Goodbye to the Specialized Epic Evo

Yesterday was my last ride on the S-Works Epic Evo. I've owned it since September 2022 and covered 3000 miles. It was my XC race bike and Sunday best on the weekends in-between.

The final ride was quite a send off. A 98 mile and 9 hour epic, largely along the Southdowns Way to Winchester. The Evo was efficient on the climbs, took care of me on the descents and smoothed out the ripples all the way there and back.

This bike was my reintroduction to full suspension after 13 years of hardtails! It took me time to get used to the inherent bob. Even if I couldn't feel it, I could look down and see the shock compressing and opening with each pedal stroke. Even if it was infinitesimal, after the clinical efficiency of a hardtail, I found that lost energy hard to come to terms with. In reality the movement was slight and as soon as I hit the trails I usually forgot all about it. 

The massive positive of the suspension was it meant I finally rode some of the local trial features and obstacles which I've been eyeing up nervously (and avoiding!) for years. The dropper post certainly helped a lot here.

Initially built up with a 100mm fork, the bike was transformed when I plugged a 110mm Rock Shox SID into the headset. The bike felt instantly more balanced. I really enjoyed riding this bike. It had an aggressive nature and wanted to be ridden hard. A great XC race bike. The 9.7kg weight certainly helped!

Somedays I liked the colour, as the orange sparkled in the sunshine. On duller days it reminded me of the sensible car an older "more mature" driver might choose. Jazzy brown! 

The EVO is one of my shorter lived bikes, which is partly because it has lead me to quickly trying another full suspension rig. All will be revealed later this week.

Southern XC - New Forest Race Report

I last raced at Crow Hill in the New Forest 5 years ago, pre-Covid. It was at the Southern Area Championships and I double punctured that day, both rear and front tyres, rolling home in a disappointed 20th place. I went into this Sunday's race at Crow Hill with very different expectations; I'd be thrilled to get near to the top 20!

I've got the racing bug again after the Torq event a few weeks ago. I'd loved the buzz and adrenaline fuelled excitement of pushing myself as hard as I could, even the burning legs and screaming lungs! Also Crow Hill would be my favourite course now we seem to have lost access to Windmill Hill at Deepcut.

It is almost just as long since I last rode a Southern XC and experienced all the structure and regulations that come with a British Cycling sanctioned event. I knew it was going to be a tough day up against the best riders in the area, and some of the big names in the country.

A blustery wind was blowing, but the sun was shining and there was no sign of the forecast showers as I let the kids out of the back of the car. The race coincided with half term so I'd brought along my entire support team! My daughter has never seen me race and my son was only a toddler when he last came along, which feels strange when bike racing has been such a large part of my life. The fact they had come along was added motivation to not show myself up, as I realised I would be racing near the back of the field and I really didn't want to come last!

Soon after starting the practice lap I realised how hard the day was going to be. It had obviously rained heavily overnight and amongst the trees the course was very muddy and cut up from the mornings racing. Which reminds me. In all my years of racing I think this is the first time I've ever raced in the afternoon. The start time of 3pm had given me the unusual experience of a leisurely start to the day and not the usual early morning alarm and mad panic that often follows.

Back to the course. It was very churned up in places and some of the dips and depressions in the route were almost un-rideable. I was having to put down a lot of power just to keep moving forward, probably a too much effort for a practice lap. Then I got into the familiar bit of the course, where it undulates up and down, which is historically the bit that really suits me. This too was hard going, making the first half of the lap really tough. The second half although still a bit greasy was more flowing and less energy sapping, until the final killer climb up to the finish.

As I haven't raced yet this year I was gridded on the back row in 29th. On the starters whistle we sprinted off around the wide grassland loops created to help the field spread out before we hit the woods. I made a good getaway and made up a few places, then got baulked and gave some back before sneaking up the inside of a couple of people as we got into the sticky muddy bit in amongst the trees. 

We slithered around, rear tyres fish tailing left and right, throwing mud up into each others faces. It would have been quite funny if my heart hadn't been trying to escape from my chest! Eventually we settled into single file and I was pleased that there were people behind me! In fact in reality I was being held up, but instead of barging through I caught my breath as I sat in behind the rider ahead for a few minutes. When the course opened I snuck past, but the rest the pack were now almost out of sight. A couple of other riders who had also obviously been held up, came past me and I tried to go with them through the undulating section I remember so fondly. In previous years this is where I used my strength on the short punchy climbs to make up positions and time. Today I was just about able to hang on to those ahead.

