Condensed new year bilge

All things must come to an end and so it is with my 2008 Australian odyssey. Mostly it has been good, although I could have done without being deliberately knocked off my bike. More on that later.

Christmas was excellent. A family affair with much feasting and festivity. Immediate family members L, P, M+P healthy and expecting (not all of them though). AJ has found a new role as ex-premier Bob Carr's research aide, which seems to involve informing him what various cool sounding Latin phrases mean. S+N are overseeing the growth of H+N, who appear to be doing just fine. NJ is scraping by on the smell of an oily rag after his employer went belly up. Other members of the family are slightly deafer but are still possessors of considerable intellect, making for interesting conversation.

Joneses, mostly
© Jeff Jones
A small child's perspective of Christmas
© Jeff Jones
Capturing the crucial post-flame pudding moment
© Jeff Jones
N vs H celebrity deathmatch
© Jeff Jones

On the other side of the Family, J+J are happily ensconced at Fingal, and J is determined to ride his bike again. M, also up at the Bay, is much better than she was at this time last year. J+L are tops and are gettin' married. J+K are good, although I needed to talk to them a bit more. J+N are overseeing the growth of Z+I, who are also doing just fine. D is currently car-less in Tassie, owing to a minor problem with the transmission.

Mains (some)
© Jeff Jones
N+Z+J
© Jeff Jones
An echelon of snags
© Jeff Jones
Mains and Joneses, mostly
© Jeff Jones

I also caught up with J, A, D+S and we had an aborted swim at one of Sydney's northern beaches. Bit choppy but. And it rained after 20min so we had to have F+C and listen to the travesty that was the second test. Still, the chicken curry was tres noice.

Swimming was much better the next day darn sarf with J, who actually went for a ride with me. It was also nice to catch up with JV, who is pulling up stumps and moving a long way sarf west. And JC down from oop norf (but not that far norf).

Actual names are left as an exercise for the reader. Did I leave anyone out? Compression necessary because of the sheer number of relatives/relatives I saw in such a short space of time.

I almost hit 20,000km for the year - 2000 more than last year but 12000(!) short of my '99 record - and would have done had I not been assaulted by a couple of idiots in a car on Tuesday. Princes Hwy at the Wolli Ck lights just before Cooks River (heading north). I'd pulled up at the lights, sitting in the left lane, but not the left turning lane, behind a couple of cars. As I set off I noticed the car behind me was very close, but it had plenty of room to pass.

That wasn't his intention. The driver slowly drew up beside me, still very close, and all of a sudden I felt the bike pushed hard left, presumably by someone in the passenger seat grabbing the seatpost, and I slid off onto my arse into the left turning lane. I had a bag on, which cushioned some of the fall, and got off relatively lightly, taking some bark off on my right hand side but not ending up too bruised. The bike was fine. Of course I had to get off the road and by the time I did, the arseholes who committed this brave deed were too far away to get a good look at the number plate or who did it. The traffic was solid but not heavy and of course no-one else stopped.

There was a girl waiting at the lights who saw me come off and I asked her if she'd seen what happened, but she hadn't. I rode home, very pissed off, in half a pair of shorts, patched myself up and reported it to the cops. All I could remember was that the car was black, looked more like a commodore than anything else, it had a black and yellow number plate possibly with 8 O in it. I knew they couldn't do anything much without a number plate but it may help if something like this happens again. And I'm sure with Sydney's yobbo car culture that it will.

I rode a couple of hours the next day, just to get things moving again, but I'm not relishing 32 hours in planes, airports and trains tomorrow. It'll be good to get back to a less yobbish place though.

Anyway, on a more positive note, 2008 has actually been an amazing year for me, so I can't complain too much. I hope it has been for the readers of this bilgespot. And if not, then may 2009 be a good 'un. Merry New Year.

Saturnalia odyssey

Yeah
© Jeff Jones

Sun, sun and more sun. But not too much hot sun, which is good. That's the way it is in Australia, the country that has elevated taking the piss to an art form with the critically acclaimed Shane Warne: The Musical.

Thankfully, there was no repeat of last year's Royal Brunei Airlines induced disaster. The main problem was that it rained the night before I left, meaning that both the Bath-London line and the bloody M4 were cut. So no direct trains or buses. I ended up going via the south circular, which meant I had a total of 40 minutes to run home from the station, finish packing, run back and get the train.

