In no particualr order these include:
- The Max Wall lookalike from the [Name of Club witheld] Road Club rolling around on the floor as though he was the focus of some form of slow motion exorcism. It wasn't a pretty sight. I'm sure Chris Froome doesn't have to dodge the slowly flayling limbs of humanity's least congruous cyclists.
- The aroma of the early start, which Nigel Tooke oft recites as a "melange of faeces and embrocation". He's not wrong, that's exactly what it is.
- The pensive gaze of the organiser as riders breach the "no cleats" on the floor rule.
- The inordinately long queue for the single lavatory, made worse by the steel wool which is provided by the Hall owners to remove any collateral damage from the post-colonic evacuation which is inevitable given the mass arrival of 100 blokes who have driven quite some distance at five in the morning.
- The demand for hot water and tea outstripping the supply capabilities of the single water heater.
Experience is a good teacher though and as a responsible
We could not really legislate for the cathartic Yoga experience but we could at least walk around it. The way to deal with the olfactory assault was to avoid being in the HQ other than to sign on and retrieve a racing number. Being armed with a roll of Andrex Aloe Vera soft toilet roll was also a boon. I'd like to see Cyclist Magazine or Urban Cyclist do a review of "Which Bog Roll?". No doubt a Rapha Loganberry infused Tartan Ar5ewipe would win the "shoot out". And "shoot out" was a good description of my own private battle with the ladies' loo as my pre-travel coffee worked its magic. That's right, the ladies' loo is the "in place" if you want to avoid a queue. It's also pink which is easier on the eye and it doesn't have an open guttered urinal. Fortunately there are few women time triallists so it's fair to say that I was simply using the resources available so as to prevent the flush handle in the gents' from being over-used. And yes, I did leave it in a clean state. Well, clean for a bloke.
The HQ does have some new cupboard doors but other than that, it has hardly changed at all. And it's probably not changed since 1953 let alone 2003.
The racing is merely the filling in the sandwich, three of us PB'd but the post-ride car park was full of the usual cliches and excuses about the "wrong tyre", "doing a road ride last week too hard", "the wind being Nordic and not Baltic", "one's biorhythms not being aligned to the phase of the moon" and so on. Similarly the range of post-exercise recovery nutrition still features Nescafe Gold Blend instant and Tesco Value Victoria Sponge (50p per slice). A see of middle-aged/ elderly and portly men with clipboards and startsheets waving betting shop pens as though they were at the press conference at the end of the Tour De France also adds to the atmosphere. The amount of squinting at the results board signals that the riders and results junkies are getting older and more longsighted (I'm sure the writing is much smaller).
I found the experience to be wholly rewarding. Given that both Nick and James are relative newcomers to the whole "Tempsford experience" I felt like I'd taken them to visit an elderly, scarcely sane relative just to show them that indeed Aunt Agatha is as mad as a box of frogs. Plus they got to use the team loo roll.
Here's to revisitng Tempsford in 2023.
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