In the previous blog I shared what I thought ‘Ugly’ looked like when we first started Cycling, time to share what ‘Bad’ looked like back then… To be fair, in my experiences there aren’t many negative aspects outside the two stand outs… 1) Crashes and 2) Gastric distress. On reflection funny as hell but disturbingly awful during…
Crashes first… We’ve all had them and will continue to do so. It is par for the course and when you least expect things to happen inevitably it will. Crashes are not a new subject but even by my standards I had a good go with my early attempts… riding on long days in the saddle would mean that my one good arm would generally take a hammering from the vigour’s of steering, holding on for dear life, changing gears, pulling a brake lever, wiping residue from my face and trying to extract gels / energy bars / sandwiches from my jersey back pockets over any extended period. Add to that discomfort the shoulders and the neck and you get a general feel that there are physical consequences to this love of cycling. When performing some of those functions there is an alternative ‘look mum no hands’ approach to riding or at best using my right arm as a crude stabiliser to try and manage staying on the handlebars, which in reality means a split second or two with no grip or control. Where can that go wrong..? Well, early doors in my Cycling career it went wrong and frequently, which my mates would take great pleasure in witnessing & talking about.
The first real example of ‘Houston we have a problem’ was on a trip riding the wonderful scenery but brutal weather of Ireland. My mate Conor decided that a trip cycling Ireland top to bottom (Malin Head to Mizen Head) down the west coast was the best way to explore & enjoy the delights of his home country. Keen for this to happen we packed our bikes, wives & partners came along and we rode multiple 70-90mile days to complete the 400+ miles, taking in some beautiful sights and also experiencing how fickle the May weather could be. The wives and partners would follow in cars, decamping early and hitting the ‘refreshments’. During the evenings we’d then join in consuming a few recovery rounds of the local black stuff.
Crash – Ireland #1… After a full day riding in torrential rain, where we were quicker going uphill on gradients of 4-5% than we were going down because of the rain & wind, I was chuffed too bits with myself to have survived the day. All the expensive wet weather gear I managed to squirrel purchase worked well, in my mind a concrete cost expenditure justification if ever I get rumbled by the missus. The hotel we were staying at was this lovely looking facility on the rugged west coast shores bang in the middle of a links Golf course. Coming down the small hill onto the hotel / Golf course entrance I reached down to grab my bottle for a final splash of hydration drink. The entrance had exposed fairways on either side so we had on the left golfers taking aim on the tee, on the right a green on which two gentlemen were tending the flag watching us group of cyclists entering this grand looking establishment. Unfortunately, what I didn’t notice was this immediate ‘sleeping policeman’ speed hump I was about to mount. To add insult to injury I did noticed that there were some further up the road but those had yellow splashes of paint dressed across them, the one I was about to encounter had nothing..! I wasn’t concentrating, the ride was over, pat on the back, let’s look professional when entering, hold good form…. Hmmm, I hit the speed bump whilst the good hand was off the handlebar holding my bottle, it dismounted me off my saddle on to the top frame at which point shoe cleats clipped out and I sort of tried to half run with the bike between my legs to get a balance but I was going too fast and then the handlebars jack-knifed on me. In-flight I had assumed crash positions as I semi hit the tarmac & road edge in a kerfuffle of wet sand and mud with a conflicting sound not common with a Golf course.
Blimey it hurt, I smashed my knackers on the top tube, I took the usual layer of skin off the body and trashed my overshoes, wet weather full length bib and the worst bit I tore holes in my uber lovely wet weather top. The mixture of sand & mud stuck to the already wet clothing and bike and embedded into my cuts & grazes. It was pure cycling comedy… the guys holding the flag looking in disbelief at this idiot that decided to launch himself off this speed bump, no hands..! Their faces were a picture, so I was told… I was too busy to notice. To further add to that initial damage not only did I trash the clothing but I also bent my back hanger on my gears which meant the electronic Di2’s were massively compromised. To those unfamiliar with the terms it equates to busted gears which isn’t good. As is customary in these instances I bounced up quite quickly thinking did anyone see..? What the frecking hell just happened… Quick get going I might not have been seen… I am in pain… I mounted the bike and struggled the last 150m to the front of the hotel with gearing compromised and in a mess as we were greeted by our loved ones. I approached with cuts & blood, torn clothing and a semi functional bike to which Amanda’s look of disbelief was followed with… “What the hell happened to you..?” The spass (description that may offend others but I’m happy as a term of affection from my mates) decided to crash at the entrance. As a consequences my recovery sleep, impacted by battered and bruised muscles and weeping cuts, turned into a stiff & sticky night and no it wasn’t hotel passion related.
