The Tour of Narnia

Spring racing in scotland. Gales, snow and ice. I want to emigrate.

‘Its always winter in Narnia – always winter but never Christmas’

The Lion the Witch and Wardrobe – CS Lewis

‘This is the way the world ends, Not with a bang, but with a whimper’

The Hollowmen, TS Eliot

During a long day on the bike, and there have been few, your mind tends to wander a bit. ‘What do you think about when you are cycling for so long?’ Is not an uncommon question. If I am honest I find it very difficult to have any productive thoughts when I am cycling. I come back no wiser after a bike ride than before. There are seldom any insights to be had. When I get fatigued I find even the simplest of arithmetic difficult – like how long it will take me to cycle the last few miles home. Any thoughts deeper than what I’m going to have for dinner are pretty useless.  Today I found myself trying to figure out what chocolate eggs have to do with Easter. The only thing I could come up with was eggs were a symbol of the stone that Jesus rolled back from his cave – hence why you roll eggs down a hill.  Which is, of course, total nonsense. Then I realised I was so cold that I had better pedal harder to warm up.

I get suckered every year. Every. Single. Year. We have a beautiful couple of days in late February or early March and I proclaim to all who are willing to listen that winter is over. In a flurry of excitement I wake the hibernating summer bike from its slumber and get it dusted down, apply new handlebar tape, give it a polish and a smear of oil and make sure the tyres are pumped up, tight as a drum.  I rummage in the depths of my cupboard and pull out the short sleeved cycling tops that have not seen daylight since September. No sooner have I prepped the steed, and organised my summer wardrobe than winter swoops back in and bullies the infant Spring into submission. Every year it happens, and every year I fall for it. When will I learn?

This March has been particularly cruel. When will winter piss off? I have had more than enough already. Whatever point winter is making, it has made it loud and clear, beat it and let the spring have a say. It seems like we have had snow every day this month. Every race I have entered in March has either fallen to the weather, has been re-routed or has been subject to a late ‘pitch inspection’. Conditions have been tough, to say the least.

Cycling in the snow is not easy. Aside from the fact that it is cold and all exposed skin gets a stinging sandblast. Vision is difficult too, if you wear glasses then the snow sticks to them and you can’t see properly. If you remove your ‘bins’ you get snow in your eyes, which is uncomfortable, and you cant see properly. You can always keep your head down to shelter from the snow, but then you can’t see properly. The only (imperfect) solution I have found is to close your left eye, move your head 45 degrees to your right in the hope that your nose and your eyebrows afford your right eye some shelter from the snow.  There are numerous problems with this approach, the main one being that you have limited depth perception, a serious handicap when on fast moving bike. Secondly, one closed eye and a contorted face can give on coming traffic the impression of a lascivious wink. A fully grown man in lycra winking at passers by in the snow is probably grounds enough to get you on the ‘register’.

I don’t have a big nose, so there is limited shelter to be had when hiding behind it. In short, no matter what you do, when it snows, you can’t really see properly.

It’s all relative though, I guess. The beast that is this March has been magnified by the beauty of 12 months ago. This time last year we were in the middle of a heat wave. I remember marshalling the annual Nightingale APR in shorts, t-shirts and flip flops. Although a beautiful March was followed by a wash out until August. I am not sure what is worse.

The Lake APR was held last weekend. This is one of the two races that my club (The Glasgow Nightingale) put on annually. It takes a big effort to put a race on and it involves large numbers of the club members turning out to help. Most of these guys don’t race, so they really are doing something for little return. I managed to get a start in the race. Given that I should have been helping put the race on, I am very grateful for.

An APR (Australian Pursuit Race – no idea where the name comes from) is a handicap race. Other races that I have been involved in are ranked so that you are always in with a category of other riders who are of roughly the same standard. In an APR anyone can enter, however each rider is handicapped, roughly according to ability. The weaker riders in the race get a head start and the strongest riders set off last. As ever with cycling, but perhaps more so in an APR, you are both competing against, and dependent upon those in your group, which gives it an interesting dynamic. If you work together you stand a chance of holding off the better riders and catching those who set off first. If the handicaps are calculated well, then the whole race should come together towards the closing stages.

The conditions for the race were tough. There was a very strong, cold wind blowing. There was snow piled high on the sides of the road. It was barely above freezing but when you added in the wind chill factor it felt nearer -4. The route was 2 laps of a circuit so there were headwinds, tailwinds and cross winds to deal with and as a result the race blew apart very quickly with riders scattered across the course.

