Inside the Engine #3

Winter training. When does it end? When did it begin?

Well, as a short-hand description of "base" and "build", the terms that physiologists and sports scientist would use, probably around November for me. When will it end? Probably at the end of February or the middle of March. Importantly, when will the seasons begin to normalise themselves so I can at some point "go outside" more often?

November, December. That's all good. Christmas punctuates those two like a tidy full stop.

January kicks in, it's humid and rainy, but there's no racing to be done just yet and everything is "as planned".

February however, is a gale ridden, depressing puddle-fest and this dents the new year optimism.

During winter my shed has been my sanctuary weeks and months spent in my trusty outhouse. At the minute, I'm contemplating another month's hard labour. With little prospect of Storm Imogen subsiding, it looks like I'll be spending more time staring at the fridge freezer, the remnants of paint cans from projects past and the discarded bicycle tyres and accouterments that will be tidied up on that mythical day when all blokes "sort out their sheds". Honest.

But, I am now developing a cycling version of Stockholm Syndrome, I have begun to love my turbo.

My sessions on Zwift bring relief from the dulling pain and monotony. My appreciation of BBC Radio and Planet Rock is heightened and the variability of road training is cast asunder. Getting through February in terms of completing my training programme is going to be key to getting March's races off to a good start and I suspect that controlling the variables (power, intensity, duration) on the turbo will pay dividends, but at a cost.

I have learnt that turbo work increases the laundry demands several-fold. I am now up to four sets of cycling shorts, at least 50% of which are always in the process of being cleaned. Two towels and a sweat catcher are de rigeur for most sessions, as is a sweat-wicking base layer and t-shirt. Some sessions during January have required leg and arm warmers it's been that cold.

My worst experience to date was doing the 'dash of shame' back to the house in a sodden base-layer in freezing conditions whilst trying to run in cleats and not drop my Garmin, the laptop and the three water bottles I was using, in the dark, and in a gale. I looked like I had been to a very bad kind of Brighton Rave, or so I am told. I have no idea where Brighton is. Or what a rave is for that matter. February may have made Don McLean shiver, it's making me drip everywhere, and then shiver. So 2-1 to me on that Donny boy.

I've also learnt that sweat doesn't evaporate on the static bike, it just runs down your leg in the manner of an accidental wee-wee. The sweat then pools in your right shoe. Never the left shoe. Always the right.

But somehow, I kind of miss it when I have a recovery day or am forced to do an "outside ride", e.g. anything over two hours and one minute of riding. I'm up to two hours of turbo in one session, based on the fact that I now have to take food in to the shed to fuel myself on the for the longer Zwift sessions. And frankly, this is a sign that enough is enough. You have to draw a line somewhere and 120 minutes is my Rubicon. If I'm at a point of moving an armchair and/or camping shower to accommodate my forays in to the virtual cyclo-world, I may consider applying for a new postcode for my "studio annexe". I may have to by necessity.

I am still a strong believer that there is no substitute for a good ride, in great weather on the beautiful open road. My own power output and interest is heightened on glorious, sun-kissed tarmac - the problem is, there isn't much glorious anything at this time of year. So you just have to make your own distractions.

My key winter findings from the "Pain Cave" (also know as "a shed"), for the record are:

• Radio5 Live football commentary on a live match is about the same length as a decent turbo session. The 45 minute halves and 15 minute break make nice ways of mapping out the intervals and duration of parts of sessions, e.g. 45 mins of a given effort, ease off, repeat. Listening to Liverpool play is as infuriating as being drafted on Zwift, I nearly fell off the turbo when they beat Norwich. I had a massive tantrum when Sunderland pegged two goals back last Saturday.
• Zwift workouts are the business.
• No matter how I set things up the friction on the turbo has a mind of its own making the first 20 minutes the equivalent of a physical version of BBC2's Only Connect. The tyre pressure is the same, the wheel is in the same place, the gears are in the same ratio. Is it the same as last time? Is it heck.
• Being awarded a new virtual Trek Emonda on Zwift halfway through a sprint interval session is as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike, or a Trek Emonda (real or imagined).
• I no longer eat meals with my family during the week. 
• Planet Rock is good. Except when it isn't. Which is when AC/DC or Iron Maiden are not being played. The adverts and slippages in to Prog Rock are bad.
• Mark Riley on Radio 6 Music is either brilliant or not. His guests are usually not. But he does have a quiz based on what band t-shirt he is wearing. I never get the answer but at least it stops him playing Swedish Acid Skiffle for five minutes while he tees up the questions.
• Steve Lamacq is not compatible with any form of turbo work. Or anything else for that matter. There is a reason why he is no longer on Radio 2.
• Coming in to the Pain Cave (see above) to search for frozen mince beef for the dinner I won't get chance to eat, thereby forcing a change in the 'feng shui' of the Palace of Perspiration is simply not in Debrett's. Moving my impromptu plastic box/camping chair/laptop viewing podium as part of this search for ingredients just isn't sporting. Asking "Going well?", and walking off without receiving the reply (even if it is mumbled  grunt) is just plain rude. Especially when the poser of said question, in true Pavlovian style, locks the shed on exit. 
• Netgear Wi-Fi Extenders are fab. Not least for piping 20-30MBps Zwiftage to the shed, but also enabling communication to/from my laptop so I can email someone (daughter) to come and unlock the door (see directly above).