I was deep into my red zone, there was no way I could keep this pace up for four laps. So in the more flowing section of the lap I took the chance to get what recovery I could.  After a few minutes of what I thought was an easier pace I checked my heart rate. It still read 168! When racing there is a different level of recovery.

The leading Grand Vets came past at the beginning of lap 2. I had to take some alternative and muddy lines to let them past which cost me a little time. In fact I almost lost control of the bike at one point, typically right in front of Steve who I regularly ride with at home.

For the next two laps I pushed as hard as I dared on that tricky tightrope of going as fast as possible without blowing up. I did lose a position and although I tried to hang on to his wheel for a while I had to let him go. As the end of the lap approached a rider caught me. I hoped he was a Grand Vet and was quite pleased when he surged past me up the final climb as I thought he was sprinting for the finish of his race. The line came and went and he continued for a 4th lap - he was a Veteran just like me. 

I chased him back down and hugged his rear wheel around the grass opening loop. We approached 4 kids standing beside the course behind the fluttering course tape. I recognised two of them and they were shouting "Go Daddy". But the other two were shouting the same thing! It was their Dad I was following!

I remained glued to the other Dads rear wheel as we ducked into the muddiest section. I knew he was putting down the power to shake me off, and he occasionally glanced over his shoulder to see if I was still there. I made a couple of mistakes as I fought to hang on. With a loud bang I clipped a pedal on a tree stump. He immediately looked back and then leapt on the pedals trying to make the most of the opportunity.  I fought and fought, digging deep and taking aggressive lines, I wasn't done yet!

Following closely again I was thnking of when I should attack and if I could get past before the next technical section and then slow the pace so I could recover a bit. The opportunity just didn't open up, instead I was clinging on for dear life.

We were into the final half of the lap now, charging through the sweeping corners and out onto an open fire road. As I sat in the slipstream gasping air into my lungs. I began to realise I wasn't the strongest rider here. My only hope was to desperately hang on until the final climb and hope against hope that I had a stronger kick in a sprint. 

At the end of the fireroad a tiny, tiny gap no more than a meter opened between us. It was as if the elastic had snapped! I was at my absolute limit but continued to lose ground, I couldn't close him back down this time. I kept pumping hard on the pedals getting out of the saddle when I could, desperate to close the gap. There was nobody behind and I could have just sat up and rolled to the line, but what if the guy in front made a mistake? I needed to keep the pressure on and be ready to pounce if there was an opportunity. 

Heading up the final slope to the finishing line about 10 meters behind the other rider, there were more shouts of "GO ON DAD!" from both families.  I crossed the line a few seconds back but I had enjoyed every second of the challenge. I was even happier when I checked the result - 24th. I might not be anywhere close to troubling the fast boys at the front of the race, who were enjoying the podium ceremony by the time I crossed the line. However, if I keep training and progressing then the top 20 is definitely in sight. With this thought I enjoyed a Calzone pizza with the family half an hour later. Another bonus of racing in the afternoon!

Torq 3:6:9 race report

I'd written down my goal for yesterday's Torq 3:6:9. Not a finishing position,  I'd simply jotted down "Feel racey". Rather brilliantly, after a frenetic final lap and sprint to the line that's exactly how I did feel.

It has been a difficult road over the last 6 months since I was found collapsed on the stairs at home. At times I've done almost no riding and certainly no structured training. A previous attempted return to racing was too early and did more harm than good. May 5th had become my new target date.

Any other year the old diesel powered, long distance trucking Ben would have been signed up for the 9 or certainly 6 hour race. Given where my health is this year it was the 3 hour race I lined up for. It felt like a cop out but I also knew it meant I'd need something I've rarely ever had - speed!!

I don't feel fit so I knew every other part of my day needed to go to perfectly plan. Amazingly it did! I arrived on time (for once) and completed a full, stress free, practice lap,  which included a couple of warm up efforts. I got to the start in time to find a position near the front of the grid. I stayed to the side and kept out of trouble at the start, burning some matches by sprinting hard to maintain a good position in the pack so I didn't get held up at any of the first lap bottle necks.

