewhat concerned.

Anyway, eventually finding the digs after dark, we left all the gear in the car. 7:15am local time (6:15 in real money), Drill Sergeant Fox almost smashes my bedroom door down as an alarm call. Cheers! Bikes built, brekky ate and we’re off up the nearest mountain once we’d found Verbier. It was about half a mile up the hill from the chalet, but we thought we’d ride all the way down the hairpinned road to the wrong town first…doh! One massive road climb later (complete with shocked altitude-ravaged lungs) and we’re at the Medran lift station and climbing the fireroad. We had to do this to get acclimatised as best we could whilst trying to be careful not to get completely knackered 2 days before the race. Once at the top we attempted to ride the Kona Bike Park DH track and almost got killed. How we laughed at our under-equipped downhill mincing. Proper jey.

We stopped to help out a young French lad who was walking down the hill, crying and pushing his (pretty full-on Kona Stinky) bike. He’d got a nail  right through his rear tyre, binned it and hurt his leg. Anyway, we fixed him and his bike and sent him on his way with his full face lid, held together with gaffer tape, back on his bonce. That’s got to be some karma points in the bag. Back to the chalet, chill on the balcony with a view to beat anything I’ve ever seen.

Friday was my birthday, which was pretty weird when in another country without the rest of the family. Anyway, too busy for thinking about stuff like that, there’s energy drink to mix. There’s riding clothes to sort. There’s pasta to eat. We also needed to get over to Sion to register and have the bikes officially inspected. We met a few Brits there, including a bloke with a broken foot and a few Welsh lads. Then we’re back to Verbier for more food, a ride on the cable car up to La Ruinettes and more last minute prep before the main event tomorrow. The race starts at 6:30 in the morning so we had a 4:30 start. By this time I’m bricking it. I’ve not been nervous before a race for ages but this one’s been hyped in my own mind for so long, and given the commitment both in terms of training and money I’ve thrown at this, the possibility of something going wrong was really getting to me.

 BANG! the gun went off and we’re racing. Up the first climb out of Verbier I remember all the locals standing at the side of the road in their pyjamas, cheering. The course continues to climb onto the exposed mountainside. I’ve got 2200 metres down into the valley on the left, massive mountain in front and on the right and helicopters flying around keeping tabs on the race. The word “awesome” is used too often I think, to the point where when you can only describe an experience as “awesome” it doesn’t quite do the job. But this really was totally awesome. Massive climbs were followed by tight singletrack sections, followed by wide gravelly downhills that lasted 30, 40 even 50 minutes. Long enough to relax into it enough and leave the brakes alone for longer than I would do normally…just look a bit further ahead…avoid the rock, drop this guy “A DROIT!”…SHIT THERE’S A LOT OF DUST….Christ this is fast…

Some of the climbs seemed to take forever. The Mandelon climb for example is 22K long, the trail snakes its way up the mountainside with a series of a few dozen hairpins, topping out at God-knows what height. Somewhere between 2500 and 3000 metres I think. The thing is with this race is that there’s no room for messing about looking at the view or having a rest stop and a natter. There’s about 8 checkpoints that you have to clear by a certain time, or you’re eliminated. These times are not generous either. I was ok for time but I knew I was going to have to maintain this pace or I might start to struggle later on.

The course goes through a number of towns and villages and all the locals come out to cheer and to hand out water. I’ve always wanted to grab a water bottle from someone at the roadside, drink a large glug then lob it onto the grass verge 😉 I did it loads of times too. Your name is printed on your number board, so frequesntly villagers were shouting “Allez jasssonnnne!”. Pretty cool eh? There was even a bloke playing an Alphorn in Nendaz.

I crashed on one of the downhill sections. A tandem went flying past at about 60 (they REALLY shift down hills) and kicked up an enormous cloud of dust. Then I’m grabbing a handful of rear brake to avoid flying off the side of the mountain with a faceful of dirt, blinded by it. Oh well, a bit of blood to keep my leg cool I s’pose.

Hours later, I reached the biggest climb, the Pas de Lona. Rideable at first, it becomes ever steeper and loose until you’re carrying the bike up a scree slope, rising to 3000 metres where the air is somewhat thinner. There are guys keeling over or looking like they’ve just given up, heads spinning from the altitude and exhaustion. I had to dig really deep to get to the summit, head spinning and unable to focus. 

