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…

Unfortunately, this is not the triumphal write-up I was mentally preparing the week before the event: my first DNF in a sportive, thanks to a broken spoke on my Campag Neutron Ultra rear wheel at exactly 4 hours into the race.This is a tough one – 113 miles, 10 big climbs, and 1000 riders, so plenty of quick boys. Here’s the profile:

KOTD western loop.

KOTD eastern loop.

I didn’t have an ideal lead-up to the event:

• the Wednesday before I woke up with a swollen throat and a temperature. I had Thursday and Friday off work, but basically willed myself back to some semblance of health by Saturday afternoon.
• I had 3 hours sleep the night before (nerves, anticipation?) – a record low for the night before a sportive.

Had I been 100% physically, the spoke would have been gutting – as it was, pulling out was a mix of disappointment and relief.

Jon B, Jonny and I started late-ish (7.30), began briskly, then moved up the gears. We hammered the climbs, and nobody passed us for the whole of the western loop. I was alternating between feeling quite strong, and then queasy with tiredness. At the midway feed station some fast lads – including a very classy young rider in Cervelo kit – hooked onto our tail, and the pace increased a notch. I moved off the front and tried to chill in the draft, but the two Jons, seemingly not content with our speed, had decided to race Cervelo and his buddies.

At a traffic hold-up, the Jons opened a sizeable gap between me and the Cervelo crew. We chased, with me hanging on the back. Another red light, and then it was me and one other pretty strong rider, doing through-and-off together, trying to claw back some ground. Now when I was on the front, I started to feel a hollowness where strength should have been. We reached the foot of the Wall, and my spoke went.

So unfinished business in KOTD – definitely one for next year.

It was freezing cold on the start line at 7.45am on Sunday, and it didn’t get much warmer, despite some bright sunshine as the day wore on. It was a ragged start; I got a lot of cold air into my lungs straight away, my heart rate pounding up in the 170s – it felt like my body was under a lot of stress. This feeling of stress never quite left me the whole 70 miles of the course. We were all taking short pulls at the front to begin with but everything felt a bit giddy. Then we hit ice, several big patches. Duncan went down, later joined by Jonny.

The first half of the ride, I just felt strain, so I tucked in behind Jonny and a strong-looking rider in a Cannondale top. After the feed-stop, I felt stronger, and made up for my poor contributions to the pace early on by taking a long stint into the wind. I could feel it coming back, the feeling of lightness, of floating on the effort.

At about the 3-hour mark I started to tie up. We’d hit a modest hill at around 2hrs 30, which had separated myself, Theobald and Cannondale from the others. I knew if I lost those two, I was most likely on my own to the finish, so I did everything I could to cling on, but closing the gaps became too much. Swearing at the wind, I roped myself in to the bottom of Ditchling Beacon, then climbed it without further incident. Final time: 4hrs 06 – 7 mins faster than last year, this time without going wrong.

I’ve done more riding (in pure hours on the bike) than I had this time last year, but notably less high-quality training such as intervals. This is potentially the reason for my lack of any kind of explosive pace. I remember feeling really full of beans last year; this time around, I felt easy on the hills, with reasonable stamina, but not that much power. My leg injury could have played a part. I’m half a stone lighter than last year (10st 10 vs 11st 6) – so that’s maybe a factor. I guess since my goal this season is the Maratona in July, building a base with plenty of hills, without hitting the intervals too early, will hopefully pay off in the end.

A short footnote for Millsy – he had a shocker. Training to within an inch of his life, he had to do a long run and a ride the day before, then flatted at the start of the sportive. His grim-faced expression in the photos tell the full story.

• Puncheur 2010 results

A view from the valley

On Saturday Jonny and I tamed the Giant of Provence, Mont Ventoux. And actually, it wasn’t that bad. 

I admit I’d been dreading it – I’d lost a bit of focus since the Fred Whitton – but on the day we had a tough, fast ride, amid some fantastic scenery, and in the end we placed respectably in the top 200 (out of 483 finishers). My finishing time was 5hrs 20 – a ‘gold’ medal, according to the organisers, although this was meaningless because the time barrier was set so low (7hrs 21 for gold) that all but a handful of the finishers achieved this. (NOTE: the organisers have since amended the gold time to 6hrs 15 for the Master category).

Every 2 years the Ventoux ‘cyclo’ switches its route between the two options for climbing the mountain: a longer 170km route that climbs via Bedoin and Chateau Reynard; and a shorter 144km route that goes up the steeper side via Malaucene. We did the latter. Here’s the Ventoux profile, which I climbed in 1hr 35.