The Air China flight was long but it worked. Even allowing for the fact that Beijing airport is as modern as it is dysfunctional. Note to Chinese: please put departure boards in more places. And please swap the 'International Transit' sign (which was the wrong place to queue up) with the 'Apec electronic business card holder' sign (which was the correct place. Obviously).

It was all good, really.

Besides seeing the family (about to grow by one) and not getting sick, the most important appointment was meeting up with Josh for an actual bike ride. He was primarily responsible for getting me into this cycling lark but it's been approximately 12 years since we last rode together. A two hour loop through the back blocks of northwestern Sydney was just the thing for renewing that bond and getting rid of jet lag. That was followed by a 'surf' at Palm Beach and beers at the Beach Hotel in Collaroy. An ideal way to spend a day, if you ask me.

Enjoying the warmth but wishing I'd brought another bidon
© Jeff Jones
Josh in climbing mode
© Jeff Jones

Pete and I also managed to get down to Heffron for the Christmas Pudding race. Initially I wasn't going to race, with excuses ranging from "I did 80km on the way down here" to "I've just started training again" to "my weird geometry bike is not suitable for the corners of Heffron". I was most worried about the latter, although given a few runs around the track, I could probably adapt to its strange handling. I'm starting to like it now.

In the end I pinned a number on and rode the B/C grade handicap, my first proper crit for three years. It was nice and steady but I made sure not to do any turns and not to contest the sprint. That would be poor form. Still, it was better than watching and I clocked up 130km for the day. Pete took some fine pics of the occasion here, none of which have made it into the CN race report. I took some dodgy ones here:

Spurge, Willo and Sutto on the start line
© Jeff Jones
Graeme Brown (Rabobank) wins the Randwick Botany Xmas Puddin' Race
© Jeff Jones

Training has been enjoyable and I feel quicker than I did at this time last year. Thinks: I was sick in bed at this time last year.

Happy Saturnalia.

Ice ice baby

I was going to start with the statement "It is happening again" but I already used that in May. There just aren't enough words to go around any more, especially ones related to Twin Peaks. What I do know is Julee Cruise sings as flat as you can get without actually changing key. Falling is an appropriate title for this song.

<hits pause on YouTube. There is silence>

That's better. What possessed me to do such a rash thing?

I'm attempting to get my phone line fixed after a couple of months of to-ing and fro-ing between TalkTalk and BT. There is apparently a short circuit somewhere, either from water getting in (I can't imagine how that's possible in Bath's arid climate) or some physical damage somewhere. If it's the latter, then it may explain why the heating doesn't work either. Fortunately, November and December are the warm months here, otherwise I might freeze to death.

I've resumed training after a lax November. Five days a week, working up to six or seven by January. I've decided to start a little steadier than last year to hopefully avoid getting sick. I also want to start racing a little later: April rather than March, although I'll probably still do the Chippenham hilly in March. Still haven't figured out what events to aim for, but I'll get to that in due course.

Given that it's typically 0°Ré in the mornings and the roads tend to be icy or muddy, or both, John has suggested lunchtime rides - just get into work earlier and take a longer lunchbreak. I think this is a sensible plan. The other sensible plan is going to Oz for a few weeks. It is happening again.

Jetsetting

It's so nice not to have to get up at the crack of 8am on a Sunday to go out ridin' in the [insert poor weather here]. Especially after attending a wedding the previous night, which came on the back of a relaxing week in Belgium, not to mention a lightning visit to the USA a couple of weeks ago. This end of the year has been a whirlwind/tornado/twister/dust devil/willy willy of travel, and it ain't over yet.

Firstly, the US trip was brillo. I went over there to write this article on Specialized's aero testing which was a lot of fun. Flew in on Saturday, out on Monday, the plan being to avoid jetlag. I'm not sure if it worked, because I felt knackered for the rest of the week, and it spilled over into the next week. Still, it was well worth it. Next time (fingers crossed) I'll go for a bit longer and Visit People.