I'm not sure what I am going to do when I do actually go outside and have to interact with society again. I'm also not sure that society is ready to receive the beckoning horde of Zombie-like Zwifters who will be returning to reality (or at least the physical world) in a few weeks' time.

Inside the Engine #2

Geraint Thomas in his rather readable tome "The World of Cycling According to G" talks, amongst other things, about his time in the British Track squad in the 2000s. His narrative unfolds around how, once the team had decided on its goals (essentially World domination), the team committed to meet the goal. The coaching and supporting staff did likewise and then it was a case of trusting the process.

I have long been a fan of trying to focus on the controllable variables that accompany time-trial racing. In Thomas's book (I am not going to call him 'G'), he restates some good coaching mantra that reinforce this philosophy, e.g. there will be external influences that can knock you off-track. Anticipate external factors but don't get all angsty about things you cannot control.

As amateurs and part-timers who have commitments off the bike that professionals do not have, everyone in TSE has to strike a balance between what time and effort we can commit to the sport. And the commitment piece is critical. You only get out what you put in and all that, in time-trialling it is very much a correlation between input and result. Outside of the track pursuit discipline there are probably as few external variables affecting performance as you are likely to get. So over the winter months it has been great to watch and participate in a team that is committed, is believing more and more in the processes of training 'right' and training 'smart'.

It has been interesting to see how riders have dealt with bugs, colds, time demands with work and family commitments over Christmas and the New Year. For some there have been outbursts of frustration when they've had a cold or virus, and this kind of frustration shows how committed the team are right now. Fortunately a combination of cathartic and communal social-media outpourings: "It's the end of the world, I missed a few days on Zwift" or "How can I possibly survive the season, I missed a week in December" have been dealt with through a mix of mutual support and also plain-speaking.

Trust the process, you are committed to you goals. Form is not irrevocably lost in a week or two. Indeed, quite the opposite is true. You will #SmashItUp, to borrow a Bottrilism, if you simply commit and follow through on the plan over the course of the year.

Over the course of winter most of the team's riders have put in anywhere between 50-80 training sessions, and it shows. Functional threshold power tests are strong and ubiquitous. Everyone is talking in watts and FTP now. The support structure is blooming and the direction of travel is probably as good as any amateur squad in the country.

And it's still only January...

Inside the Engine #1

Just for a change of emphasis and to maybe breathe some life back in to this blog, I thought I would post some insights in to the workings of Team Sales Engine time trial squad.

It's Boxing Day 2015. A note comes in on the team forum from Roy Robinson who rode the local Hitchin Nomads CC 'Boxing Day 10' time trial, and in doing so closes off the year's racing for our team.

The Boxing Day event is more of a social activity than anything too serious, but there is a number on your back and as such, it's a race. Given the team have been racing all over the country since March, when the season kicks off in earnest, this curtain call is quite a poignant moment. And not because of the performances, which incidentally have generally been fantastic during the course of the year, but because of what happened next.

Roy has been racing for donkey's years (and I hope he won't mind me stating that) and he has amassed so much experience and knowledge but following this final ride, he asked where his position on the bike could be improved for next year. Within minutes there were a range of really great suggestions, many of which were coming from relative newcomers to the sport, some of which came from old hands and experienced (and rapid) teammates. I've seen other clubs' forums and see people give no advice or worse, duff advice so that the rider in question can be kept 'in their place'. Not a bit of it in the Engine.

What struck me earlier in the year was Steve Franklin helping to put my own feet back on the ground with what appeared to be a throwaway comment regarding coaching. I was debating the merits of getting a coach, but being a coach couldn't see much benefit. Steve's comment, "I'm a guitar teacher, and I have three teachers." made the metaphorical light bulb go on for me.  It was just the little nudge that helped restore good-Karma to the ycling universe at the time.

