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?

Time out for illness

In recent weeks I've felt stronger on the bike than I have for some time. I definitely felt the good vibes and muscle memory return during the 2nd and 3rd laps of my race last week. I was buoyant and was looking forward to raising a challenge to the top ten again at the Brass Monkey winter series.

Then I got a cold. I hadn't been anywhere other than the race so I might even have picked it up there. What started as a sore throat has now triggered my asthma and rather than simply slowing me down has taken me off the bike altogether. I'm on steroids for the first time in almost 30 years and climbing the stairs is enough to get me out of breath.

In reality a week off isn't going to make a big difference to my fitness, but I'm laid up frustratingly just when I wanted to push on.

Race Report - Gorrick Halloween XC Classic

That race day feeling of butterflies in the pit of my stomach was back! I woke early on Sunday because the clocks had gone back. I therefore had more time for the anxiety and stress levels to rise as I pushed my cereal around the bowl. In the car I switched on the radio for a distraction, but my stomach churned more and more the nearer I got to Frimley Green. Then as soon as I arrived it was like somebody had flicked a switch, all nerves disappeared. Despite a 9 month hiatus I slotted into my pre-race routine, my mind preoccupied with the process of preparing bike and rider for the Gorrick Halloween XC Classic.

It had rained all week, the ground was sodden and grey clouds loomed ominously. However, the sun was shining as I unpacked the bike and checked the tyre pressures. When I started my warm-up and reconnaissance lap I was surprised to quickly encounter two quite large drops or steps. Not scary (it is Halloween) but challenging for a Gorrick course! Lucky I had left my dropper post in, as I had considered removing it given the usual simple nature of these courses. The drops were both rollable, if I hung over the back tyre. From then on it was the usual course at Highlands Farm. Flat, twisting and narrow. It was almost impossible to pass even on the warm-up and I ended up trundling around in a chain of riders. Despite all the local flooding the course was in brilliant condition, the bike wasn't even getting dirty. As we closed back in on the car park though, the first fat drops of rain began to fall. Putting on a spurt I scurried back to the car, where I pushed back the drivers seat and sat munching a banana watching the water droplets have their own race down the windscreen. All the roots in the wood were getting a nice glossy sheen.

Sitting at the start I unzipped my gillet before deciding to leave it on. I'd not forced my way to the front as I would have done once. It had been a while and my confidence wasn't there. I instead settled in on the back row and checked the shaved legs and racing snake physiques of my competitors. Which didn't help my confidence. I hadn't ridden in the wet for months. I hadn't raced for months. Yet here I was about to sprint off into the trees with this crowd, who would probably leave me for dead. With these positive thoughts running through my head the starting horn blew!

The first few corners were a deafening screech of wet disc rotors. Tyres were creating deep ruts in the now wet loamy soil. Mud was flicked up into my face as I followed the wheels ahead and tried hard to stay out of trouble amongst the melee. About a minute into the race I looked up. I'd guess there were about 20 riders ahead, not bad. I glanced behind. There were just three grim faces staring right back at me. Not so good!

We followed the the sinuous flapping lines of striped marker tape. There was nowhere to pass so I couldn't move forward, but equally I couldn't drop back any further either! I heard the horn as the Grand Vets race was released a few minutes after us. Soon I could see the leaders closing in on us as we were repeatedly backed up by conjestion and racing incidents. Some ahead chose to run to avoid the latest hold up of tangled riders, but I managed to stay on the bike and gain a few spots.

I know the leader of the approaching Grand Vets, I used to sponsor him in my previous life as a bike shop owner. "Hi Ben" he shouted, which is a polite way of saying "Get out of the f*#king way slow coach". I let him through and it wasn't long before another friend of mine was also on my wheel. He was fighting for a podium so I almost came to a halt to let him past, but three more riders on his wheel plus annoyingly somebody from my own category all pushed past me as I wasted 10 seconds being the good Samaritan. Where was my race head?

The leaders of the other race coming through had split my race up. I decided to follow the Grand Vets as they picked their way through the Veterans field. After all I should be able to hold the pace of these old boys! Tucking in with them I pulled the same trick that had just been pulled on me, sneaking past a few people without them spotting my Veteran number board.

Following the faster riders got my juices flowing. The back wheel fishtailed as I put down the power out of the bends. The brand new Fast Trak tyres did a great job of inspiring confidence in the slippery conditions. The T7 compound on the back would normally be a front tyre but probably helped provide some grip over those shiny roots.

I was moving forward but on such a fast course it was hard to make up the ground I'd lost at the start. To reel in the next target or pull away, I pushed as hard as I could on any remotely straight section of trail. Sometimes having to be quite cheeky and creative to sneak past.

I'd just got past a couple of riders and they were in hot pursuit as the last lap began. The lactic burn was beginning to build up in my legs and for a moment I worried I'd blow up. I hung on as the lap progressed but didn't shake them off. I was getting held up by a back marker so I desperately lunged to get ahead of them going into the final loop to the finish. I was thankful to get somebody in between myself and my pursuers. Then with less than a minute of racing remaining I saw a rider ahead. I put down every ounce of energy I had left and was lucky to reach him just as the trail briefly widened just enough for me to power straight through. I was now nearly dead in the saddle, but there was no way he could get back past if I just kept a tidy line around the last few bends and thankfully I then had enough for the last kick to the line.

