Don’t miss the full-length edition of this movie – about Sean Kelly – screening on rapha.cc this Friday, 20 August. I missed the Yohan Museeuw one last Friday, but on 27th there’s a 3rd screening, about Dario Pegoretti.

I just love the way Rapha keep getting cooler.

• Read more about the Ridley Scott Associates and Rapha programme

By my reckoning my average speed was 18.6 mph, compared with 18.2 mph on the 100-mile Great Western sportive in June. It was a shorter distance, so this makes sense, considering both events were similarly hilly. However, being in a smaller group today meant doing more pulls on the front – so the speed increase is encouraging.

I left with the first group, eyeing up the field for handy riders. Not really seeing many, I hit the front, and before long was part of a fast-moving 5-man grupetto. Some grizzled veteran did most of the work for the first 90 minutes, powering calmly along in the big ring. Myself and another rider – whose name turned out to be Ben – got in there for a few turns, but the vet seemed indifferent to what anyone else was doing. This was confirmed when he rode away from the first feed stop without waiting for the rest of us.

Etiquette

A note on sportive etiquette.

• If you form a group with other riders and ride together with that group for any length of time, you should consider the interests of the group as well your own. This applies to drafting and sharing the work, and is as much about fair play as about the obvious point that a group of riders working together will always go faster than if those same riders rode alone.
• When working as a group, the goal is to instil a rhythm for sharing turns at the front of the group. I reckon with a group of 5 you should be aiming for max. 2-minute turns on the front. When you’re done, move out from the line, so that the next guy knows he’s up. If you just sit there grinding it out, you are indicating that you’re happy to keep on working – and no-one’s under an obligation to help out.
• If you are a machine and have the strength to take the wind for miles – then great.
• If you aren’t feeling that strong, and can only manage a 20-second turn – also fine. It will be clear to everyone else that you aren’t that strong, and you’ll probably be off the back soon anyway. Just don’t sit on the front and slow down the pace, because someone will have to take the initiative and overtake you. Overtaking requires a jump of pace and is a drain on resources.

I know sportives aren’t races, and perhaps I shouldn’t take them so seriously – but even so it should be obvious after you’ve done your first few events that there’s a better way to ride one.

Anyway thanks for reading – now back to the write-up.

Classy

The vet who blew us out at the feed got a flat shortly afterwards. This karmic reckoning would be repeated twice more, each time somebody quicker overtook our heroic group. Both the other two guys were really classy riders, impressively strong and quick, who finished a good 20 mins quicker than me – even after a flat tyre apiece.

For the second half of the event, our breakaway group was only three, and the pressure of having to power the trio forward every 5 minutes began to take its toll during the last 20km. Thankfully, we caught riders finishing the mid route. When Ben and I had dropped our third man on a climb (I didn’t say you couldn’t do that), we found one of Ben’s teammates, a Useful Big Guy (UBG) who towed us both in to the finish.

Looking forward to the results.

Rocket fuel.

Any energy product recommended by Alexandre Vinokourov deserves to be tried.

I have found these gels really effective in providing a perceptible boost when riding. Most importantly, one of these gels (unlike the High Five gels) is potent enough to rescue an impending bonk. Three is probably the max number to consume on any long ride, lest you get sick of them.

Ideal for the last couple of hours of a century sportive.

The Klein Attitude Comp, in its glory days.

My mate Andy Booth recently sold his Klein Attitude Comp 2000, and I feel the time is right to salute man and rig.

The details are hazy, but as I remember Andy bought the Klein in 2000 with some insurance money. He’d had his previous bike stolen on York University campus, but that wasn’t the source of the windfall – something to do with a traffic accident, a sore neck (I’m feeling in the dark here)?

Anyway, he bought the Klein. Andy’s a tall chap with a penchant for brightly coloured bikes – hence the crane geometry and lurid paint job. Yet the Klein was lean and fast, and over time, as is to be expected, the frame was adorned with all manner of trick upgrades, including Hope hubs in gun-metal grey, and – the jewel in the crown – a Chris King headset.

The Chris King headset, in silver - still as smooth as the day it was fitted, etc. etc.

This bike experienced a golden age in the early noughties, accompanying us on some memorable rides with the University of York Cycle Club (UYCC) in Yorkshire, the Lake District, and beyond.

Still going strong: riding the Klein in Borrowdale, August 2005.

Crag-top stunts - Helvellyn?