I was riding well and feeling strong, we were working fairly well as a bunch, with each rider taking a turn on the front. The pace was high and as a result a number of our group had been shelled out the back. Whilst at the back of the bunch I snatched a look round to see the scratch group (aka ‘the big boys’) off in the distance, approaching fast like the cavalry in a western pursuing the hero outlaws. The tactics of the race change somewhat when it becomes inevitable that you will be caught. Rather than battling to stay away from the bunch you start thinking about conserving some energy, then jumping on the back of the bunch as it comes past.

When our group turned a corner I glanced back again to see the scratch group almost upon us. I turned round to find that the bike in front of me was not where I expected it to be. We touched wheels and the next thing I knew I was lying in a ditch on the side of the road staring at a leaden sky.

Whilst I was contemplating life and the universe the scratch group roared silently past. I didn’t even notice that they had over taken me until I had untangled myself from my bike and looked up the road to see my group scattered across the road in the wake of the cavalry charge.

I quickly checked all appendages to make sure nothing was missing from either the tumble, or the cold. Then jumped back on my bike. Its much harder cycling on your own than in a bunch, so your only hope is a short hard effort to try and get back. If you don’t make it back within a few minutes then it is likely that you’re not going to and your afternoon will probably be over. I managed to hold the group to the same distance away for a time, before they started to pull away.

I gave them up for lost and settled into my own rhythm, hoping that I could perhaps pick up a few stragglers and form a group to help with the long ride home.

Then a group of about 10 riders came up fast behind me. I jumped on their tails and settled in for the ride. Within about 3 miles 10 had become 5 and the pace had started to quicken. It was eye balls out and chew the bars type stuff. These guys had originally been in the scratch group but had been caught cold by an early attack and were themselves trying to get back to the head of the race. They were a class or two (or four) above me and I wasn’t able to contribute much to the chase. My main focus had become holding onto the contents of my stomach. In my mind not throwing up on my new riding pals was contribution enough, although I didn’t feel that this sacrifice was fully appreciated! It was a case of grim survival for me. If my heart hadn’t been concentrating on not exploding through my chest, then she would have been lifted by the sight of my original group just up ahead. Alas I was cooked by then, and was yo-yoing off the back of the chase group. With each ‘yo’ it became more and more difficult to get back to the shelter of a back wheel. When we were within about 20 yards of the bunch ahead the elastic finally snapped. As my new amigos breezed through the larger group, I was left in no mans land, desperately trying to close the gap on my own. Despite turning myself inside out the gap stayed at a stubborn 20 yards. Then I blew completely.  I was about 3 miles from home, but I had nothing left, I limped home on my own. This is the way the race would end, not with a bang but a whimper.

There are positives though. I later found out that the group I was in contained ex pros and Scottish champions. Exulted company. There is no shame being busted by riders that much better than me.

I mainly cycle with a blank mind, simply concentrating on the immediate task at hand. Occasionally thoughts do come other than easter eggs and the scripture. Today I wondered if Bradley Wiggins was the complete cyclist. It wasn’t his multiple track gold medals, or his TdF victory, or his Knighthood that confirmed my decision that he was. No, as I ploughed through Newport on Tay in what felt like a blizzard, I realised that he had the gift of an unnaturally large nose, probably the biggest in the professional peleton. That surely gives him a competitive advantage. Especially if he were to race in the Tour of Narnia.

The clocks go back this weekend, everything is now set for summer to start. Light nights mean less time on the turbo and more in the open air. Cycling can start to be fun again. But then according to TS Eliot, it is April, not March that is the cruellest month. So maybe it will get worse before it gets better.

I’m off to console myself with an Easter egg and await some divine inspiration.

From St Andrews

N

PS A huge thanks to Scott Smith for organising the APR and the purvey afterwards. Great effort Scott. Looking forward to seeing you back on the bike.

If you would like to sponsor me then you can do so here:

http://www.bmycharity.com/nkemp

That Sinking Feeling

The worlds first bicycle

Hands up if you know who Kirkpatrick McMillian is? Come on, don’t be shy. Anyone?

How about John Boyd Dunlop? Or John McAdam?

I am guessing that a fair number of people who read this blog will have at least a passing interest in cycling and a few others will be Scottish. If you fall into either of these camps and you don’t know who these gentlemen are – then you really should.

There are a few places that can claim to be the spiritual home of cycling. The Italians, Belgians and the French will doubtless have vociferous claims. But perhaps the South West corner of Scotland has the strongest claim of them all and that we don’t shout it from the rooftops is strange indeed.