I'm happy with the result of 13th. I might not have been threatening the front runners, but I had a great day and remembered the shear joy and adrenalin of racing.

Which cross country race tyres for winter?

It is less than two weeks to my first race since January. I was left really demotivated by my last results, to the extent I haven't bothered racing at all this season. Despite there being some national events really close by, I've put my head in the sand and focused on other cycling related goals. I've missed the buzz however and feel that recently I've been riding into a little bit of form. Time will tell!

Autumn riding hazards. I'm not sure any tyre grips on these!

The long Indian summer in the UK, stretching deep into October has certainly helped. Over the past month, with family holidays and work travel behind me I've been able to get in a consistent 10 hours of training each week. The trails have been beautiful and dry, which has been great for encouraging me to get out on the  bike, but actually might not be representative of what I'm going to face over the winter.  

With mud in mind I've bought some new tyres. I come from an era where we raced 26x1.75in tyres because we thought they were light and fast. They were certainly lightweight, some of the  skinniest dipping well under 500g. That means I really struggle now when I'm tyre shopping. The current crop of xc 2.35in race tyres are frequently over 700g. I've never put that much rubber on any bike, let alone my race bike.

The prices are also hard to come to terms with. £50 for something  that you might tear during the first ride is tough to swallow. I've tried Schwalbe Rocket Rons and Racing Rays, Maxxis and Continental, but the price and the weight have left me searching for something else. Therefore I'm happy to turn to an old favourite of mine, the Specialized Fast Trak. Not a true winter tyre by any stretch, but a good all rounder that will live with winter conditions without such a draggy tread that it will hold me back on race day. For less that £40 too.

The Fast Trak comes in different 'flavours' depending how much grip you are looking for. I've just received a Control T7. The Control casing offers puncture protection without a massive weight penalty. The Gripton T7 is a softer rubber compound that I hope will help when faced with wet roots and soft loamy soil. I already have a Control T5 which is made of slightly harder rubber for less rolling resistance and more speed. The new T7 weighs 715g which is about 25g more than the T5 and as I mentioned makes it hard for me to consider it as a 'race' tyre. So I've also bought an S-Works Fast Trak. This is made with a combination of the fast rolling T5 compound in the center and gripper T7 around the outside. All for a wonderful weight of 630g. The lower weight is due to a thinner 120tpi casing which I hope is nice and supple on the front wheel, offering more grip. The trade off is that it certainly won't be as tough, so comes with the increased risk of punctures.

With these three tyres I should be able to find a combination for whatever the  race day weather gods decide to throw at us.  

Stay safe cycling with a tracker

Just over four years ago I went missing while out on an evening ride after work. The sun set, my dinner got cold and my wife had absolutely no idea where I was. I wasn't answering my phone and in her mind I could have been dead or in agony amongst the trees of any wood within a 20 mile radius. I was eventually found 5 hours after I left home, by a road worker. I was lying, still unconscious, at the side of the A27 close to the Shopwyke foot crossing, just east of Chichester. 

Any route out to the trails from my house takes me over the A27. The main link road along the south coast of England. I have no recollection of what happened that evening. My Garmin tells us I was on my way back, just a couple of miles from home. Then I didn't move for 3 hours. Amazingly I was largely unscathed apart from a head ache and a few scuffs and grazes. The main damage was psychological. I feel terrible for what my wife must have gone through. It must have become very apparent to her something bad had happened and there was absolutely no way for her locate me. She rang all my friends, but I was on my own and there was no advice or help they could offer. I'd be a mess if roles were reversed. I of course was actually blissfully oblivious, dozing away in the long grass. But I do think sometimes about what would have happened if my injuries had been more serious or that road worker hadn't spotted me amongst his traffic cones?

From that day on I have always ridden with some form of tracker with me, so people know where I am. Currently that is the Lifef360 app on my phone. I've used this to enable people to track me on adventures all over the world and it is great - provided you have phone signal. There were a few times on my South Downs Double ride when the app reported that I'd failed to move for 15 minutes. My family thought I'd come a cropper or had a puncture, while presumably I actually traversed a valley or was deep in a wooded area away from phone masts. I feel naked now if I realise in the middle of a fast descent that I've forgotten to turn on my mobile data.

For a long time this year the Shopwyke crossing on the A27, where I had my accident, has been closed. They have replaced the existing crossing with a bridge. I'd been finding alternative crossing points since my incident, but as soon as it opened I was eager to return to the most direct route out to Goodwood.

The walkway/cycleway is very wide, much wider than any other bridge in the area. It links two traffic free roads and I expect will become my primary crossing point again, now I can cross without having to dodge lorries and cars at 70mph. 