A few of the guys have been struggling a bit for form over Christmas, given the multitude of bugs and viruses that seem to whack British-Man during holiday season. Again, the support and advice dished out and received has been overwhelmingly supportive. Most of the squad have already put in 8-12 weeks of monster training already ahead of 2016's season, a few days here and there on the sofa isn't going to matter a jot once the sun eventually comes out again.

So, if there's a point to today's little missive it is probably two-fold: firstly, everyday is a school day on (and off) the bike and secondly, if you are receptive and a member of a squad as good as ours the improvements will be plentiful and significant. You mark my words.

RTTC National Circuit Championship - 2015

I rode the RTTC National Circuit Championship at Thruxton a few days ago (Oct 19th 2015). A write up is on the Team Sales Engine blog.

Love this photo - war face and nice and aero

Really great event, well organised, great circuit and really fair conditions for all riders. Managed to get my 'war face' snapped on the circuit and the pictures are as follows. Last year's ride was a shambles as my chain developed a fault and caused me to have to put the bike in the recovery position whilst swearing at it with a mile left to race. There was an issue with Shimano 11 speed chains apparently. Gladly this year the bike was fab, the rider was in good enough form and the weather was dry but a tad windy.



I was 55th on GC and 8th in the National Masters A category. A nice way to end a season of several highs. Great to race this event with Sam Hayes again and also really good to have James Gomm in tow for Ostrich Curry and general mirth making.

The Italian Job - Passo dello Stelvio

Few places in cycling can rival the Alps for sheer scale. Even fewer can rival the Stelvio as the definitive mountain col. No matter the language, Stelvio Pass, Stilfersjoch, Passo dello Stelvio, this col, from whichever direction is brutal and beautiful in equal measure, I can attest to this having had a crack at it from both the Prato side and then the Bormio side.

With the Foscagna, Eira and Fuorn cols already in my legs and 60 miles traversed across Italy and Switzerland, the Stelvio beckoned. The next three hours were to be the most gruelling and educational of my cycling life. 

The climb begins by rolling from Prato allo Stelvio at around 3,000ft. The target is the summit of the pass which is around 17 miles away, and 6,000ft higher. The pass is only bettered in altitude in the Alps by the Iseran. What unfolded was an almost religious experience. There are 48 hairpin bends on the climb from this side. The first three (48 to 46) take a while to appear and an even longer period to complete, a purgatorial prelude. I had ridden with Simon Wilson and James Gomm to the first hairpins, and then pushed on alone for 85 minutes of steady tapping on my 36*28 gear. A gearing which was way too big for the circumstances but which was good enough to crack a 5-6mph average speed. 

I could see Simon on the lower slopes, hovering around 200-300 yards back, he was going steadily and James was not far off him. As we progressed the ~10% gradient was becoming harder to deal with, but the real kick in the teeth was the increasingly windy and wet conditions. The rain had become a full-on storm and the wind was now gusting 35mph. 

At hairpin 22 several of our colleagues who began the day with us began to abandon. As a trio we were riding just on the edge of the storm, the only break in the gloom was the dozen or so Ferraris that were being thrashed along the pass. I'm no petrol-head so the spectacle was wasted on me. At that point in time I was looking for road position, so the screaming engines were more of a distraction for me than a delight, I was weaving around the falling rocks and shattered branches from the overhead pine trees to try and manage my tyres from puncture. A puncture or mechanical at that stage would be terminal - quite literally.

Stelvio Pass from the summit, facing towards the Prato side, two days after the ascent of doom

At hairpin 10 the wind lifted me and my bike (the lovely Victoria) completely off the road. Boom! Welcome to the game son. The wind was increasingly ferocious. My thighs and calves were on fire. My focus was solely on getting to the top - the inner tester in me took over, 'I don't DNF and I'm not about to start now'. 

My kit was drenched and I was drenched. Fortunately it was good kit and I'd held off the elements as much as anyone could, this was now a purely head game. 

Simon went passed me, we exchanged glances and nods. We said nothing, like men on the gallows waiting for the drop. James went ahead and pushed hard for the top. It would take him 2 days to recover from that effort.

Getting to haipin 2 was the single most difficult physical thing I have ever done. Mentally it would be right up there too. Something akin to special forces selection I guess. Even my cramp had cramp. Twisted and contorted I pushed on.

The wind on the top of the climb was brutal, two of us sought shelter in a doorway until we spotted that the hotel at the top was open. We bundled for cover and then the enormity of what had happened set in. Shivering and shaking was the order of the day, a couple of co-riders came in, frozen and soaked to the bone. Blankets were conjured up by the hotel staff and lycra-layers were peeled off to stave off hypothermia, with modest effect. 