For some reason, I thought that this was pretty much it. I knew there was another rideable climb after this one, then I thought a simple downhill to the finish. 10 minutes I’ll be done. Wrong. The last downhill is fun, fast and LONG. Full-on, high speed, off the brakes downhill riding over rough trails and technical steep stuff that takes it’s toll when you’re dropping several thousand feet and it’s going on for over half and hour, especially on a short-travel bike that’s definately not going to ride itself to the bottom. But there’s a view from this descent to beat all of them. A turquoise lake, snow-capped mountains and a bloody great big glacier is all that can be seen, when you get a chance to take your eye off the trail.

At the finish I ate the remainder of my food and watched the riders still crossing the line and the ‘copters still buzzing overhead. I crossed the line in 10hrs 23mins, somewhere just above halfway overall and 8th British rider. Simon finished well too with a 12 hour time. He’s had to overcome some pretty major exhaustion and has had to really tough it out to avoid being eliminated at the final checkpoint. It’s at that point that most people would have given up and ridden back down the hill, crying.

I’m definately having another crack at this. I’ll be taking Deb and the kids so they can see the mountains that I’ve done nothing but go on about since I got back and I’ll be faster next time. It’s just the biggest, toughest most awe-inspiring race I’ve ever had the privilage to take part in and I’m completely hooked.

Next is the 3 Peaks Cyclocross. I’ve never done this one before either so I’ve no idea how that will go but I’ll be confident of finishing it at least. Funnily enough, almost all of the Brit riders we spoke to in Verbier were doing the 3 Peaks. Then, when we got back to the UK and we were stood outside the airport terminal, a random bloke came up to us and asked, “good riding trip?”. “yes” we said. “Just done the Cristalp”. “Oh. Brilliant.” he replied. “I’m doing the 3 Peaks Cyclocross in a few weeks…” Spooky.

more details of the race here

Just spent the last 2 hours dismantling and packing the bike into the Planet X bike bag. Seemingly miles of bubblewrap, pipe lagging and gaffer tape and a few acres of cardboard later and it’s ready for the baggage handlers.  Hopefully I’ve not left any vunerabilities and it’ll survive….

Pretty impressive item of luggage huh?

One last ride on the FSR this morning to check all’s tickety-boo with the bike. In the last week I’ve fitted a new chain and cassette, new middle chainring, a full set of organic pads (these little Hope Mini’s overheat REALLY easily with the sintered pads – not too much of a problem in the UK but a likely nightmare in the Alps), new tyres and loads of spannerin’ and lubin’.
I’ve dug out a couple of bottle cages as I’m not bothering with a sweaty Camelbak for this one.
This afternoon I’ll be packing the bike in the HUGE bike bag after I’ve been to B&Q for some pipe lagging.

Twitchy bum time.

Michael returned from 2 weeks in the sun with his mum last week so we were keen to do something with our weekend. Off we went to Anglesey with the dog and the kite, looking forward to a sunny day on the beach. Unfortunately fortune pissed on our duvet again and it rained the whole time. The kite got soaked and full of wet sand so that wouldn’t fly and we spent most of the day sat in the caravan admiring the view that was obscured by thick mist.

I had to get to Selkirk that evening as I was in the 100K MTB marathon (88k in reality) on Sunday. I arrived in Selkirk after dropping Deb and the kids off at home at midnight. Again, it was raining so I slept in the car, which was even more uncomfortable than it sounds. Car seats are designed to KEEP YOU AWAKE, for obvious reasons. It was still raining in the morning so after a monumental struggle to open the car door and crawl out I got my arse in gear. Phil arrived later and it stopped raining.

