a tale of derring-do, cramp and a plucky underdog

My old cycling club, in common with most others, held time trial championships over distances of 10, 50 and 100 miles; and the most coveted of all, the blue riband if you like 25-mile championship.

Over my years of membership, I’d been lucky enough to win all of these at one time or another.  But in the 2000 season I’d resigned myself to not competing because in the June of that year I had to sit my final professional examinations – the culmination of three years hard work.  So, I’d had an easy winter, not gone on my usual pre-season training camp in Majorca and in the spring had only ridden one team time trial and a couple of road races.

I wasn’t even going to enter the 25, held in the Welsh Championship event in May.  And when I rode a warmup event on the Tuesday evening before the big event on Sunday, I was strongly regretting that I decided to enter after all.  I hadn’t even built my time trial bike up after the winter and my legs were simply not up to a 25-mile solo effort.

This had not gone unnoticed by my teammates who saw their chances of winning increase as both they and I had written off any chances on the Sunday.

On the morning of the event, a beautiful but rather breezy spring Sunday, I went through my usual routine and in a concession to aerodynamics bolted some tri-bars onto my road bike.  Looking around at my competitors’ bikes with their disc wheels and they all decked out in aero helmets I turned my cloth cycling cap around (more aero see!) and vowed to just go out and enjoy myself.

I completed my warmup, a 45-minute effort ramping up to race pace and rode the 5 miles or so from the event headquarters to the start line.  The ride to the start included a 3-mile climb, and something felt wrong on the way up.  Nothing disastrous, but I just couldn’t feel the pedals going around under my feet.  It all felt really surreal, and easy!

I started.  

A mile or so of rolling roads leading to a long descent and then largely flat dual carriageway.  The 15 miles to the turn took me 32 minutes.  I was flying.  I overtook around 5 riders who had started at minute intervals in front of me including one of my very bemused teammates. The whole event passed by in a blur.  It was so very easy I almost felt guilty.

I finished…

…in a lifetime personal best of just over 54 minutes, cramping up slightly about a mile out from the finish, but winning the club championship by over 2 minutes from my nearest competitor.  I also got a top 20 place in the Welsh “champs”. 

pride of place this...at the back of the garage, on a shelf, with my shoes...

All on a road bike with hardly any aerodynamic advantages and an off-season of little training.  I think I rode the whole thing on muscle memory and sheer motivation that only an underdog possesses.  And the luck on the day of everything just clicking into place.

And that was pretty much that for the season.  I rode a couple of races after my finals, but a crash in a circuit race in July ended my season prematurely.  I didn't know then, but it was to be my last as a competitive cyclist.  My daughter was born the following spring and along with a new job (passing my exams had a benefit after all!) I simply couldn't dedicate the time and money into another full on season.

So, I always look back at that Sunday in May 2000 when I defied all the odds with fondness tinged with a little regret.

Still, derring-do indeed!