Maximum Heart Rate

It has been a while since I raced and the results earlier in the year were disappointing. I could ride consistent lap times all day long, but they weren't fast enough. I'd done the base miles training for other things like the South Downs Double, but had no top end speed.

The other week for some reason the usual Sunday Social ride became an off-road team time trial. We tore along the trails at warp speed trying to rip each others legs off on every climb, descent and all the bits in-between! I spent over an hour of the 3hrs I was riding with the guys, in my top heart rate zone.

I was ruined when I got home but I hadn't got dropped or spat out the back of the group. The others have been racing all summer so it had hurt but it gave me hope. Since then I've been following a more structured week, instead of just crunching out the miles.

Part of this is something I haven't for done a while. Hill rep intervals! When I was younger I'd head out every Tuesday and push the heart rate monitor up to 220. Now-a-days I'm coughing up a lung at about 185bpm.

It hurts and the final rep is always torture, but the raging endorphins riding home and the sense of achievement is worth it. I've got a month until the Gorrick Halloween race. Lets hope I'll have more va-va-voom when the starting horn sounds.

Summer continues!

Strava reminded me that it was a year ago today that my road bike came out of its annual Summer hibernation. So far this year it is still tucked up in the shed. It hasn't been ridden since the 13th April (the day we arrived in Barcelona!)

Maybe today was our last chance to ride dry trails, under blue sky's, with the sun warm on our backs. Autumn is surely coming.

Madison Crypto Glasses First Ride Review

I haven't had new cycle specs for a couple of years, so although I have finally switched over to longer socks, I admit I haven't been at the cutting edge of fashion posing at the local cafe. My real motivation however for buying some more glasses was that I needed some clear lenses ahead of winter, as my old ones are getting scratched and tired.

There are two options with glasses. Splash out on the latest designer brand (you know I mean Oakley) and hope they are tough and durable and provide many years of service. Or go cheap and cheerful, knowing that in reality you'll sit on them or lose them somewhere in the wood within 2 weeks of purchasing. 

At £45 the Madison Crypto's lean more towards the second category. On first impression though they punch well above their relatively low price. I was very impressed with the quality packaging.

Inside the box the glasses came fitted with the mirror tint lenses, as these look the most striking. Also included are some yellow tinted lenses for low light levels and the clear lenses that I was originally after. There is also a nice case to keep everything together and a pouch for polishing and storing the glasses in.

I bought these at the beginning for September with Autumn and the coming winter in mind. However, the weather currently has other ideas and the first ride was on a beautiful sunny day with temperatures in the mid 20's. Therefore I left the mirror lenses in and hit the trails.

The most obvious thing about the Crypto's is how the large profile is very on trend. Offering maximum coverage, like a wide screen TV on my face. Despite the sunshine it had rained a few days earlier and there was plenty of mud still being flicked up by my front tyre and from the guys in front. Nothing was getting past these lenses though! 

The risk might be that instead of my vison being attacked from the front, things start to mist up on the inside. I certainly worked up a decent sweat chasing my usual riding buddies, but had no issues with steaming up. This is helped by the adjustable nose piece which allows you to space the lenses with a slight gap to allow air to circulate. Obviously everybody's face is different but the wrap is spot on for me. I also didn't have sweat dribbling down the inside which is often an issue I have. 

My first ride was a definite success. The tinted lenses were occasionally a bit dark under the trees, so I slide the glasses down my nose and peered over the top like a stern school mistress! I look forward to popping in the clear lenses in the near future and providing an update.

The Crypto have the latest modern look and I think exude a quality above the price tag. No need for brand envy here while chatting at the trail head. Based on the first ride there were no issues and I didn't really think about them once we were cycling, which is the best thing to say about something new, but so fundamental to riding in comfort.

Cycle to Barcelona

Departure Day : Chichester to Portsmouth - 20 miles

It didn't start well! Both my 750ml bottles broke before I even left my driveway when the bike fell over in the wind while I was locking the front door.  So in a last minute flap I left five minutes late after shooting back indoors to fill two smaller bottles. 

I met up with Chris, Nigel and Craig at Chris's house. My family had driven there and our kids all came out into the street to give us a noisy send off! We were lucky to miss the rain on the way to Portsmouth even though the roads were damp.

Chris hit a pot hole as we came into the city and broke his bottle cage. As the bottle tumbled out onto the road I ran directly over it, but luckily it somehow didn't burst and I stayed upright. Still we weren't having much luck with bottles it seemed!

Arriving at the port we had to loiter outside on the dock with the queuing cars for 2hrs waiting for the 11pm ferry. It was cold and I was shivering, but at least it wasn't raining I suppose! When we finally did get on board we were directed to just leave our bikes in a random area with a pile of rusty chains and boxes of equipment. There was no allocated location for bicycles it seemed. We clambered up the stairs with our bags and finally into the warmth, only to discover that our allocated seats were in a room reserved for a French school. We just crashed in another room and hoped we wouldn't get moved on. The upright seats were not conducive to sleeping so I curled up on the floor, but it was still unfathomably cold. Wrapped in my cycle jacket I huddled under the chairs until about 2am in the morning when a young girl trod on me and then as I sat up in the dark her mother poked me firmly in the eye. I got no sleep at all. Not ideal prep for 7 days in the saddle. 