As we coasted through some single track on the first lap, I knew it had gone well. Now it was all about how long I could hang on to my position! Slowly but surely riders slipped past and I'd valiantly hang on for a bit before slowly losing the wheel. It was fun but I was digging deep. 

It was a 6.5 mile lap so, I'd calculated I'd need sub 36 minute laps if I was to complete 5 laps. This is what I guessed the leaders would do. My first lap was 34.53 and my next 34.56. Could I hold the pace for nearly 2 more hours? I'd had a good start but I'd pushed hard and my pace would surely drop. 

The course had a punchy first half with some leg sapping climbs, then a fantastic flowing and fast end to the lap. I was having fun attacking the inclines (normally my strength) and leaning the bike through the fast curves (where I often struggle).

My next lap was a 35.58 almost dead on the 36 minute target,  meaning I had 2 minutes in hand. However the legs were hurting and my pace was slowing as it surely had too. I also needed a stop for a bottle, gel and banana to get me through the final two laps. 

Including the stop lap 4 was 37min 

As I began my 5th lap I knew it was going to be extremly tight for time. I pushed manically when I could, and was out of the saddle emptying every muscle in my body to drag myself up the climbs. I silently cursed each back marker I caught, even if they only cost me a second or two before letting me past. 

Into the final singletrack I looked down and I had a minute to make it to the line. I was never going to make it, but I wasn't giving up yet. The rider infront of me sat up, he'd given up,  but I hammered past him onto the final arrow straight gravel road to the the finish banner. I locked out the suspension put my head down and sprinted with every screaming sinew of my body! 

Once I'd got my breath back I walked round to the timing screen. There I was, listed in 9th place, but my finishing time was 3 hours 23 seconds. Arrrgh!

My final lap didn't count and that dropped me to 11th. Normally I'd be disappointed and I am a bit,  but it was far more important today that I had been able to push myself to the limit and enjoyed every single bit of the process. It was great to be back!

Taking a break

In my previous post I talked about targeting the 4 hour category at the final round of the Brass Monkeys series. A few days later the reality of my current health sank in. Now isn't the time to be trying to stretch or push myself.  I am currently totally exhausted as I try to recover my health. The stress of a race was actually the last thing I needed to put myself through. In the end the decision to miss the race was actually a really easy one to make. 

After a few weeks of trying, and failing, to get back to a decent training schedule I've stepped back. I'm riding when I feel I have the energy reserves, keeping outings short and local, taking care not to push myself. 

Cycling has always been a form of therapy for me and how I relax. Now more than ever this is the focus of my rides. I've spent some money building the fully rigid hardtail back up. I enjoy the purity of this sort of riding and the rigid fork slows the pace so I just enjoy the countryside and the company. 

After years of pushing myself to hit training targets and riding every day it hasn't always been easy to sit back and let the days go past without getting in the saddle. In the long run I know it is the best route to recovery.

Brass Monkeys - The New Year Hangover - Race Report

Just making it onto the start line on Sunday was my goal achieved. After being ill in November and taking 4 weeks totally off the bike at the beginning of December, my aspiration during my slow recovery since then had been to get well enough to just attend the ‘Muc-off Brass Monkeys - The New Year Hangover’. I didn’t commit to the full 4 hour race, instead opting for the softer 3 hour Open category. I was extremely pleased I made this decision!  

Conditions on the morning were cold and bright, which made a change from the excessively wet weather we’ve been enduring. It wasn’t just the weather that was different, we also congregated at a new venue - Eelmore Plain. First impressions were positive, with good parking and a nice tarmac area for warming-up.

I rolled up at the very, very back of the large grid of riders. I can honestly say I’ve never started this far back in a Brass Monkeys. By stretching and peering through the gaggle of jostling riders ahead of me, I could just about make out a friend on the front row.

Once the starting horn had blown Jon was long gone by the time I rolled out onto the start loop. The course Gorrick had put together at Eelmore was a mixture of broad, open sandy trails linked by loamy singletrack amongst the trees. Early on there was a water splash crossing and I thought to myself that’s a nice novel feature! Then we met another, and then another and another. It went on and on. The water table was so high that sometimes there were quite long stretches where pedalling meant dipping your feet into the water. 