Crash – Ireland #2… What is it that happens to us when we watch cycling on TV..? We start to envisage and get ideas that we can ride like the Pro’s without training. Time in the saddle and slightly more consistent speed somehow equates to feeling more confident and then foolishly debating how hard can it be in the Pro Peloton with drafting, team time trailing and all that good stuff. How difficult can it be riding closely behind the guy in front to get out of the wind and to be more efficient, swing off the front let the guys come through and join the back. 2mins max on the front and we are looking good, feeling good. A semi-professional outfit of cubby MAMIL’s… Sound familiar..? Keeping in mind that the Di2 gears have already been compromised and I put holes in the wet weather gear a few days before, this day was chilly with the odd shower so I wore my next set of expensive clothing with an aptly named Assos BonKa my prized possession for that day.
So, there we were in a line ‘motoring’ away, all aerodynamically on the drops and my mate Barny in front on me comes across this massively (I’m sticking to this observation) deep pot hole, at the last minute his skills allow him to ‘bunny hop’ the expansion, no time for hand signals or gestures at all, every man for himself. That skill set sadly isn’t in my repertoire for obvious reasons…! If I pull up, with one hand on the handlebars I’m going straight left and into all sorts of trouble. Which fundamentally is where I ended up anyway. I hit this pothole, the bike stopped almost dead, I launched up & over the handlebars rupturing a thigh muscle en-route when ripping off a tri-handle elbow rest that was in its way. Apparently, Conor who was behind me says as I went through the air I somehow grabbed the bike to pull it inwards towards the curb because that prized article was heading the other side of the road into head on traffic. Luckily I landed reasonably flat / square on my back / back side, I’d holed my prized BonKa and my backside and lower back were given a massive jolt. The bike took the brunt… slightly buckled wheel, smashed handlebars facing the wrong way and with my Di2 front derailleur satellite control smashed. This time I’m now stuck in the big gear..!
We spent the rest of the day trying to find someone who could replace parts and sync software, sods law that part of Ireland hadn’t been exposed to electronic gear changing so had to suffer for an extra day stuck in the big ring. We were lucky to find online a bike shop the next day able to help and by calling Colin (my mate & bike tech) in the UK and arranging for Scott rear hangers to be DHL’d through to the hotel where we are staying in two days-time.
Amanda’s summary observation was classic… ‘Our bedroom looks like A&E..!’ wound dressings, blood stuck to the sheets, torn clothes everywhere. The body was taking a pounding but we’d park that into the ‘character building’ category.
Why was this happening to me all the time..? Whilst these are two funny instances there was a common theme with the culprit being identified as my handlebar set up. The solution we had designed was an initial ‘proof of concept’ whilst functional it did have development areas… it was heavy, unbalanced and prone to oscillation that would itself translate into a ‘twitchy’ cockpit.
Later, as we looked to evolve the solution, we would take advantage of new innovative products and able to address some of these early flaws. As separate tale for a separate time.
Whilst we can almost guarantee crashing as an inevitability, what we can equally expect to happen is gastric distress. Granted not the most popular subject in some quarters, but if like me & my brother the Blazing Saddles camp fire scene or the Peter Sellers Pink Panther elevator clip are comedy gold then these are funny tales. Having the case of the ‘Tom Dumoulins’ has hit us all I am sure & when it happens it spares no one.
Hydration & refuelling are key activities when riding the bike, get these wrong and the wheels will literally come flying off. We can’t rely on a Deliveroo to suddenly pop along us with lovely cakes or sugary loveliness like the super domestiques of the Pro Peloton. We have to manage by ourselves on energy bars, gels, banana’s, a differing concoction of drink mixes and such like… for all of those to work you have had to test them because the destination for all that consumption on your ride is singularly YOUR STOMACH… We are advised by the good & the great to test these combinations out slowly and steadily over time to get the body used to it otherwise we encounter internal combustion which when that happens with bib shorts means some front running of key tasks to avoid catastrophic breaching of boundaries of clothing and body functions. A one handed bloke in full dismount and clothing evacuation looks like you are being attacked by swarm of flying stinging insects, a whirling dervish of activity.