Day One : Caen to Laval - 112 miles

Day one started with getting dressed into my cycle kit in a tiny Ferry toilet, after an early coffee and pain au chocolate. A simply stunning sunrise greeted us as we left the ferry and headed along the beautiful canal past Pegasus Bridge and into Normandy. 

It remained picture postcard pretty as we followed the river into the countryside, but it was about 3 degrees and I soon couldn't feel my hands as we cycled in the shade of the hillside that followed the water course. The path was a disused railway line, so there was no traffic and we saw hardly anybody all morning. When we stopped for coffee I stamped about the town square in agony as the blood vessels opened in my hands and the feeling slowly returned. Once I was able to unzip my bags and hold a spoon I sat there on a bench munching Frosties in the golden sunshine. They were washed down with the strongest most welcome coffee ever, in the warm porch of a sports bar. Finally I felt human again and was pleased to discover the route left the shadow of the hillside by the river, following silent lanes through quaint quintessential French villages. 

After a lunch of jambon baguette, which had been strapped to the side of my saddle bag since the coffee stop, we hit a long straight and undulating roman road. We made good progress, but it was wearing and a little soul destroying to see the ribbon of tarmac stretching out to the horizon every time we crested a ridge in the road.

The last few miles into Laval were back on a gravel tow path by the river. Again this was beautiful, with the river crisscrossed by weirs, and bridges. Eventually the path became busier with people out enjoying the sunshine, as we swung into town. 

Our first Airbnb was amazing, complete with a garage for bike fettling and a room each. It was a family house and I was in an Avengers themed young boys room. We walked into town and bought spaghetti and once back Craig cooked us meatballs made from the local butchers sausages. 

I finished the day feeling OK, but I had been fighting cramp behind my knees in both legs. My neck was also sore and I worried that night about the days to come. My gears were a mess too, I assume from when the bike blew over before I left home. The mech hanger was probably bent and although I had a spare I struggled with the bolt and not wanting to risk rounding it off I instead settled for tuning the gears as well as I could. A little frustrating when I had tuned them perfectly before departure. 

To be honest I wasn't massively looking forward to another 100 miles the next day, although the forecast was fortunately good again. The idea of another 6 days was quite daunting. 

Day 2 : Laval to La Coudre - 95 miles

Today actually felt like a holiday! The sun shone and by the afternoon we were all down to short sleeves and had peeled off the leg warmers.

We cycled from village to village, connecting the dots across the countryside using the church spires. We stopped for coffee in a town square and when we finally emerged we walked across the road,  bought lunch in the patisserie opposite and then sat down again in the square outside to eat it! Progress was, shall we say, leisurely!

It didn't matter as much because today was the shortest day. It helped mentally that the miles remaining was already under 50 by lunch and we had the entire afternoon ahead of us. 

Our overnight stay was in the upstairs rooms of a country house, right next door to the village church. There were goats grazing in the field behind. The owners kindly handed over their kitchen to let Craig again cook our dinner, this time of chicken, bacon and pasta purchased a few miles up the road. 

Quite the opposite from yesterday we were all sharing a room today. Tiredness quickly overcame the sounds of others snoring for another good nights sleep. 

Day 3 : La Coudre to Chateauneuf-sur-Charente - 118 miles

Another freezing start as our hosts waved us away to the sound of the church bells ringing in Easter Sunday. Looking back to shout "au revoir" the sun was just coming up over the roof of the house. Again I had numb hands, but they had chance to recover at our first supermarket stop, while Craig came up with an ingenious solution to help space his bar bag away from his cables using a clamp purchased in the Lidl middle isle!

We stopped for coffee in the next town, taking the sports bar chairs across the road so we could sit in the sunshine overlooking the scene of busy Easter Sunday shoppers in the Carrefore car park! 

Easter meant everywhere world be shutting early. We endured the frustration of watching a lady lock the door of our chosen lunch time supermarket, literally as we rolled across the carpark towards her. That meant we headed into town hungry and searching for food. 

There was a bustling market just shutting up, but we ended up eating the finest of French cuisine at Starbucks! However the toasted sandwiches tasted mightily good after 50 miles, as we sat and chatted in the sunshine. 

Sadly we had to get moving with still 70 miles to go. The scenery started to change. The villages and architecture reminding me less of Belgium and Holland,  The orange tiled roofs had a more Mediterranean feel to them and so did the weather, as by now we'd all stripped down to short sleeved jerseys and shorts again. 

The many villages we passed were like ghost towns. We'd hear the occasional sound of life coming from behind the shutters, or a barking dog behind a gate, but on the whole the buildings looked derelict and like crumbling memories of a different time. 