Latterly though, the Klein fell from grace, and became rather a sad figure, its whale-like Serfas saddle in particular becoming the butt of many a trailside joke. In the end, the Klein was replaced by a younger, sleeker model, and its once glossy sheen became covered in the dust of neglect. That Andy eventually put it up for sale without even cleaning it was an indication of just how bad things had got.

End of an era.

• The ad on retrobike

I caught Robert Penn’s fantastic documentary on BBC4 on Monday night. The Story of the Bicycle, timed to coincide with the launch of Penn’s book All about the Bike (jacket below), saw the one-time round-the-world cyclist build his dream bike from parts sourced direct from manufacturers in many different countries – bars from Italy, hand-built wheels from the U.S., etc.

The resulting super-rig, the bike of dreams, turned out to be a Brian Rourke steel frame equipped with full Campagnolo Record, Continental tyres, Chris King headset, Cinelli bars, and – the cherry on top! – a Brook’s saddle. A fine combination of kit, if not exactly in line with my tastes. However, you have to ask – why the blue and orange colour scheme? Dark red, white panels and black lettering, surely?

Jacket image: All About the Bike by Robert Penn.

Photo: Getty Images

Today’s stage finish up the Col du Tourmalet delivered a Tour battle to rival any I can remember. As @rich_mitch observed, it wasn’t quite Lance vs Pantani, but Contador vs Schleck, mano-a-mano through the mist, was tense and gritty stuff.

No-one but Andy Schleck could have restrained the accelerations of Contador, even though, in the end, the Spaniard made only one significant move. On the face of it, however, he didn’t need to win: with only 8 seconds separating first and second place, Contador’s time-trial pedigree means he’s sure to take overall victory on Sunday. Schleck had to attack, and he did all he could, riding a savage tempo up the mountain that had both riders grimacing in pain. Ultimately, they were so evenly matched that they crossed the line together – Contador generously, and wisely (given the events of Tuesday), handing the stage win to Schleck.

2002

I rode up the Tourmalet in 2002, while traversing the Pyrenees on a week-long charity ride from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. On a day of drama that will mean nothing to anyone bar the protagonists, I can vividly remember flashes of that punishing 90-minute ascent (the same, tougher, side as the Tour went up today).

To recap, we were a group of 7, that included university mates Ewan, Si and Joe, plus some older blokes, one of whom was Mike B.

Mike was a keen club rider; we were an odd assortment of fitness levels, ranging from Joe, a natural talent, to Ewan, who despite radically transforming himself in recent years and completing an Ironman in 2008, was at that time shambolically out of shape. But it was a charity ride, so racing was hardly on the cards.

That is, until the first morning of the trip, a tough, drizzly leg out of Biarritz, when Blakeney rode off the front for 50 miles. Who did he think he was, Eddy Merckx? Suddenly, in the microcosm of the group, Mike B (who is actually a good guy all round), with his carbon Trek and beer gut, was the villain of the piece. Revenge was brewing, and the Tourmalet – which we hit on the Thursday – would be our showdown.

Toast

We stopped for lunch in a town not far from the foot of the mountain. I remember taking Joe to one side and briefing him for the climb: he was not to hang back with us, he was to ride at B’s pace, and keep up the tempo until B cracked. Joe and B rode off together, leaving us to await the outcome.

It goes without saying that the climb was hard. For the first time, I experienced all the usual side-effects of long, hot mountain climbs that I’m now pretty familiar with: the pins-and-needles face, the slack jaw, the aching back. I dropped Si after 20 minutes – a minor victory – and then it was me and the road.

I initially thought it was a product of my own super-heated brain when I looked up after 10km and saw Mike B, dismounted at the roadside, helmet off, pink-faced, puffy, a Dead-Elvis grin on his face. But he said something – it could have been ‘Help’ or ‘Water’, I can’t recall – and I realised with a surge of adrenalin that Joe had buried him. I was intensely delighted, not only by this reckoning, but also by the fact that I was now number two on the mountain. A celebratory hot chocolate was my reward at the summit.

More:

• Sommet du Tour, Sommet du Siecle (Condor blog)
• Circle of Death marks century of suffering (Guardian)

On the Wednesday after the Maratona, Jonny and I rode around the whole of Lake Garda, where we were supposed to be having some R&R with our respective girlfriends (and Millsy).