That theme more or less continued the next week in Belgium. I should have caught up with more folks but spent most of the week chilling out at Reiny's place. I went to the Six on the opening night, together with Gab, Reiny, Gwen and Darren Young. The racing/entertainment was top notch again even if we did drink too many pintjes. It's amazing to see these guys fly around a 166m track for hours on end. Sometimes there are up to 12 pairs on at once, with each team member flinging the other one in at high speed, dodging the other riders around them. It's mesmerising to watch and I'm glad we were sitting in the stands and not in the middenplein, because that's a dizzying experience.
Spektakel
© Jeff Jones
Veel spektakel
© Jeff Jones
Darren looking rather relaxed at this point in the proceedings
© Jeff Jones

Darren and I were the last of the spectators left once the racing finished. He was up for more (I'm not sure if I was) so we headed home via a couple of student bars on Overpoortstraat. There was some kind of orientation week thing going on, because everyone seemed to be wearing a sash, either in Belgian, Dutch or some other colours. A Dutch guy explained it all to me and I remember listening and taking it all in but none of the words actually stuck. It was possible that we'd had more than our fill of drinks by this stage. Anyway, a good night was had. The next day ... pass. At least the rest of the week was overcome in relative sobriety. A spinning class helped.

These did have alcohol in them.
© Jeff Jones
With his hand-eye coordination still razor sharp, Darren beat me 7-6
© Jeff Jones
I don't remember taking this photo, but it will serve to illustrate the occasion
© Jeff Jones

I returned to Bath for Jess and John's wedding. I know them from the publishers group and many other fun occasions. They've managed to get married twice this year, once in July and once in November. I think the July one was just a mini one to make it legal, while this one was the Big Bash at the Guildhall.

John (and possibly Jess as well) has Scottish heritage so they had to have a céilidh, complete with live band, as part of the proceedings. These are a lot of fun - way more than normal dancing - because you are not expected to know what you're doing. It's also a good way of meeting people, as are weddings in general. Top marks, J+J.

Finally, I will state on the record that the Great Western Paddington Railway Band makes the Strathfield Orchestra sound very good. Oh the humanity.

Hvar II: The Revenge

Hvar. Sigh
© Jeff Jones

I last visited the Croatian island of Hvar a couple of years ago in the all too brief period between leaving Cyclingnews and starting on BikeRadar. I remembered it as a bit of an island paradise where the pace was much slower than on the mainland. I also remembered a lot of drinking and eating seafood with Slovenians, a bit of riding, a tunnel, and getting very wet and cold one day.

The second time was even better, because it was bone dry, above 20 degrees every day, windless and thanks to a fair bit of pre-holiday training, I didn't manage to poison my liver with excessive amounts of alcohol.

After flying into Ljubljana, I met up with the architect behind this and many other trips: Primoz Kalisnik. In these times of the credit crunch, I was amazed to find the family rabbit still alive. I guess they're saving it for winter.

I also learned that it was inadvisable to become an author in Slovenia: Varya, Primoz's better half, is also one of the best selling authors in the country. Despite this, she got paid a paltry 1500 euros for her last book! That's just wrong! But there's only one big publisher and they can dictate how much the writers are paid. When asked, the Slovenian Minister of Culture told Varya to suck it up: "That's how it is." Poor.

We left the next day for the long drive to Hvar. An ex-Olympic rower (bronze medalist too) called Jani brought his van and a trailer, which could accommodate eight of us. He drove at a ridiculous speed so we could make the ferry from Split in time. We covered the 410km from the Slovenian/Croatian border to Split in 3.5 hours, including a stop. That reminded me of the 1991 intervarsity when we drove from Sydney to Melbourne in Nick Blombery's car with a trailer load of bikes on the back. Averaged 120km/h and ran out of petrol in the middle of bloody nowhere. But we found some in Humula and somehow made it to the all-important team managers' meeting on time.