A support vehicle arrived, dry clothes appeared, coffee, crisps, biscuits were consumed with haste. And then the suffering began to relent as we took sanctuary in a commandeered minibus and trailer. Bormio please driver, don't spare the horses.

The summit monument to Fausto Coppi.

The day of the ascent would have been my late Father-in-Law's birthday, I didn't realise it till afterwards, as a great fan of Coppi Brian may well have been pushing me on somehow. That one was for you BP. The tales of the Stelvio and Cima Coppi are renowned for a reason but I now have my own personal post-script that will stay with me forever.  

My respect for this pass is now absolute.

The summit of the Gavia - what a difference a day makes

I feel the need, the need for.... ...a glass of celebratory Wine Society Merlot

Well I seem to have gone rather quickly in today's Chronos RT 10 mile time trial.

I posted 21 minutes and 44 seconds to be precise, which is 5 seconds quicker than my fastest time ever (set in 2014 on the F15/10 after a week of 18,000m and 500 miles-ish of Alpine climbing training).

I am going quicker now than I did 10 years ago. I must, therefore, be like a fine wine, maturing with age.

There can be no other explanation.

Thanks go to a support network in the shape of my team mates, in 'the Engine' and elsewhere - and a VERY supportive family who let me traipse around the East Midlands each weekend from April-September in pursuit of fitness, mental well-being and performance improvements.

F2A/10 Chronos RT - about 6 miles in. Thanks to Davey Jones for the pic.

I did smash my body and brain to bits into the prevailing headwind going out to the turn. Some would say there isn't much of either to smash.

Positive splits, it's the only way.

Some pointless data that only me and Steve Robinson care about.

It takes two baby

Last night I was treated to the following view for approximately 23 minutes and 36 seconds. 

But what is it viewers?

I am sure you are now trying to work out what it is. Or have clicked elsewhere in your browser having realised this is weird.

I'll help you out but bear in mind this is something that has been burnt on to my retinas over the past 24 hours.

If you have not worked it out, it is Steve Robinson.

More accurately, it is Steve Robinson's backside as viewed from about three inches away.

I like Steve a lot, he has been a friend for approximately 15 years. We have raced together for most of that period and we share a common love of Stewart Lee's comedy. He also has a van akin to Team Sky's Death Star. What's not to like?

But to spend half an hour that far from where his lunch would normally be exiting his body, takes some doing. And also some convincing, let's get that straight right now.

So, apart from a pastime performed in the Cannock Chase area by ex-professional footballers, what could we be up to? Well 'give me your answer do', if it wasn't whizzing along on a racing tandem.

Riding a 'normal' time trial bike at speed is exhilarating. Riding a 2-man version with no control over the front/pointy end but still attempting to make it go quicker is probably the comparable to static-line parachuting from 800ft, versus jumping off a Red-Bull-branded-space-balloon thingy in a flying-bat suit.

Tandem racing, it is the future. I have seen it, I have scoffed at it, my prejudice for the tandem was rivaled only by that of my disdain for the folding bike (and all forms of trikes).

But that was yesterday, before my road to Damascus (or Old Warden, Bedfordshire) moment.

My only lingering thought, apart from the visual scar (above) is that the words of the song 'Daisy, Daisy' and associated reference to a bicycle made for two, need to be struck from the canon of English language popular verse. Or at least it should be annotated along the lines of the following.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do,

(Translates to 'So long as the answer is not 'Slow-the-f**k-down!! We're going to die on that corner!')

I'm half crazy all for the love of you.

(Half-crazy? And the rest. Especially if you think we are going to smash 350 Watts up that hill.) 

It won't be a stylish marriage,

(Easy for you to say, you are not stoking this thing - I left my dignity and any residual style at the signing on point along with my £2 levy to the CTT.) 

I can't afford a carriage,

(Because you blew it all on carbon fibre, tandem specific wheels and modified Sugino hubs.)

But you'd look sweet upon the seat

(Sweet? Sweaty more like.)

Of a bicycle made for two

(Well, that is factually correct - so leave that line in)

I think HAL in '2001- A Space Odyssey' sang about this. Just before he fired his best mate out of the air-lock or similar. 

For the record, Steve (pilot) and I went round the Hitchin Nomads Briercliffe 10 course, which is not flat, in well over 25mph. That is half a minute quicker than I have ever gone on my own. Still grinning, although seeking therapy.