You see, Kirkpatrick McMillian, of Keir, in Galloway, invented the bicycle in 1839. I wont lie to you. It wasn’t the fleetest of machines. Made of wood, with iron wheels and solid rubber tires, it must have weighed a tonne. No carbon or space age materials on this baby. Still, Kirkpatrick was able to get from Kier to Dumfries (14 miles) in an hour and even up to Glasgow (78 miles) in two days.

Dunlop of Dreghorn in Ayrshire invented the pneumatic tyre in1887, bringing a little more comfort and speed to our velocipedes.

And the last of this trinity (or chronologically the first), John McAdam of Ayr, invented tarmac. Bringing us smooth roads to race our bikes on. All of them born within a cycle ride of each other in Ayrshire and Galloway.  It’s remarkable that they were born so close to each other, but perhaps even more remarkable is that you probably didn’t know.

I found myself down in Dumfries again this weekend only about 30 miles from where the bike was invented.

There are so many unknowns in bike racing. Over the course of any race there are so many things that can happen, it makes trying to predict a winner very difficult. That unpredictability is what makes it so exciting. All you can do is make sure that you are as well prepared as possible. Physically, tactically and mechanically. All you can do is make sure that you give yourself as good a chance as possible to ride as well as you are able.

After last weeks race, I had high hopes of a good performance and good result. Having been caught out by the finish of the last race, I decided to get down there the night before and make sure I knew the course as best I could. I had planned where on the course I was going to attack and what my race tactics were to be. I was confident that I was as well prepared as I could be.

Unfortunately we have had some pretty horrible weather over the last few days. Lots of snow and as a result the race organisers changed the route of the race at the last minute. They decided, correctly, that taking us up over high ground wasn’t sensible given the snow. So all my plans went out the window. I quickly thought up some new plans, which amounted to try and stay at the tete de la corse, as the say in French and as far as possible stay out the gutter, as that where the potholes are.

Then 10 miles into the race I hit a pothole hard. Which wasn’t part of my plan. But when it’s wet, potholes have the ability to effectively disguise themselves as puddles. When you are in a bunch riding at race pace its hard even see the puddles far less try avoid them.

When you hit a pothole, there is always a jolt through your arms. You groan internally and hope that you are going to get lucky and not puncture. Without fail, just as you think you have got away without puncturing, you get the rattle through the handlebars the slight loss of control and that sinking feeling when you  know you have a flat, and that in all probability your race is over.

In pro races top riders always have a willing domestique to donate a bike to his team leader and another couple who will wait and pace the rider back to the bunch. Alas, at this level of racing all you can expect from a team mate is a ‘hard luck’ shouted over a fast disappearing shoulder.

It took me a while to change my wheel and I knew it was going to be a tough job to get back to the bunch. However, not knowing the course, I then missed a turn. I think the marshalls were sheltering from the atrocious weather and who can blame them? I battled on but ended up coming in second from last. Dumfries is a long way to go to spend a morning forlornly chasing down a peleton.

As another luminary of the South West of Scotland might say:

‘The best laid plans of mice and men,

Gang aft agley’

Kirkpatrick was ahead of his time, a visionary. Of that there is no doubt. I wonder if he knew how ubiquitous the bike would become? His bike provided little comfort for the rider and came fitted with solid rim tires. That was maybe because Dunlop wouldn’t invent the pneumatic tyre for another 40 odd years, I prefer to think it was because he knew how pot-holed the roads of Dumfries are. With no air in his tyres, there’s no chance he would have suffered from punctures.

Visionary indeed.

From Dumfries,

n

If you would like to sponsor me then you can do so here http://www.bmycharity.com/nkemp

100 Days

Oh dear, oh dear. Sprinting on the hoods and in the saddle (far left in blue). Bad form. Maybe that's why I get pipped for 5th place.

Your heart races, you cant sleep, your palms are sweaty, you have butterflies in your stomach, your breathing intensifies and your eyes widen…

Are you nervous or excited? Are they the same emotion, just viewed through different prisms? Yet everyone loves to be excited, but perhaps not so much to be nervous, even if they cause the same physical reactions. Perhaps the difference between nerves and excitement is confidence. The more confident you are of success, perhaps the more excited you can become.

What were you doing on the second of December? It’s probably long enough ago that you don’t remember exactly, but close enough to have a vague recollection. For the record it was a Sunday, the first Sunday of the month, just after payday. Maybe you were nursing a hangover. Maybe you were out Christmas shopping. I had the Glasgow Nightingale CC Dinner. It was a freezing night, and a brutally cold and icy day. So, I sat inside and did a double session on the turbo trainer. Three hours on the hamster wheel. There was nothing memorable about the session, but I know I would have hated it.