We averaged 120+km/h from the Croatian border to Split in this van and trailer
© Jeff Jones

It was much sunnier and warmer in Split than Ljubljana, as well as being dead calm. The harbour's blue-green water looked stunning as we boarded the ferry and cruised out past a huge bright red oil tanker. Coffee and beer were consumed on the trip, which took 1hr45, then another 30 minutes to Nikica's apartments in Ivan Dolac, on the other side of the island. Within 10 minutes of arriving, the first round of schnapps had been drunk, followed by bread, meat and cheese and then dinner and wine, all provided by our hosts. So very good. But everyone (Primoz in particular) seemed knackered and got an early night. No stamina :-)

Within 10 min of arriving, we had downed the first round of schnapps
© Jeff Jones
Serenity at Ivan Dolac
© Jeff Jones

The perfect weather continued the next morning and right through our stay. After brekky and kava (coffee) we headed off to Hvar, roughly a 60km round trip going over the highest point on the island at 442m. A dog accompanied us for about 10km, which shows you how slow we were riding. I'd been lent a Pinarello FP3 to test ride and rather nice it was too. I didn't even get it wet this time!

We stopped at Hvar for coffee (of course) and I had a small slice of cake for fortification purposes. It was a 30km return trip, after all. We then paid a visit to Jelsa for some more coffee before heading back to Ivan Dolac for a late lunch, wine, seafood, swimming, dinner, wine etc. You can see a certain pattern developing and I wish I could develop it more often.

This dog followed us all the way to bloody Jelsa
© Jeff Jones
Don't go in there!
© Jeff Jones
Action shot
© Jeff Jones
Me bike, a Pinarello FP3
© Jeff Jones
Looking out over some scenery
© Jeff Jones
Andrej (L), Dule (R) and Rado (back) get to the island's highest point
© Jeff Jones
As usual, we blended into the background
© Jeff Jones
mmm...cake
© Jeff Jones
The way home from Hvar was uphill, at times
© Jeff Jones
Me, Braco and his friend wot I can't remember the name of
© Not Jeff Jones

Some more of our party arrived very late in the evening, led by Mr Penko. Mark and Marjetka came with him, along with two other members of number one Slovenian ladies team, Alenka and Tjasha. Braco was also there with a couple of mates, as well as Dule the pig killer, Hauptman (who just survived a misdiagnosed intestinal inflammation this year and is riding again, minus some of his internal workings), Rado, Bane, Marko, Roman and a few more - 19 in total.

More wine was consumed, and I had the impression that some of the other guys were trying to make me drunk because we were planning the 120km ride to Sucuraj the next day. Many toasts followed, and the Others were very impressed with my rudimentary Slovenian. Dobro Utro.

But I had learned a trick with the wine which was very drinkable: add water and you won't get hammered. So the next day I was slightly woozy, but certainly no worse off than the rest. There were maybe a dozen of us who made the trip, and it was again fairly sedate although not quite as slow as the previous day. Mark decided to stretch his legs just before we got to Sucuraj and I followed him. We bombed down the last descent into the sleepy town and got our coffee order in before the others caught up. Braco was looking a bit cooked already, but still ordered a beer. The cafe owner remembered me from last time, as my bike had fallen in the water.

First stop on the way to Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones
The peloton en route to Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones
Downtown Sucuraj. The bistro is owned by a Kiwi by the name of Tony, I believe
© Jeff Jones
Tjasha, Alenka and Mark in Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones
Braco needed a beer at halfway
© Jeff Jones
Climbing out of Sucuraj. Some enjoying the pace, some not
© Braco
Climbing out of Sucuraj with Tjasha
© Braco
Always ridin'
© Braco
Jelsa
© Jeff Jones

On the way back, we split into groups as it was easier to ride at our own pace. I ended up at the front with Braco and his mate, who was a good ex-racer from 15 years ago, Dule, Rado and Alenka. I enjoyed the fact that it didn't rain, unlike last time, and I even needed to ration my water.

From last time, I remembered the second last descent as being sketchy in parts. My tyres were rubbish in the wet and I was shaking with fear and cold by the time I got to the bottom of it. This time around in the dry, there were no such problems. I easily kept up with Dule, who goes downhill very well, and it was nice to be able to conquer that little demon. I went at my own pace on the last climb and after waiting at the top, ended up with Braco's mate to ride through the infamous tunnel with. 1.4km, single lane, no lights. We did it with a car behind us, which was much safer.

Swimming, eating, drinking, etc. followed as the rest of the party rolled in. Mark and Mr Penko had sore arms after doing a lot of pushing in the rearward group. Marko, Marjetka and Tjasha all required said assistance.

