The weather yesterday was balmy, with the race run under clear blue skies, little wind, blazing sunshine, with the temperature hitting the mid to high 20s by the finish. Although only on the reserve list I was fairly sure of getting a ride, and signed on as no 61. With typical thoroughness, my preparation had been painstaking. What I should have done after signing-on was recce the finish, which was off the main circuit. What I did do was kill time reading a book, and still missed the pre-start briefing warming up.
The race was short (even by 3rd/4th cat standards) at 45 miles, run over 11 mile loops. The circuit was flat and largely exposed to what little wind that there was, and the race average was almost 26 mph (which is quick for a 3rd/4th cat race). There were a couple of moderately technical sections, one particularly gravelly corner which claimed one victim, and the “climb” was in reality nothing of the sort but still put a lot of riders in trouble. I knew I had a good chance of winning, but there are many unknowns in bike racing – not all of which are controllable.
It never ceases to amaze me that people can’t use the gears on their bike. It is simple to understand that you have 20 gears, with each one being progressively easier (or harder) than the preceding one. It is rare that you need to dump 3 or 4 gears immediately if you read the road yet on the first lap we hit the bottom of the climb and all of a sudden there’s a mad dash of slipping gears, people locking their legs up, and weaving all over the road.; really quite unnecessary. Of much greater danger than getting dropped was getting knocked off by someone who decided to stop on the short 8-10% “click”.
A break of two riders went away on the climb on the second lap and seemed to be working well together. We didn’t get any time cheques in the bunch but I would guess the gap was about 40 seconds, and probably went out to near a minute at one point. As we came to the end of the 3rd lap I thought the break might stay away, but I managed to get a sort of a chase together, and the break seemed to capitulate within 6 miles or so. Odd, as they had appeared to be riding strongly.
Having felt rubbish for the first couple of laps, I started to feel better, and fancied my chances more and more. My biggest concern was that there was a big bunch still together, and the course was not really suited to driving a break away. I also didn’t know what the finish looked like, but chatting to a few people in the bunch I gathered it was between 1 km and 1 mile from the turn off the main road, and the climb was “awful”. So everything pointed to sitting tight and waiting for the selection on the final climb.
There was one guy who had done a lot of attacking. I knew from the neutral zone (when I was riding next to him) that he was Belgian, but I failed to put two and two together to recognise that he was the only 2nd Cat in the race, having recently been made up. With about 5 miles to go he finally managed to get a gap. The bunch typically sits up and relaxes with a few miles to go as nobody wants to commit ahead of the sprint, and he took advantage of this. The bunch seemed very nervous and there was a lot of jostling for positions along the main road, ahead of the finish. With about a mile to go to the turn a big blue and white train came down the outside of the bunch with 3 or 4 riders in it. They’d sensibly put their big guy on the front and he drilled it to the bottom turn. I used the dynamic this created to move up and hit the turn in perhaps 8th place. Shortly afterwards I could see the climb which was one of those which looked impossibly steep from a distance– although in reality I suspect it was 10-12% sort of steepness. We could see the Belgian chap up the road doing a bit of weaving which just made the climb look steeper than it turned out to be.
I had learned that the finish was someway over the top – probably 600-800m as it turned out – and so I didn’t want to attack too early and have everyone sit on you. Similarly the climb was difficult enough that a lot of people were going to die, so I didn’t want to get stuck behind a slowing wheel. The best place in such circumstances is to be near the front and in the right hand gutter – and that’s exactly where I ended up. I got a bit lucky when the guy in front slipped his gears and I was able to nip round him. I certainly didn’t attack on the climb but followed a couple of wheels over the top and found myself on the back of a group of three, There was one more up the road, another guy in front of him, and then the Belgian who seemed to have got his second wind and was pushing on alone for victory.
As the gradient flattened we really needed to drive on and I did. We – as it turns out me as the other two got dropped – caught the guy in 3rd place within 100m or so, and he was pushing hard. Now I have a choice to make – attack him, or sit on him? I still didn’t know where the finish was, and couldn’t see the flag. The Belgian had about a 60m lead with the other chap in the middle, then the two of us – so I decided to sit on his wheel. He was pushing on reasonably well, and I had little doubt I could beat him in the sprint, as I was only at 90-95% at this stage. We were also catching the guy in 2nd place, so 2nd looked a decent shout.
The guy whose wheel I was on then looked over for help. Well that was the last thing he was going to get, and I jumped him hard on the right hand side of the road with perhaps 400m left to go. I caught and jumped the guy in 2nd pretty quickly, but it felt as I’d left it too late to win. The Belgian guy was riding well, and pushing a pretty big gear – which is not normally a sign of someone with no legs left. I just stuck my head down and drove on as hard as I could. I know I was catching him, and then I caught sight of him going for his zip. He was trying to zip his jersey up and if I had anything left I emptied it. I vaguely recall him starting to sit up and raise his arm as I charged on. My legs felt strong but I was well into oxygen debt, and my lungs felt like they would burst. It is at this point when it comes down to will power. The line is only a few metres away and there is plenty of time for breathing after that.
The line is coming up fast and I’m gaining. I know it’s going to be close. Sprinting for signs as a teenager helped to hone my lunge. A lunge is when you push the bike as far forward as you can to gain vital inches. And lunge I did. And that was it. I guess the sprint was at 30-35 mph (given the hill) so you roll on quite a lot after you stop pedalling. At this stage I didn’t know if I had won, or not. I was involved in a similarly close finish as a junior against a certain Roger Hammond (QED). On that occasion I knew I was second, despite the home support believing I had won. This time my gut feel was that I had won. I turned to ask the Belgian what he thought but there was no sign of him. It transpired that he had immediately turned and ridden to the finish to catch a train to Brussels.
I rolled back to the finish and asked the finish judge who had won. He told me the Belgian. Luckily there was both video of the finish, and a stills camera right on the line so I went to talk to the photographer. His view was that it was too close, and he went to look at the photos. Thankfully he had got a photo bang on the line.
I think you’ll agree it was very close, but clear who won. My first victory of the year after a brace of second places, and a fitting end to a fantastic season where I over achieved against all my objecties and now have a shiny Second Category racing licence to show for it.
Here’s some more shots from the finish as it unfolded. The angle makes me look a lot closer than I was.
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