The relevance? Well, the 2^nd of December was 100 days ago, and its 100 days until I start the Tour. The second of December doesn’t seem that long ago and that is looking back through the coldest, wettest weather and the darkest days of the year. Winter cycling is no fun. By the end of this month it will be light enough to get out during the evenings. The Wednesday night habble round the glen will start. Soon we’ll be cycling in shorts, t-shirts and sunglasses. Pedalling with the sun on our backs (in Glagsow?!). Cycling will become fun again and the time will race by. 100 sleeps. It’s not long. Things are starting to get very real, and very exciting.

After the fun of the two up Time Trial last month the racing season also started in earnest this week, with a Fourth Cat race down in Dumfries. It’s a long way to go for a race, however the rest of the country was treated to heavy snow showers, which had the races closer to home cancelled, so the journey was worthwhile. Especially since I managed to get a 6^th place finish and win my first points of the season. However, in perhaps the most controversial refereeing decision since Les Mottram inexplicably chopped off Paddy Connolly’s rasping volley against the Harry Rags back in early nineties (yup, the defender handed the ball to the keeper), I was awarded 7^th place. I await the outcome of the stewards enquiry with interest…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKuLtLXl7FI

Last week also saw me get back on the track at the Wednesday night track league. I managed 1 third place and 3 second places in the four races.  I am definitely making progress.

I am back down in Dumfries this weekend for another race. If I can manage another top 10 finish then I’ll win some more points and take further steps towards getting my category 3 race license, which was one of my big goals for the year. I need to get 10 points. A top three finish will see me get my promotion. However, as sporting pundits are apt to say; that will be a ‘big ask’.

I am pleased where I am with my fitness and form and there is still time to get stronger before I head to France. As my fitness grows, so does my confidence, and thus the nervousness fades and gives way to excitement. Things are becoming more real, I can almost see the start line now. I am still nervous about the road ahead, after all it is still a massive challenge, but I am also beginning to get excited.
100 sleeps.
From Dumfries,
N

If you would like to sponsor me then you can do so here http://www.bmycharity.com/nkemp

My Fifteen Minutes

Andy Worhol reckoned that in the future everyone would be famous for 15 minutes. This has always concerned me slightly. I have no wish to be famous, even for 15 minutes. It seems like an awful lot of bother. Especially as I sit here in my paint splattered and ripped jogging bottoms with a sink full of dirty dishes. If I was famous and the paparazzi were camped outside my flat the pictures wouldn’t be particularly flattering. I don’t have any curtains, you see. If I became famous I’d need to go out and buy curtains. Nothing fills me with greater dread than the prospect of having to go and buy curtains. So if you don’t mind I’ll leave the fame game to those who are well disposed in the curtain department. Or at least postpone it until I get some curtains.

No, it’s not me that I am concerned about when I think about Worhols 15 minutes. It was those who actually wanted to become famous. Before I had developed my aversion to curtain purchasing I had thought fame might be a bit of a wheeze.

Although I grew up in a small town, it was large enough to have a newspaper, but not large enough for anything interesting or newsworthy ever to happen. Thus, the paper was filled with mundane stories about lost cats and charity tombolas. If anything happened in St Andrews, and I mean anything, it would appear in the St Andrews Citizen. When I was a kid, like every other kid in the town, I often graced its pages – for nothing more noteworthy than playing for the St Andrews Colts U11’s, playing for the School Rugby and Hockey teams and once gaining a ‘highly commended’ rating in the annual Junior Hortus Daffodil growing competition (I have only recently discovered that everyone who entered gained a ‘highly commended’ rating, which has somewhat devalued that particular achievement).  However, perhaps the zenith of my press appearances was when I won a competition to design a poster for a new flavour of ice cream. The prize was a knickerbocker glory served at the Old Course Hotel and I got my picture in the paper. Alas, I was both a gauche child and a younger sibling which meant that the picture in the paper was less than flattering. Me, in hand me down flared trousers and a jumper that could have doubled as a sail. I still remember searing playground critique of my sartorial choices the next day.

‘Ho! Kemp! I saw you in the paper. Where’d you get those trousers? Fine Flares?’

Nah – fame wasn’t for me. At least not whilst my brothers taste in clothing was still so rotten. But if Warhol was right you might not have a choice. So I was quite happy getting my name in the paper every so often in the hope that it would use up my 15 minutes. However it seems like I didn’t quite use up all of my allotted time. The media heavyweights of both the St Andrews Citizen and the Kirkintilloch Herald have picked up my story and have run a piece on my challenge.

I’m off to Remnant Kings – I hear they have a sale on.

From Glasgow,

N

If you would like to sponsor me, then you can do so here http://www.bmycharity.com/nkemp