Split, pretty noice
© Jeff Jones

Unfortunately, we couldn't stay an extra day and headed back to Ljubljana on Saturday. Jani had a wedding to get to that night, plus a marathon to run on Sunday (he'd more or less started his training in this final week). Dule also was due to run, so that was that. At least the drive back wasn't done at quite the same breakneck speed as going down. It was so much colder when we got back though. Amazing what difference 600km makes to the temperature.

That night, Primoz and I hooked up with some of the guys who had been selling running shoes to the masses before the marathon. It was actually hard to switch back to beer after drinking wine all week, but I sort of managed it. One of our drinking companions was also doing the marathon, and he proceeded to get battered so at least he had a ready made excuse. He was going to pace Jani the next day, and he did so until he pulled out with cramps. To his credit, Jani finished in under four hours, despite getting equally as hammered at the wedding. Slovenians seem to all follow the work hard and play hard ethic.

We did drag ourselves out at the reasonably godly hour of 10:30 the next morning to watch the marathon, which conveniently passed 100m from Primoz's house. We were at km 9 and saw the 20-strong group of elite runners come past after about 28 minutes. A few minutes followed, before the best of the rest started to trickle through. Then after about 40 minutes, it became a torrent of runners that lasted a good 20 minutes. 6000 in total, all looking pretty fit. Quite a spectacle.

The Kenyans and Ethiopians dominated the marathon
© Jeff Jones
This lot came through a bit later
© Jeff Jones

Feeling more inspired, Primoz took me on one of his regular training loops around Ljubljana. It's a brilliant place to train: lovely roads, beautiful scenery (autumnal now), lots of climbs and plenty of flat. We did 65km at a fairly modest pace, along the way meeting Uros who works on Bicikel.com, Slovenia's biggest cycling site. I have a Bicikel hat, gloves and socks that almost-but-not-quite match my Chippenham Wheelers kit.

I learned an interesting snippet of 'news' from Primoz about the 2007 Journo Worlds too. Apparently, the guy who was second in my category in the road race (I was third last year) got disqualified for not being a journalist! He also got DQ'd from his fifth(?) place in the TT, but that didn't bother me so much. I'm owed a silver medal now ;-)

On that bombshell...

[my internet broke last week, hence rather a slow update. That and I've been imbibing a few quanta of pale brown liquids most nights]

Jelsa, yeah
© Jeff Jones
Ouch, before the tunnel
© Jeff Jones
We go for a bit of a walk
© Jeff Jones
Serenity
© Jeff Jones
Hvar automobile classics
© Jeff Jones
Sigh, we're leaving.
© Jeff Jones

Two

In the wake of the recent financial crisis, I've decided to invest all my money into the Finnish derivatives market for nonalcoholic beverages. What's the probability that two Scandinavian countries will go bankrupt? Almost none, I would have thought, so I reckon I'm onto a winner.

Unfortunately, my cafetiere stocks devalued rapidly today: the cheap glass beaker broke when I poured some hot water into it. Possibly due to overuse. Still, it paid for itself after just one packet of coffee, so it's not so bad. I will invest in a more expensive, and hopefully more durable, replacement. It's been so nice to drink good stuff for the last two weeks.

In matters more trivial, I've almost finished racing for the year. The last one will be the Bristol South hillclimb up Burrington Combe this Sunday. Last year I did 8'07, but I think with the wind blowing the right way I can go under eight minutes. I'm last off but on paper I'm not the quickest: my minute man, if he turns up, is better. We shall see.

Last weekend was the Chippenham double header and it went rather better than I expected (won both days).

In the hillclimb up Bowden Hill (2.1km @ 6.3%) on Saturday, I clocked 5'05 to beat Robert Adams (5'12) and Robin Coomber (5'13). Last year I managed 5'19 for fifth, so it was a decent improvement. Rob Gough and Danny Axford did 4'54 last year and that sort of time is out of reach for me unless I do some specific training for it.

Now, five minutes sounds like nothing when you're used to riding for up to nine hours at a time. But believe me, it's many times more painful. You have to dig very deep into your anaerobic bank of courage (currently guaranteed by the Norse government) and it hurts way more than using your aerobic tank.