Mont Ventoux profile (via Malaucene)

Yes, it was long, but compared to the Whitton’s climbs it was very gentle, and there were plenty of sections where you could back off the top sprocket. I’m sure I rode it quicker in an effort to stay on Jonny’s back wheel, but I didn’t over-cook it, unlike the guy I passed vomiting at about 6km from the summit. 

The descent was eye-wateringly fast. There was no time to even spot Tom Simpson’s memorial. Once we made it down to forest level we formed a small 5-man grupetto for some fast-paced through-and-off. Before long we were joined by others, and became a larger group that pelted along the smooth, hot roads to the second feed station. 

Following the second feed the big group fragmented, and after a quick toilet break we latched onto the back of the tail end. There were two modest climbs to go: on the first one I felt strong and rode off the front; on the second I started to fade, and ended up losing Jonny, who finished in a small bunch a couple of minutes before me. 

All in all a fine ride that I would definitely repeat. We lucked out with the weather too: earlier in the week I heard the head-winds had been brutal, while the day after we had rain, a sure recipe for freezing temperatures on the mountain.

I got my ass kicked twice this weekend by some very fast riders.

The Phoenix club ride started brisk and was full-on during the third hour. We started as 10 and finished as 8. I just about stayed in contention, but only just. Here’s my HR graph:

Phoenix club graph

Monday’s ride was billed as a ’social’ with some mates of Jonny’s who have recently formed their own race team. The ‘Acuto‘ squad was 9-strong on the day, all clad in brand-new lycra team livery, and composed of an ex-pro, several current or former 2nd-cat racers, and this guy, a professional triathlete and xterra competitor. I was the incongruous tenth man in my Mornflake flouro kit.

To be fair I was on the pace for the first couple of hours, as we took a familiar route from Cobham over Shere and down to Ewhurst, easily the fastest I’ve ever ridden it. Then the speed began to hurt, and I was dropped on Leith Hill. It was in a way a fortuitous accident that after we went through Peaslake and began to head home, I took a wrong turn that landed me back in Ewhurst. I radio’d in, then bailed, riding across to Leith Hill (again) then over Coldhardbour to take a train from Dorking.

The moral of the story is, I need to ride with these guys more often. I had a really interesting chat with a guy on my Regent’s Park spin on Saturday, who told me he was a big believer in quality over quantity, and that 90 mins at 20 mph would be more valuable than 5 hrs at 16 mph (although he accepted that for events like La Marmotte there was no such thing as too many miles).

After a good recovery after the PRS, I went long with Jonny on Saturday, from Richmond Park, out to Effingham, across to Box Hill, down to Rusper, back up to Capel, down the Pyrenean, over to Ewhurst, then up and over to Shere and back to Richmond Park again (and from there to North London). 6hrs 30 in total.

On Sunday I was up at 5.30am for the London Phoenix club ride. My legs were pretty tired, and the pace of the ride was quick – basically my usual sportive speed – so I think I was lucky to only get dropped once, on a tough undulating section about 3/4 of the way along the route (which was a variation of the Finchley – Knebworth loop I rode a few weeks back). There were 8 of us, all useful. We had one puncture between us, normally an annoyance but on this occasion a very welcome respite!

Check it out. The sportivephoto.com home page currently offers a photo of me pseudo-toasting Jonny in the Puncheur.

While we’re on the subject, I have a couple of suggestions for Mr Phil O’Connor of Sportive Photo. No quibble with the quality of the photography, excellent event coverage, reliable web interface, very fast processing times. But £7.50 for a digital download? It’s too expensive – all I want is to email my Mum and post on this blog. 

This is how I would price images in this scenario:

• lo-res (600px longest edge) digital download: £3
• hi-res digital download: £6
• all hi-res rider photos from single event zipped for download: £25

Printed image prices are fine, as is the bill for burning all images to CD (£30), which clearly takes time.  

But I do think Phil’s pricing misses a trick in deterring the casual digital downloader. I would happily have paid a tenner for a few lo-res files from each event (3 so far this year) – but I won’t pay £22.50. At that price I can handle the watermarks.

Rode this one today with Jonny. 54 miles, we did it in 4-5 hrs including a couple of breaks. I felt fine after the short layoff, but ate badly so bonked twice. Had to refuel in Peaslake (chicken samosa, ham sandwich). Really need to remember to eat more in the first 60-90 mins of riding, and not wait until 90 mins before having a banana. Sloppy eating = bonk. Believe.

HRMax once again set to 150, I rode Box Hill at a steady 160, although hit 164 at one point.

It’s good to be back though. This week I booked La Marmotte and the Ventoux – Beaumes de Venise sportive in early June. No better time to remember that I have legs and need to use them.