There were very few cars either, to interrupt the peaceful sound of birdsong. Craig did a long stint on the front which increased our speed and helped reduce the miles. We came to a halt at the base of a chalky gravel road the GPS route was directing us up. We debated if the rough path was worth the risk? Taking the gamble on the gravel was the best decision of the day, as the 'Strada Bianca' was a definite highlight. It took us up past the base of the huge wind turbines at the top of the hill, their giant blades ponderously creeping around in the warm air.

We struggled to find the Airbnb, spending a long time in the square directly beneath it's windows wondering how to get in! Once located we got changed and headed down the road to the one establishment still open, the local pizzeria, where we were served by a young English lad!! 

I crashed out on the sofa bed with heavy legs that are really feeling the miles now. 

Day 4 : Chateauneuf-sur-Charente to Marmande  - 107 miles

Woke with my legs still feeling the effects of the previous days riding. I was also out of cereal which was the real disaster! Thinking that finding food would be just as tricky on Easter Monday as it had been the day before, we started late, making straight for the supermarket just around the corner having checked out it's opening times on the way back from the Pizzeria the evening before.

Cornflakes and milk purchased I quickly pulled a bowl and spoon from my bag and devoured them on the spot! 

I'd bought a pot of jam, ham and a baguette for lunch as well, which I strapped to my bags along with a fist of bananas! 

We returned once more to the course of a disused railway for much of the day, so there were few significant gradients to conquer. The roads we did take were disserted and the route wound through many vineyards

It was funny how I'd looked forward to today since it was a shorter day. Even though it was still 107 miles! It felt like my body was getting into the rhythm and routine of the trip however. The first few minutes of the morning were uncomfortable as my legs realised that, yes, we were doing this again! Once up to speed they just kept turning, which was lucky because on a flatter route like today they had little chance for a rest. The countdown quickly had less than a 100 miles to go which helped with the motivation!

The overnight stop was very unusual and I approached it in some trepidation. We were staying in a large wooden chalet in the hosts garden, but to my concern they had kindly offered to provide us with dinner, as there was little hope of there being anything open locally. Friends and family know I can be a little fussy with food and I obviously had visions of Frogs legs and asparagus! 

The chalet was very unique, featuring a pool table and darts board amongst the US motorbike themed décor. We were greeted with welcome arms and settled down with bottles of wine and beer for a long conversation with our hosts using Google translate. We shared stories and had a good laugh before being left to our dinner of meats and pasta. It was delicious and I was first up for seconds!

Day 5 : Marmande to Toulouse - 114 miles

Today was very much a ride of two extremes. We started the day on peaceful country lanes and passed through some breath takingly stunning villages. Multicolored houses with wooden beams, stone cottages with purple wisteria climbing over the windows.

We were following a canal and as the sun shone the temperature climbed. It was the first day I started without my coat and by the afternoon it was properly warm! The buildings around us increased in number as we headed towards Toulouse, arriving in the rush hour. We didn't have to use the roads and fight with the cars, but the cycle lanes were just as busy and frenetic! Bikes piloted by people who knew better than us where they were going, zoomed in every direction. Some ridden a breakneck speed with no hands on the bars!

 

We weren't sure of the route and nearly got split up a few times as patience at the end of a long day grew thin with fatigue. Eventually we found the correct apartment block and luckily we were on the ground floor. We showered and quickly set off in search of food. I think several of us had burgers on our minds, but we found another pizzeria and opted for meaty options! While the others waited I went in search of a supermarket to buy some more breakfast. It was a successful trip although I did get shouted at by a security guard for presumably being somewhere I shouldn't have been. "Anglais" I said and walked on!

The day had been long but quite easy. We had all ridden thinking about tomorrow and the ride up into the Pyrenees.

Day 6 : Toulouse to La Molina 122 miles

Today was the day we'd all had on our minds since Nigel first shared the route 4 or 5 months previously. The longest in terms of distance and with the best part of 3000 meters of climbing. None of us wanted to finish what was going to be a very long day, in the dark. So we set off nice and early. 

For the first few hours everything was great. I got very excited when the snow capped mountains first appeared on the horizon and they continued to grow ever larger, pedal stroke by pedal stroke. As we approached the foot hills the first climb was probably the steepest of the entire journey. A proper 20% gradient that forced us to burn some matches that we'd been hoping to save until later in the day.

We stopped in Froix for lunch in another Carrefour carpark. Surrounded by mountains the weather looked ominous but the rain still held off. However, we added some layers in preparation for colder temperatures at altitude.

The road turned permanently upwards and we began the climb towards the pass at Puymorens. Still full of excitement I rode away from the others, feeling strong and keen to get into the hills. The road however was a little disappointing. After all the lanes we'd ridden getting here, we found ourselves on quite a major highway with cars and lorries thundering past.