On the first lap I felt ok despite the conditions. At the very first big braking zone my lever pulled straight to the handlebar, but that wasn’t hugely surprising given the grim conditions. It was just disappointing it happened so early. The flat nature of the course meant it was hard for me to make much impact on those in front. So I sat in the snake of riders, who gradually fell off, ground to a halt in the mud or just faded away. Until I was left following another friend of mine, Ian, over the line to complete lap 1. 

Just 35 minutes into the race and I could already feel the lactic building in my legs. I hadn’t ridden for 3 hours since October so I’d already known that Sunday was going to test me physically. I passed Ian, but with my legs burning and the lack of rear brake, I had little confidence in the slippery conditions. I was honestly just thinking about getting back to the carpark and heading home.

When I got to the end of the 2nd lap I rolled through the line, but I kept going. I’m not sure why. Partly because an old school friend was there and it seemed wrong to call it quits while he was excitedly shouting, “Go on Ben!”

On the next lap I got wetter and more tired. I now had almost no brakes front or rear. It was lucky the course was fairly flat and SO muddy, as this meant there wasn’t much speed involved to require braking! Where I did miss the brakes was when controlling the bike in slides or through technical sections. Instead I just ploughed onwards, crashing through the roots and bomb holes. This time I was definitely going to stop when I got to the line. But as the line drew near I talked myself into doing at least 2 hours to equal (and justify) the hours journey time there and back to Eelmore. So on I went.

I was wet, physically exhausted and the bike was mechanically a mess. It wasn’t just the brakes that the elements had destroyed. Every pedal stroke sounded like stirring gravel with a metal spoon. Truth be told I wasn’t enjoying myself - at all. This is very unlike me, as I usually get a real buzz and a kick from racing. I stopped in the pit area at the end of the next lap and rinsed water from my bottle through the brakes, hoping to breath some life back into them. I teetered on the very verge of packing it in, but in the end I ate a banana, swigged some water, looked around  and set off again. At this point I thought there was technically time for 2 more laps, but I soon realised that I was right on the cusp. So when that 5th lap was finally complete this time I did head for the car, knowing that nobody behind me would be completing another lap either.

In the end I’m pleased with 7th place. I know I wasn’t in the main race with the fast boys, but considering how it had felt at the time I’ll take it. The challenge I’ve set now is to do the 4 hour race in 3 weeks at the final round of the series. I hope I continue to feel better and surely the conditions can’t be as bad as there were at Eelmore.

Stolen Goat Climb and Conquer Winter Cycling Gloves Review

I've bought several items of clothing from Stolen Goat that have become some of my favorite bits of kit. For example the winter jersey is outstanding when the temperature takes a dive. So I happily splashed out on their winter gloves.

Cold hands is a real issue for me on the bike. I am well known amongst my friends for my lobster claw gloves on winter rides. These gloves are big and bulky which means dexterity with brakes and gears is restricted. When I saw an ad for the Stolen Goat "Apocalypse proof" gloves I ordered really hoping they would be the holy grail of winter cycling gloves for my cold pinkies. Especially since I've had a lot of success with Stolen Goat before.

The gloves are advertised as waterproof and windproof as well as suitable for colder temperatures. The promised warmth is surprising as there isn't much bulk to the material, little more than a thick woolen glove in appearance. There are silicone dots on the palms for grip and the grey finger tips are for using your mobile phone.

The recent cold weather means I've been able to get a good range of experience with the the Stolen Goat gloves. First up was a road ride with the temperature in the mid to high single digits. It wasn't that cold and the gloves were more than up to the task. On the positive side they didn't get too hot and clammy and the silicone grippers and the touch screen fingers worked a treat.

Next up was an MTB ride, one or two degrees below zero. I didn't take any risks and wore a thin liner inside the Stolen Goats. The ride was bearable. While off-road and when climbing my hands didn't get cold, but they definitely weren't warm and toasty either. On any long descent or on road sections when my speed was higher, my fingers were uncomfortably chilly. Also the gloves now look decidedly second hand. Trail side brambles and twigs have plucked at the woolen type surface, creating bobbles and pulls. Not holes, but the appearance is rather ruined on only their second outing.

Next ride was a classic UK winter ride. Temperatures started around 0 and then rose a degree or three as the ride progressed. Again I used liners and things were about bearable, but when I got home I had the painful wait for the feeling to slowly return to my fingers.