The first couple of minutes, which also correspond to the flattest section of Bowden Hill, are fine. But then you hit a 500m section that averages 12%, and you have to punch it up there as hard as you can. At the top, you're almost dead. Problem is there's still 500m at 5% to go.

Obviously I managed it better than everyone else did, which was the main object of the exercise. Robin was my minute man, and when I got to the top of the steep bit I heard 'Robin's two seconds up on you' from Simon, who had done the smart thing and not raced. I thought 'ok, I'm not going to pull that back, I'll just get to the top as best I can'. So while I could think relatively clearly, I just couldn't go any faster. Turned out that Robin blew up at that point and lost 10 seconds.

Robin, still in the big ring, was 2 seconds up on me at this point.
© Neil Davies
Owwwwww....
© Neil Davies

When I got out of the saddle near the top, my legs wouldn't quite go around the full pedal stroke. This is known as pedalling in squares, and it means you're not going so well.

I got over the line and Andy Cook was there saying 'do you want me to catch you?' but I couldn't respond, I was so cooked. Eventually I shook my head, did a 30 second warm down and collapsed on the grass next to Robin. We were both coughing and trying to reclaim that lost oxygen. I tried to talk to another lass who had finished her ride who I'd been meaning to catch up with for a while, but all that came out was an incoherent stream of pain-filled garble.

I was still coughing several days later and it's reminded me that I should not do too many of these events. They can't be good for you. At least I've only signed up for two this year, rather than four last year.

Naturally I was surprised and very happy to find out that I'd done the best time. I even got a special jersey, courtesy of British ex-pro Harry Lodge. Was the pain worth it? Hmm, not sure about that one...

I'm presented with my winner's jersey from Harry Lodge
© Jeff Jones
Harry Lodge with women's winner Anna Fischer
© Jeff Jones
Junior winner Jamie Richardson-Page gets his prize
© Jeff Jones

Gorillas in the mist

I couldn't sleep that night. My back was killing me and it felt like I had a full-on cold. But I had to get up, because the next morn was the greatly anticipated three-up team time trial on a 39km circuit between Chippenham and Wootton Bassett. It had one longer climb in it, up Lyneham Banks, but that wasn't so steep. There were a few other short sharp ones and plenty of false flats. It was also very very misty, and we were never quite sure if we were going uphill or down.

23 teams entered and the Chippenham A team of Ben, Simon and myself were one of the favourites. Our competition was VC St Raphael, with Phill Sykes, Colin Parry and Rowan Horner. On paper, I would rate them as better individual riders than us, but as I've learned so many times in the past, the team time trial is just as much about how you ride together as who you've got.

The plan was to rest Simon a bit before each climb, so that we could go as hard as we liked without putting him too far into the red. On the flats, we'd vary the length of turns depending on how good we felt. It worked out well.

I was going fine but was relatively rubbish on the corners, which was good for Ben and Simon who got a bit of a rest while I caught up. I think the only other time a gap appeared was when I pushed it a bit too hard going up the hill into Malmesbury (then got dropped at the bottom on the roundabout).

We finished in 53'34, an average of just under 44km/h which wasn't bad at all for that course on a cold, misty morning. VC St Raphael didn't quite get it together, and ended in 54'12, so we won! That was a big result for us, because VC have won it for the last three years in a row and I don't know how long ago it was since a Chippenham team won.

Apparently, we were only five seconds up on VC at 2/3rds distance, but that's when we started stepping on the gas so I'm not surprised we increased the advantage. Plus, they must have gone a tad too hard up Lyneham Banks, because we heard at the top, Rowan Horner had to stop and throw up. That sort of thing tends to reduce cohesion and synergy.

There was one composite team that did 56'35, another that finished with two riders (doesn't count) in a similar time, then the Chippenham Vets team with Chris Tweedie, Mike Andrews and Gary Walker did 1:00:02. They actually won more money than us because they took the vets prize as well as third. Nice one lads!

I've spent the rest of the week trying to recover, aided(?) by multiple beer drinking sessions. Roll on the off-season.

Woo hoo! Chippenham 3-up winners: me, Simon Snowden, Ben Anstie.
© Jeff Jones

Postcrypt

While I'm at it, I may as well update the blog with the Bristol South hillclimb results. I don't actually need to do that because you can see them here. Suffice it to say and as I expected, I was well beaten by my minute man, Tejvan Pettinger, who clocked 7'21 compared to my 7'39.