Happened to me twice… the first was when I was riding the ‘King of the Downs’… a long, tough, hard day in the saddle. I read in the early addition of ‘The Cyclist’ Magazine (#Cyclist) that the consumption of nitrates helps the body facilitate oxygen in the blood that then aids your ability to be aerobically efficient. SiS were, at the time, selling these nitrate gels and I decided to give them a go. As instructed on the packaging I decided to front run the week before with the consumption of a couple of gels per day. I’d also took to eating beetroot to bolster the intake of nitrates and thought I’d be well prepared. The gels were not that great tasting but if the magazine recommended it why would an uninform MAMIL challenge this…
The day of the event I was a little nervous, 128 miles was a big prospect and I’d trained a long time to be able to be in a condition to just complete. Once we rode across the starting line I felt a little uncomfortable, probably nervous, I’d have the standard pre-match space clearing ritual and within 45mins I started consuming my carefully scheduled additional energy sources. Little further into the ride it then hit me… I had completed about 50miles during which I had the sweats, the feeling that if I let any wind out that I’d encounter involuntary substance evacuation, the thought of consuming anything more making me feel worse but I knew if I was to complete this event I’d need to either give up the contents of my stomach or consume and add to the woe… The former won the day, as we looped back passed Sean’s van the bike was ditched, I grabbed baby wipes and I ran with cleats in a very awkward fashion and de-clothed as per Tom Dumoulin right next to a railway line behind a path on full view to those that would be travelling up from Gatwick.
An open air out of body experience was had, suffice to say the mound I deposited was significant in size & weight, probably in the region of 2+kgs by the looks & beetroot like in colour. Comical value to my mates and to this day something brought up because of the slow train that went passed just as I was delivering the relief, a traumatic sight for anyone trying to enjoy the UK countryside. I got lucky in that I could sort of manage the consequences but the cause and the experience during those 50 miles were awful…
The second instance was a shorter tale but equally as traumatic. This time I was testing out caffeine & sodium bloks. Scrummy to taste and with hidden benefits, so I thought. Throw in something new to the refuelling equation and your stomach will readily let you know it doesn’t quite agree. I was riding some 3 hours prior and we were looking to finish with a Box Hill ascent, I’d take a few of these bloks to give me that extra boast, standard practice. Straight away, after consuming, I started burping, it was as if I had just swallowed a can of Andrews Liver Salts. Blimey I was gassy… half way up I’m thinking railway line and feeling a little faint. Oh no not again…! What the hell have these things got in them…? I managed to get to the top, my mates wanting to do another loop. “Love too but I’m struggling and need to get back down the hill, sharpish please”.
At the bottom swing left and then a quick 2mins to the Ryka Café where there is a toilet and my car. There were loads of motor bike people around, my mates descended with me, actually I should have checked Strava to see if I hit record descending times… on reflection probably too frightened to squeeze the brake lever too much just in case, consequential actions and all that. Anyhow, grabbed my customary ‘go to’ baby wipes, disabled toilet was unlocked (not always the case) and more importantly empty, I did the necessary, no stop watch required as it was a whoosh moment, BUT the toilet flush wasn’t working. Not that I’m into checking the ‘state of play’ but a quick glance was met with what can only be described as a vision of an effervescent mass. Oh my God, that ‘thing’ was still frothing & bubbling outside the body, no wonder why that was causing me extremely uncomfortable internal grief.
Moral of the story for any Cyclist is be prepared in all aspects where you can and try to cover every eventually where possible understanding the consequences. Sure we have many more tales of crashes and gastric distress, I know there are a few guys at my Cycling Club – Crest CC (#CrestCC) that have acquired nicknames because of their uncanny & unrivalled skills to detach themselves from their trusted machines.
Made me chuckle writing this blog… Toilet humour I guess.
Wayne
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