The final ride was at 5 degrees Celcius with showers of rain. Sadly my hands got wet, although luckily the wind proofing did work and stopped my hands getting too cold. The damp seemed to initially soak into the palm and fingers where I was squeezing the gloves against wet grips.

I do like the fit of the gloves, the long cuff allows you to pull them over a jersey sleeve and/or tuck them up inside your jacket. Creating a nice seal against the elements. 

Overall my experiences with the Stolen Goats have been a disappointment. They are sadly not a replacement for my Lobster Claw gloves. They do however provide good grip and control in cool temperatures, so I can see myself using them at the autumn and spring ends of the winter season. I've also worn them under my lobster claws and that is the ultimate cold weather protection. However, there was a lot of material between my hands and the controls, but it was manageable and better than numb digits! I'd also add that the open weave material means these are really just for the road, as they are going to look very tatty very quickly if I keep using them on my MTB. Also there is no nice dedicated nose wiping area, so you end up just using the general glove which isn't ideal or kind on the poor nostrils.

Conclusion: Ok if the apocalypse is dry and the temperature is above 5 degrees!

Is cycling an addiction?

I aim to ride my bike everyday. It makes me happy when I do and it is part of my normal daily routine. Up to the end of October I had ridden 291 out of the 304 days this year. The missed days almost exclusively due to family holidays and travelling overseas for work. Then at the beginning of November I got ill and I've had to address a period of time away from my bikes.

First and foremost I ride, as I said, because I simply enjoy it. Cycling is how I relax and socialise. It is a way to keep fit, with some competitive goal always in my mind for motivation. However, I will admit that there are other pressures at work that lead me to suspect I am addicted to cycling.

The truth is I don't think I could stop. If I miss just a single ride I will start to get quite grouchy. The drive of this addiction is motivated throughout the year by weekly and monthly totals of hours in the saddle and miles ridden. I have a spreadsheet dating back to 1999 and the numbers in there are what drive me. Every week, every month, every year I am always conscious of my own history and I am always trying to beat it.

In my head I have set myself standards I consider acceptable, or in other words, minimum goals. 6000 miles a year is the starting point. That breaks down to 500 miles a month. February is always tough, as is August if we're fortunate enough to have a 2 week family holiday. 100 miles is the least I will accept in any single week. I must spend at least 7 hours covering those miles although I'm targeting ten. Even the rides themselves have goals within them. A weekend isn't a success without a ride ticking over the 3 hour mark. During that 3 hour ride I should cover at least 40 miles with 1000m of climbing. All this is totally irrelevant in terms of a structured training regime, it is based on the past 25 years and what I consider is acceptable.

These self imposed rules dominate my life. If for some reason I don't hit all of the targets in any given week, I can live with that. I work hard to catch-up the following week. However if I start to miss my goals for a couple of weeks the grumpiness builds. Monthly targets are now in jeopardy and therefore also the magical 6000. Unreasonably it will effect how I am with my nearest and dearest. My wife will probably end up sending me out on my bike and telling me not to come home until I've cheered up! To be fair it works.

So I don't cope well with being ill. I'll already not be feeling good and then as the days pass I can sense the rides slipping away one by one. The current period I am in is especially bad as it has been keeping me off the bike for longer than a week and the end isn't clearly in sight. Today marks the two week point since I last turned a pedal. My legs were tingling in bed last night, keeping me awake. I tossed and turned imagining it was the fitness literally seeping out of them.

The logical part of my brain tells me that 2 weeks is neither here nor there for a recreational mountain biker like myself. There is nothing logical about it though. Actually the issue is growing each day, burning and swelling inside me until I will have to give in. Especially as I start to feel better the pressure mounts, stronger and ever stronger to rush things and to get back on the bike. What harm will it do after all? By now in my head my legs have become spindly, wasted beanpoles unable to turn a crank. I must start the recovery right now! Hold on I can barely stand for more than 5 minutes. Never mind that, you are sitting down cycling so you'll be fine....

I daren't look at my spreadsheet, oh no I have! The damage that two fat zeros has done in the mileage and hours columns is a disaster. Boosted by my spring ride across Europe, 8000 miles hadn't been out of the question for 2023. That's gone now.

But hold on.....

As I scan back I can see that my second highest total in a year is 7178.6 miles. That should still be possible, shouldn't it? Doctor when can I get back on the bike please?