On the plus side, I was nearly half a minute quicker than last year, but it still wasn't good enough. I estimated an average of 420W for the 3.2km @ 5.9% climb. To win, I'd have needed another 20W and 2kg off the bike + rider (thinks: must get lighter bike and stop drinking beer. Thought process = fail. Do you want to restart Now or Later?)

Time passes. Computers get rebooted.

So that's it for the racing. It's been a Pretty Good Year, as Tori Amos would sing. 15 wins (12 opens, 1 series, 2 journo worlds, club TT championship and a couple of club records). I can't complain about that. Fitness wise, I think I'm about the same as I was in the second half of 2006, when I was going reasonably well in Belgium. But I know I'm much more suited to time trials than kermises, because I can't sprint. A top 20 in a Belgian kermis is worth a win in a UK open TT.

Next year? We'll see. Some different goals, I think. I'd like to do a few more road races, plus some longer TTs, more national-level events, and break 20min for a 10, and possibly 50min for a 25. That's not easy though. I hope the weather is better.

This week: off to Hvar for a bit of riding and drinking with Primoz et al. I last went at the end of the 2006 season and it was fantastic. Although I suspect I'll have trouble keeping up on the drinking front...

Victory (again)

I did it. At the behest of my sister, I invested in a cheap cafetiere and some better-than-industrial-grade coffee. Thus, I could skip the canteen queue for a cup of Costa blandness this morning and try it out.

I may have slightly overestimated the amount of coffee required for the cafetiere's one litre capacity. Because despite then filling it up to the top with hot water, I ended up with just two cups of java. Each one a wee bit stronger than your average three-shot grande Americano, and a hell of a lot tastier.

Both MCole and I perked up after downing our cups (with the aid of spoons).

I will need to repeat this experiment. As a sort of non-blind control, I got a Costa Americano at lunchtime to compare, and it actually tasted blander than I remembered. Of course, my taste buds might have been completely obliterated by the morning brew.

Rain, would you believe it?

After a nice two week spell, the weather has again taken a turn for the worse. It's not only getting cold, it's also been very wet in the past few days.

So I don't quite know what possessed me to get up at 5:30am on Sunday, ride out to the M4 in the dark and the rain to meet Mr Snowden, drive to Gloucester and race a hilly 25 mile time trial. Still in the rain. It was round 11 of the Hardriders series but I've already won that so I didn't even have to ride this one. And looking at the weather forecast for the weekend, I'd more or less talked myself out of it, plus it's the end of the season, I'm feeling slower, pathetic excuse, whinge, blah, etcetera.

I suppose the lure of being able to ride my bike fast was irresistible. Also, when I saw the course in August I really wanted to ride it. It's out and back along smooth roads with a number of undulations. The course record of 55'47 was set by Rob Wood in this event last year, so I suppose that was my target. Unfortunately, the wind was against us on the longer, uphill leg on the way out, which when combined with the constant rain made it too big of an ask for me on the day.

I warmed up by sitting in the Maisemore village hall until about 15 minutes to go, then jumping on the bike just to get the legs going. The lass who started in front of me (it was her first 25 miler) followed this strategy but it didn't quite work out for her as she punctured at the turn and had to get a lift back. She seemed remarkably chipper about it despite having driven over from Oxford to do it. Everyone who does this sport is mad.

Once I got going, the rain didn't bother me so much, because the course isn't that technical, and when you're putting out 330 Watts through the drivetrain, you're also putting out another 1200W of heat, which was just enough to combat the wind and rain chill. The wind was a bit problematic. I needed to get off the bar extensions whenever the road curved around 90 degrees to avoid being blown around by the crosswind. There was also a ploughing competition on a field next to the road, which meant a lot of mud on that section.

I overestimated the severity of the course going out - not always a bad thing - and ended up with too much left in the tank for the shorter, downhill return leg. Thus I clocked 32'30 for the 21.5km out and 24'00 for the 18.8km return. Put those numbers together for a total of 56'30, which wasn't bad for the conditions and easily good enough to win. I have no idea of my power because I was using a different wheel.