Despite being told by a local rider at the hotel that the route was 90km, it was in fact 138km, i.e. as long as the Maratona. ‘We’ll see for you lunch’ became ‘See you for dinner’ as the planned 3-hour spin became a tough 4hr45 loop (albeit mostly flat) with 2hrs of time trial thrown in. Diving into the lake in full lycra back in Desenzano, after hammering it in the midday sun, was possibly the highlight of the trip.

Tunnels

I would warn anyone considering riding this loop to beware of the tunnels at the north end of the lake. At best, these are quite narrow but short, but others are much longer, and the worst has no lighting at all. Seriously, it was like riding into a black hole for 20 seconds, and that’s longer than it sounds when you literally can’t see anything. Take lights.

If you like climbing – and I do – then The Maratona of the Dolomites is a tailor-made sportive. The 138km full course offers barely any flat sections, so forget about who is or isn’t doing work at the front, forget about getting in a group; it’s about controlling your effort and staying hydrated in the heat. Neither of which I was very successful at on the day.

For mountain scenery, this is the most spectacular sportive I’ve ridden. At every hairpin you get a new panorama of lush valleys and jagged peaks. Especially early in the morning, when shafts of sunlight poke through the gaps in rock towers and light up patches of road – it’s outrageous.

It was nice to have a chance to appreciate the views; this, together with the fact that I wasn’t able to blow my energy reserves too soon, were the only up-sides to the serious congestion at the start of the ride. In all other respects the sheer number of riders starting together (8,640) was frustrating and dangerous. I spent 3 hours riding in a massive cavalcade of slower cyclists, pointlessly jostling for position, wary of errors on the descents.

Very busy roads - but stunning views.

Jonny, Millsy and I started together, but pretty soon it was just Jonny’s wheel I was trying to follow up the crowded slopes of the Passo Pordoi. That Ironman-wingnut Mills had done a triathlon on the Friday before; this was to be a long training ride for him.

The first 7 passes all felt easy, but somehow Theobald got the early jump on me. Suddenly he was nowhere to be seen amid the mass of jerseys. I caught him exiting the Belvedere feed stop at 83km. With the crowds and the views, the day had felt more like a charity ride than a sportive. But by now my legs were buzzing and my head was full of the Giau.

The event is really all about this one climb. As I remember it, I began the ascent in the lead, Jon on my wheel. We had a good tempo, and passed many. The sun was full-on now, and perhaps 30 degrees. I had a problem with my gears which meant the chain wasn’t sitting on my top 26 ring, and kept slipping down one, so I was fiddling with the barrel adjuster with sweating hands whilst climbing. There was complete silence from the mountainside. The gradient was unrelenting, and brutal.

35 minutes into the climb, the invisible elastic tying me to Jonny’s back wheel stretched one last time, and snapped. He had one bike length, then two, then he was beyond the next hairpin, then out of sight. The ascent and the heat was pushing me into a physical and mental state I’d not experienced since riding the Galibier last summer: pins and needles in the face, and a sick feeling in my stomach rising into my throat.

Summiting the climb, I should have stocked up on more food, but instead I reeled past nauseating piles of jam tarts and banana halves, grabbing bizarre things I never normally consume on a ride – like plastic cups of coke. I had one gel and two enervit squares to last me, and somehow I thought it would be enough.

Possibly descending from the Passo Giau to Pocol.

I descended hard, hit the foot of the Passo Falzarego, then bonked. My morale sank too – riders were passing me, Theobald was way up ahead, and I was annoyed with myself for not eating properly. The Falzarego should have been my climb: 10km long, it’s gentler than the Giau, a more gradual ascent that I would normally have powered up. I pulled over into the shade, pissed, consumed everything I had on me, and started climbing again.

The Passo Falzarego has an evil sister: the Valparola. Just after the drinks stop at what you think is the top of the climb, the gradient kicks up for just over a kilometre. Millsy told me later this little feature nearly finished him off; to be honest I can’t really remember how it was for me. I do remember gunning final the descent, though, and passing the finishing banner 18 mins after JT. Final time: 6hrs 39.

Grimacing in the final km's

I’m planning to ride the Maratona again. It’s a great event, flawlessly organised and well supported by the locals. It’s also excellent value for money. Entry is 50-odd euros, but you’re showered with freebies before, during and after the ride.

Finally, if you’re looking for a place to stay, check out these apartments. Drop Norbert Nagler a line and tell him I sent you…

Funny. via @rich_mitch.

The Passo Giao. 9.9km. 29 corners. Close to 10% all the way.

It’s a tough climb. There’s no hiding.