I stopped at the designated shop for a coffee and a refuel before the big effort up to the Col. Nigel had unfortunately chosen today to begin to not feel very well. The three of us quickly dropped him and then Craig zoomed off the front in an obvious attack! I chased after him eventually dragging Chris back onto Craig's wheel with me. We probably had 18 miles of climbing to do and were playing silly buggers pretending it was the Tour de France! Craig dropped to the back and I knew he'd soon come charging back past again in another attack. True enough he did and I let him go. However, the gap hung tantalizingly at about 500m and I felt compelled to make some more big efforts to close the gap. Chris was still with me and in the end I had to drop back on his wheel and refuel with gels from my jersey pockets. We kept rolling and eventually the three of us came back together anyway. We where now all so tired that we just ground our way upwards together. No more games now. We took turns setting the pace, which was sometimes challenging in the biting wind whistling up the valley. 

There were a few switch-backs towards the top and we could see Nigel just a few minutes behind. We discussed whether to wait and all reach the top together, but it was cold so we pushed on. Finally we reached the sign marking the 1915m summit. We posed for photos and then Nigel arrived and we posed for a few more. By now we were all freezing! Chris and I headed for a disused barn and I stripped off my damp sweaty clothes for a complete change of kit. 

It helped but not a lot! As we rolled down the other side the shivering was so bad we could hardly control our bikes! I had to put my feet down and roll slowly with the brakes hard on to prevent shaking myself off the bike. As we lost height the temperature gradually improved and the wind reduced, but if I let off the brakes the speed increased and so did the windchill! At the first village we staggered into the inviting open doorway of a shop and were delighted to find they served coffee. We had two each, mainly just to extend the stay!

Once at the bottom we still had a lot of climbing up to La Molina and our overnight stay. By now we were cold and weary so stuck together until we reached the ski resort with its high rise apartment blocks. After a few text messages the landlady came out and took us to our 5th floor apartment. She assured us the restaurant down the road would open at 7pm. This was lucky because we'd eaten or ditched everything we'd had with us before the climb to reduce weight. 

Wrapped up against the cold we set off down the road only to find a sign saying the restaurant owners were on holiday. The only other restaurant in town was also closed. Dispirited we started to trudge back up the road, resigned to a dinner of porridge and cereal. 

Just then a couple came out of a nearby apartment block and Chris approached to ask if they had any pasta we could borrow or buy. Initially he turned away empty handed, but they later drove up behind us and offered a lift to the supermarket further up the mountain that would be closing in just a few minutes. So in the end we had some awful euro sausages and pasta for dinner, but it felt like a banquet after the fear of nothing at all at the end of a 9 hour day in the saddle!

Day 7 : La Molina to Barcelona - 113 miles

Stepping outside the apartment there was a crisp white covering on the ground. It had snowed, although not much more than a hard frost.

It was cold and I put hand warmers in my gloves. These plus the effort of climbing out of the village meant I was nice and cosy!

The road today was quiet and meandering, very unlike yesterday's busy thoroughfare. The air was still and silent, the sky was blue and the snow grew deeper as we rose up the valley. We were left in awe at the beauty and scale of the landscape we were pedaling through. Without doubt lifetime memories and one of the greatest cycling experiences of my life. 

We scaled the top of the final climb knowing it was downhill now all the way to Barcelona. The descent was also much more fun than yesterday's.  The sweeping curves put a smile on everyone's face as we swung down the mountain. The windchill did still bite, and we had to stop in the sunshine a few times to warm up. We found a coffee stop and sat taking in the mountain air, knowing only the final leg of our epic journey remained.

However, it wasn't as easy as we thought! The cycle route into Barcelona that we intended to follow soon turned into a rough track suitable only for mountain bikes. I became very concerned that one of us would hit a major mechanical issue if we continued on our laden road bikes.  The alternative was taking the two lane main road, with fast moving traffic and multiple tunnels, which we weren't even sure we were allowed to ride through.  It was however the lesser of two evils, because progress on the path was so slow we'd never make Barcelona by night fall even if the bikes did hold together. 

It took us quite some time to find a way onto the elevated main road and when we did I had visions of us being wiped out by an inattentive truck driver. I got so wound up I had a mini panic attack and had to sit down for a few minutes to recover when we finally were able to take a slip road onto a quieter route. 

With the end in sight we didn't stop again after lunch and our final supermarket baguette of the week! It was late afternoon as we stood on Barcelona beach with the setting sun glistening on the waves.

After taking a photo opportunity at the iconic La Sagrada Familia, we had dinner at a street side restaurant to celebrate our achievement. 

Our adventure wasn't quite over though. We intended to rough it at the airport for the night as our flight home was at 7am. Once we'd packed up our bikes, using tape and bags posted ahead and left at a local hotel for us to pick up, I was just settling down for some sleep when a grumpy lady in hi-vis told us the terminal building was closing! So we traipsed with our packed bikes to the next terminal and curled up on the cold marble floor. 2hrs later still wide awake we left Chris asleep with a cleaner mopping around him and headed back to reclaim our positions in the reopened terminal building and I at least got 30-60 minutes kip. 

At 4am we queued to check-in the bikes only to be told we'd need to take them to the other terminal. So we retraced the now familiar 10 minute walk yet again. What followed was a weird experience where eventually we were invited behind the check-in desks where all the suitcases were whizzing around on conveyors. Three bikes went through the oversized luggage scanner, but Chris's didn't fit. It might if we could have lowered his saddle, but the tools had already gone through on the previous bikes. In the end Chris practically went through the scanner with the bike, while somebody pulled from the other side! All this faffing around meant we went straight to the departure gate without any breakfast.