Once the ride started, someone who was not that good at riding in a large group (which is most mountain bikers it seems) whacked my rear wheel with their front. I was on the singlespeed and the rear wheel slipped to one side in the horizontal dropout, despite the chaintug. I then had to stop to loosen the bolts, straighten the wheel then tighten it up again (more about this later). I’d lost a minute or two and Phil was way up in front maintaining his position with the faster riders. I was in contrast now way back with the slower riders who I concluded had only just learned to ride a bike. Left right and centre there were muppety incidents. Riders just going off to the side and into the heather for no reason. Weaving from side to side constantly. Suddenly stopping because there’s a puddle. On the climbs, I’m having to shoulder some people out of the way as I can’t possibly go any slower without my knee exploding or ending up falling off the bike. On the downhills there are folk JUST STOPPING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRAIL AND STANDING THERE, PETRIFIED. These events are for beginners as much as anyone else I suppose and I chose to ride a bike with only one gear, but at the time it’s bloody frustrating, especially when the trail becomes so narrow you can’t easily get past. My fault for having a shonky bike though…

Having said all that, there were a couple of bits of this ride that I wasn’t up for riding either. Last time I had a go at all of it and ended up having a long chat to a St John’s Ambulance bloke at the end after my comedy over-the-bars face/granite slab interface crash. Parts of the man made trails at Innerleithen actually live up to the “black run” billing and I’m guessing that you need to get your front wheel up to go down some of the nasty spiky rocky obstacles. 

From a point approximately 20 feet from the start line, my “trusty” singlespeed reached new levels of shonkiness…

My entire day consisted of ride for a couple of miles, overtaking the slower riders in front. Notice that rear wheel has slipped and chain has gone dangerously slack. Stop. Fanny around with rear wheel for a bit, get passed by slower riders you’ve just passed. Set off and pass slower riders again. Catch up with Phil. Say hello, then notice rear wheel has slipped and chain has gone dangerously slack….ad nauseum. This was starting to get really boring until the front brake stopped working just at the start of the Caddon Bank downhill (which is where you need 2 brakes and a bucketload of skill/suspension travel ideally) so things suddenly got really exciting again…

On one trailside repair session I met up with Rich and we had a natter about stuff.

The mud was pretty bad. Some were saying that it’s the worst mud they’d ever experienced. I’m not too sure about that. I reckon they must be from the south of France or something. In my infinite wisdom drawn from years of cycling experience I decided it would be a good idea to swap my mud tyres for some larger-volume dry conditions tyres last week. Expecting a dry, sunny weekend in Scotland I was, like a pillock. To recap. I had no grip and little traction. No front brake. A rapidly deteriorating rear wheel situation. I was falling further and further back with each stop – further and further into muppetland, the home of frustration and murderous tendencies. Certainly not the home of speed, momentum and bike handling skills.

I finished just behind Phil (that’s the last time I wait for him at the final feed station, the opportunist splitter!) in just under 7 hours, almost an hour slower than the last time I rode at this event 2 years ago. Pants. Still, I wasn’t after a quick time, just a day out with Phil really. I crossed the line muttering profanities to myself about a “f***ing waste of time” or “shit bastard bike”, then dropped my free t-shirt in the mud and ran over it. I enjoyed it really though 😉 2900 metres of vertical climb on a singlespeed is always worth doing.

That’s the Cristalp training done now. Good job really, cos I’ll be spending loads of time and money on a broken bike again this week L

I realised a few days ago, whilst looking at an OS map, that all I need to do to get to some proper big hills sharpish is to ride 10 or so miles from here on bridleways towards Rochdale to a main road that takes me to the bottom of Rooley Moor Road (rrrrr kid). So that’s how I started last night’s ride. Getting to the bottom of Rooley Moor was easy enough so I was pleased that I didn’t get lost in a chav estate or something. Then a long haul up the track, follow the pack horse trail at the top, through the quarry and down into Edenfield. What a great route that is. Proper pleased with myself I am. The Pennine Bridleway is but 10 miles from my front door and I can get there without being splattered by a bus (not much anyway).

Met up with Budge and Phil at Edenfield and off we went…back towards Rooley Moor. hmm. This is becoming a BIG ride on a Wednesday night. I’d already clocked 22 miles and now it looks like I’m doing another 20. We rode some cheeky paths around Greenbooth and returned a couple of hours later to the meeting point. Then I just needed to ride home. That’s another 12 miles following the old railway lines.

A rather unexpected 50 mile ride and 1500 metres of climb altogether. I got home rather late…