Only two others got under the hour: Dean Robson in 58'23, then Dave Kiddell (who has beaten me a couple of times this year) in 58'53. Simon finished 5th in 1:01:28 and Phil Gwynne 19th in 1:09:29 to give us the team prize (yay!). Phil said afterwards he nearly gave up until he realised that he was our third rider and had better put his head down in order to win the princely sum of seven quid.

Some really suffered in the cold though. Severn RC's Paul Chapman was shaking all over when I saw him getting changed in the HQ. He'd done just under 1:10 so was out there a lot longer than I was, and wouldn't have been putting out nearly as much heat. And he didn't have a long sleeved base layer on. Owwww. His teammate Matt Burbridge, who I caught right near the end, was also a shivering wreck in the HQ, and plenty of others had blue lips. Toasted and buttered tea cake helped.

I think I survived a bit better than most because I've put on a kilo in the last few weeks (courtesy of tea cakes, beer and chocolate), plus I was wearing my long sleeved woollen base layer, which is absolutely brilliant in the wet, and I had a nice dry set of clothing when I got back to the hall. That doesn't completely absolve me of nutterdom, but at least I know how to minimise the discomfort.

Three more races, then that's it for the season. Two of those are hill climbs, which I have very little chance of winning, and one is the 3-up, which looks like it will be very close between Chippenham and VC St Raphael. They have the better riders on paper, but we have home course advantage...

Coffee wars

This week, it came to pass that the coffee in our deli (which is better described as a canteen but I'll let that one pass) changed from Starbucks®^TM to Costa^TM®. Much more than that has come to pass this week, but most of it was coffee. Or what passed for coffee (and beer, of course).

Note: the duplication of words and symbols in the above paragraph is purely intentional and is because I'm on an economy drive at the moment. Two things have led me to this sorry state of affairs: credit and crunch. And although I know nothing of the crunch, you have to give me credit for trying.

Back to saving words, etc. (note shortened form of etcetera there. Cunning eh?)

You have a choice when you want to get a coffee in the mornings at work. But it's not much of one. You can either go to the deli/canteen, or you can get a free one from the machine. I've said this in the past, but the free stuff is what I'd imagine Victory Coffee to taste like in 1984. The book, not the year.

Matt Cole seems to live off it. Each morning he goes for a 96, which is called a latte on the machine but, well, you know how it will turn out. Sometimes he can drink it, sometimes not. I think it depends on whether they have refilled the machine with coffee. When I'm desperate I go for a 98, which is a caffe mocha. It's a real mockah. And of late, I've been opting for a 91 - a black espresso. At least this only has instant coffee and water in it, so you can't go too far wrong. I still managed to do so today. What an abomination.

But if I'm feeling affluent - as I often am at 9:29am - I pay £1.20 for a grande Americano (a medium black coffee). The Starbucks nomenclature is weird, because tall is small, grande is medium, and venti is a massive bucket. But it's mostly Italian so it must be coolio, right?

This week, with the introduction of Costa coffee, the deli/canteen barista-in-chief tried to impose a more sensible regime based on Costa's measures. For example, medio was medium, and still Italian too. And if you asked for a grande, you'd be directed to the correct version on a bit of paper on the counter, a bit like Funkyzeit mit Bruno telling the Pastor that he has to say 'ach ja' or 'nicht nicht'. Brilliant eh? Had I been feeling clear-headed on a Monday morning, I might have twigged and said the right thing, but I was somewhat distracted by the next person in the queue and we only barely managed to get the right beverages, let alone their correct portion names.

I've since noticed that the piece of paper on the counter has vanished, thus have continued to order Starbucks grandes instead of Costa medios. They are both mediocre of course, but in their own special way. Starbucks coffee is over-roasted, whereas Costa coffee is merely bland. The Costa cups are much better, though, because they're ridged so you don't need that stupid extra bit of cardboard to stop burning yourself. And the Starbucks cups and lids always had a tendency to leak, which was bad for the trouser dept. Oops, I just spilled some Röyksopp...

So I learned with great satisfaction from my visiting Antipodean colleague that Starbucks pulled out of Australia earlier this year. It just couldn't compete with the Italian and Greek cafes, of which there are literally billions.

Note: I won't sully this blog with training updates. It's been sullied enough.