So it was our journey was at an end. The training we had all put in paid dividends. Nobody struggled and I am proud that we cycled the entire week together, without I believe anybody feeling badly held up or like they were the weakest link. The months of preparation meant we were able to make the most of the experience, appreciate the scenery and take in the journey as we cycled across France, creating life long memories.

Cycle to Barcelona the Final Countdown

There are just a few days to go now until we leave for Barcelona. All the prep is done, all that is left is to rest and check the packing.

The bike is fully prepped and gleaming ready for departure. At the weekend after the deepest clean it's had for years, I fitted a new chain, cassette and cabling for silky smooth shifting. The brake pads were replaced in expectation of the long final Pyrenean decent into Spain. During the previous week the rear wheel and the Eggbeater pedal bearings have been replaced and I've overhauled the headset. The finishing touch was a brand new set of Pirelli P-Zero Race TLR 28mm tyres. Throwing a leg over the Scultura this afternoon, it flew up the road, as the gears were purring contentedly beneath me. Seems a shame to weigh it down with all my bikepacking clobber!

Towards the end of lastweek I had fitted all my storage bags for a trial ride with the team. The Topeak Backloader under the saddle was full of clothes and was supported by a Wishbone to stop it swaying from side to side. We've all bought a Wishbone and mounted the bottles on either side. I was initially concerned about having the weight of all that water so high on the bike, but actually it didn't feel unbalanced on the test ride. The Topeak Midloader sits inside the frame, stashed with all my food, which consists mainly of Clif bars and GO Gels. The bag hangs above my tool kit which is fitted to the seatpost bottle mount. In fact it rests on in slightly, causing the bag to gape slightly, so I do occasionally brush my knees against the material. It didn't really bother me on the test ride, but I'll see if I can eliminate it with clever packing or taping it together. On the top tube is a small bag for easy to reach nibbles and treats, while out front the bar bag houses everything else! Wash stuff, spares, chain lube, power leads and all the other small essentials you need for a week.

I've done all the training I can now. The last few weeks have been a bit frustrating, as the weather and life have meant I wasn't been able to finish off with one last big ride. It does mean I'll set off without having ridden 100 miles in training, causing a slight nagging doubt in my mind. On the other hand I did ride 1000 miles in March. In my many years of cycling it's the first time I've ever reached that milestone, and in fact the first time I've cleared 900 miles! The last time I topped 800 miles in a month was in the summer nine years ago, when I was regularly commuting 100-120 miles a week to Portsmouth, on top of my weekend social rides.

The truth is I've put in a lot of hard work, about as much as I could around my job, kids and family commitments. I lie in bed every night stressing about all the things that could go wrong; getting enough to eat, saddle sores, bonking and letting the team down, mechanical failures, the weather. I should instead be looking forward to a week with nothing to do but ride my bike and make memories.

Cycle to Barcelona route finalised !

Nigel has been pouring over Google maps making the finishing touches to our route to Barcelona. Now he has shared it with the rest of us, the trip feels very real. There are definitely butterflies in the stomach looking at the maps of the French towns and cities on route, some unknown and others vaguely familiar from school text books and years of watching the Tour de France. Dropping the little yellow man onto our route in Google Street View and taking a look around, it's very weird to think I'll be there in just a few weeks time. 

What Nigel has done for us is link together the AirBnB bookings we have for each night. These were selected based on our original outline plan of 100 miles a day which was plotted in Komoot. Nigel has then tweaked it further adding food stops along the way, hunting out local Lidl or Carrefour supermarkets. As part of our trip is over the Easter weekend, we'll be relying on the major chain stores when local pâtisserie and other shops may be closed.

There is no doubt the 110 miles a day is intimidating. To put it in perspective I averaged 116 miles and 8.5 hours cycling a WEEK over 2022 as a whole. We're going to be doing that a DAY in April! For seven days in a row!!

In preparation for this challenge I have increased my training since Christmas and so far this year I'm averaging 11 hours a week, covering 160 miles! (I do a lot of mountain biking so mileages can be deceptive as you obviously don't go as fast or as far off-road.)

Day 6 is looking especially EPIC! 124 miles climbing 3000m into the Pyrenees. 

Also!: The recent news of snow in Barcelona gives me the jitters with just 5 weeks to go. Imagine what the mountain passes will be like! Storm Juliette: Cold snap leaves Barcelona covered in snow - BBC News

Here is a day by day break down of the route (including ridewithgps.com links):

Day 1: Caen to Laval 

Day 2: Laval to La Coudre

Day 3: La Coudre to Chateauneuf-sur-Charente

Day 4: Chateauneuf-sur-Charente to Marmande

Day 5: Marmande to Toulouse

Day 6: Toulouse to Alpe

Day 7: Alpe to Barcelona

Training not racing!

There is no race report from the first XC of the season. Instead of racing at the Gorrick I was knocking out 70 miles on the road bike. Conditions were perfect for mountain biking too and I'll admit my heart yearned for the trails every time I passed a Bridleway signpost at the side of the road pointing off into a dry and inviting wood.

Since I lived at home with my parents I've always dreamt of just riding away from my front door and exploring Europe on my bike. My dream was to cycle to Monte Carlo, tackling some alpine climbs on the way South. I have a route planned from a year 2000 road atlas and about 15 years ago I even booked Ferry tickets, but fear of all the things that could go wrong (common sense) meant it never happened. Then family and kids did happen and the plans got filed at the bottom of my sock draw. 

Occasionally I'd get out the plastic folder of the printed route and flick through it longingly. What I needed was a ride buddy (or two) to give me the confidence to know that if something did go wrong in the middle of nowhere there was somebody else there to help.

I shared my idea with Chris and Nigel 4 years ago when we were laying in our hotel room the night before we rode Chase The Sun. Without the Covid pandemic it might have happened the following year, but the idea again got moth balled. 

Then a year ago Chris sent me a link to a story about a group that had cycled from the UK to Barcelona. It looked very appealing and reminiscent of my original plan. 100 miles a day for a week, with the Pyrenees to conquer before finishing on the Mediterranean coast.

Neither of us could do it that year as we already had family holidays planned, but we promised ourselves we would commit to book it in the Autumn. We enlisted Nigel again and got together in October and made our plans. That evening we booked the Ferry from Portsmouth and flights home from Barcelona for the following Easter, giving ourselves 6 months to prepare.

Since then there has been some preparation and we've enlisted Craig to join our band of brothers. However, this week was the first time we have all ridden together and with less than two months to go it's now beginning to feel very real!

I'm riding 10 hours a week and have put in two long rides (70+ miles) on the road bike. The others have completed a couple of century rides as part of their prep which I still haven't done. Which is playing on my mind slightly, so is the next monkey to get off my back. I have ridden every day since early January and I'm making an effort to put in back to back long rides on consecutive days to get used to riding with fatigued legs.

Brass Monkeys Round 3

Sorry Rob but the highlight of my race on Sunday was catching and passing the blue and red stripes of the national champions jersey. (Twice! - since his pitstop was quicker than mine!) Even if he was on a singlespeed it still felt good.

Sheer determination to get to the finish in appalling weather had seen me into the top ten at the previous race. This time however I was going to need some speed if I wanted a similar result. I threw caution to the wind and took no spares with me. Deciding to travel light and take the chance. I took the same attitude with clothing trying to save weight and drag. In my last blog I criticized riders I thought had under dressed for the conditions. That almost came back to haunt me when the un-forecast persistent drizzle started to soak through my clothes. Luckily the weather dried up before it became a serious issue for me. I'll admit however that back in the car at the end I had difficulty pulling socks onto the numb frozen stumps where my feet should have been!

My result at the first round had been a big disappointment to me, but the points I'd earned at round 2 had placed me 11th in the series. I've regularly challenged for a top series position in previous years and if I could get myself into the top 10 overall this season that would be an achievement I could be proud of. So with that aim I had decided to go all in.

I started near the front of the pack instead of my usual policy of loitering mid-field. Historically I've used the midfield congestion to help pace myself early on, before moving forward as the race progresses. On Sunday I went for it right from the starting horn and bombed down the initial blisteringly fast descent. Elbows tangling dangerously with other riders as we fought for grip and for space on the sandy, potholed gravel fireroad.

The track was dry and grippy to start with, the drizzle added a slippery sheen to some sections, but overall the course was flat and fast. As I will tell anybody I need a good hill in a course to really make a difference so I had to make do with really attacking the couple of small short gradients that there were. 

Like the first round I seemed to be completely missed by the commentary and so had no idea of my position during the race. All I knew was I felt really good, was eating went well and I needed only one pitstop on lap 4. I dug deeper as the 3rd hour drew on, passing riders, including the national single speed champ! I'd paced it well and was still able to push hard as I began the final lap. There was an open section where I could see a minute or two ahead and there was sadly nobody to chase. Equally glancing behind there was thankfully nobody chasing me either. So I was able to relax. Physically it had felt like a good race, I had same sort of feelings on the bike as previous years when I'd be in the top 5. So the news I'd finished 19th was like a punch in the gut.

Analysing my lap times when I got home, I can see the stamina is still there. I hadn't tired, all my lap times were within a minute of each other. Trouble is that they just weren't fast enough! Those I'm racing are several minutes quicker at the start and then they slow towards the end. Some I catch but others have built up a big enough margin that I can't reel them in. I need more speed! 

It's not like the heyday of mountain biking, but there were the most entries I've seen at a XC race for years. Perhaps lured by the better weather some of those ahead of me hadn't competed in the previous races. This meant that when the points were tallied up for the 3 rounds I was 11th. Frustratingly close to my goal.

However, I can't hide the fact that this winters 18th and 19th are two of my worse results in 13 years of Brass Monkeys races.