A low turn out this week for a myriad of reasons. Alan couldn't get out of football, Simon couldn't get out of Oswestry, Mark couldn't get out of work, Paul couldn't get out of his sick bed and Ian couldn't be ar*ed.
The intrepid survivors of Big Al, Ron and Chris braved the autumnal chill for a 50 mile loop from Wrexham to Maesbury via Blodwell bank, stopping off at the traditional watering hole to imbibe fine teas and partake of the Treflach sausage.
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Tuesday 13 October 2009
Off the Back Archive - 12/05/07
12/05/07 - Rhos - Ruthin - Denbigh - Tweedmills Cafe - Bodfari - Cilcain - Llanarmon - Rhos
Woke up bright and early this morning (its always bright & F**king early with the crapi's) for my comeback ride. God my legs were still hurting from Thursday's ride - to replicate the feeling get someone to hit both thighs with a ten pound lump hammer for say five minutes.
I nearly didn't recognise Ron with his new Pinarello, he's only ever had his stylish 1970's Starsky & Hutch styled bike whilst I've known him. Coupled with this season's Discovery kit he effortlessly walks off with the best turned out rider category.
The usual "we'll take it easy today" and "lets go steady" are bandied about by the others. They all say these things every week and it doesn't have any bearing on the subsequent ride. I now believe they are playing an elaborate game of bluff with each other - poker on a bike (which is a lot more difficult than it sounds!!).
By the time we've reached the water towers at Legacy I'm seriously considered turning off in Coedpoeth to go home. The others effortlessly spin up the back way to Minera whilst I grind a couple of inches off my teeth with the effort of keeping up. By the time we've climbed up through Bwlchgwyn my quads are in full scale revolt and I am regretting not bringing the rosaries to aid my prayers. Then miraculously the pain starts to subside & coupled with Matinee Robbo's pointed gesticulations I take my place in the bunch & take my turn on the front. Maybe this won't be so bad after all............
At the top of the Nant y Garth the heavens opened and its like riding down a river blindfolded. The only way I can see is to perch my glasses on the end of my nose and peer over the top of them al la Larry Grayson (though, I'm sure you'll be disappointed to learn, this was not coupled with the hand on the hip). Once clear the Garth we tottle along merrily to the outskirts of Ruthin where Matinee puts the hammer down and goes up the last drag at 22mph. He said later "my computer wasn't working" - this is another oft used phrase when one of them wants to let everyone know how well they are going - "I didn't think I was going that fast, it felt easy". Sometimes I could cheerfully put a stick through his front spokes!!
The crapi express races through the countryside like the well oiled (god I wish I had been) machine it is (and not, as some have mentioned, like an anaconda after a particularly heavy meal). The obligatory headwind is there but doesn't seem to slow us down. I'm still taking turns on the front and looking like a proper rider, maybe it won't be so bad after all......... Somewhere just outside Denbigh, physiologically, something went clunk & the quads began to remind me that they really were VERY sore. On the last stretch to the cafe at Tweedmills the Matinee idol asks for the pace to be lifted and slowly but inevitably I begin to slide "Off the Back".
Now the rest of the lads will tell you that they don't bother racing for signs or any of that other stuff that takes place on some club rides. They indeed don't but once the cafe's in site Chris, Matinee & Flatulance (aka Le Patron - Flatulance copyright of Mrs Matinee, all rights reserved) are off. Ron tails off slightly but as he's moved about 16 tonnes of earth this week, he's building a patio, its understandable. Reports that the patio is a cover for Ron's plan to make a fortune by reopening Bersham colliery in his back garden is unconfirmed at the time of going to press.
Le Patron orders beans on toast and teas all round, "Do you want salad luv?" "We'll have whatever you've got" replies Al thinking he's getting it gratis. Bl**dy hell the salad costs more than the beans on toast! Still it was very nice. Hopefully now we've refuelled I'll be alright for a bit.
Once through Bodfari the road just seems to go up and up, a continual drag, the others are spinning effortlessly and chatting away whilst I'm seriously wondering whether I'll need dentures by the time we've finished. I am now in full blown grovelling mode where every turn of the pedals hurts and every slight increase in tempo is agony, god knows how Ronnie is coping after his mining exploits. Eventually we turn off for Cilcain and Flatulance comes out with another of his patented catchphrases "there's a lot of drags on this so take it steady". To be fair they are taking it steady but that's still far to fast for me, every climb sees me fumbling for bottom gear like an overexcited schoolboy reaching for the tissues.
By the time we hit the Mold - Ruthin road its left to Le Patron (aka flatulance) to tow my sorry hide towards Llanarmon. He said first thing that he reckoned I owed him about 480 miles - after today I probably need to tow him 550 to even things up (sorry Al but my back won't take it!!). I probably owe all of them about 700 miles on the front so looks like once I retire from cricket at the end of this season I'll be spending my remaining days on the front of the peloton.
Eventually I crawl past the Liver pub and we make it back to A525 just above Bwlchgwyn. This decent is another one that seems to "flick their switches", soon I'm hanging on the back screaming into Coedpoeth at over 30mph. By the garage my big end goes and I have to ease back (very gingerly!). Everyone regroups for the last tottle into Rhos. The other four are explaining to each other how they didn't get dropped at various points on the descent, rather it was their choice. I'm wondering how many days it'll be before I can walk up stairs again. There is one last, short drag which kills me. The others, who don't race of course and are not at all competitive, take off like greyhounds out of a trap. These unseemly scrums really don't become them. But I'll let you into a secret, me and every other Lantern Rouge out there are secretly jealous. We long to be fit/good enough to be in the mix and, dare I say it, win the sprint to the top one day - just don't tell the other four!
Back at Le Patron's its teas all round (a bit like me). I can't believe how much my thighs hurt. Why do you do it I hear you cry, because now a few hours later I can honestly say I really enjoyed it. Maybe I'm just lucky to go out with a great bunch of lads who put up with my frailties and never abandon me on the road. For that lads I am very grateful. Chapeau
Woke up bright and early this morning (its always bright & F**king early with the crapi's) for my comeback ride. God my legs were still hurting from Thursday's ride - to replicate the feeling get someone to hit both thighs with a ten pound lump hammer for say five minutes.
I nearly didn't recognise Ron with his new Pinarello, he's only ever had his stylish 1970's Starsky & Hutch styled bike whilst I've known him. Coupled with this season's Discovery kit he effortlessly walks off with the best turned out rider category.
The usual "we'll take it easy today" and "lets go steady" are bandied about by the others. They all say these things every week and it doesn't have any bearing on the subsequent ride. I now believe they are playing an elaborate game of bluff with each other - poker on a bike (which is a lot more difficult than it sounds!!).
By the time we've reached the water towers at Legacy I'm seriously considered turning off in Coedpoeth to go home. The others effortlessly spin up the back way to Minera whilst I grind a couple of inches off my teeth with the effort of keeping up. By the time we've climbed up through Bwlchgwyn my quads are in full scale revolt and I am regretting not bringing the rosaries to aid my prayers. Then miraculously the pain starts to subside & coupled with Matinee Robbo's pointed gesticulations I take my place in the bunch & take my turn on the front. Maybe this won't be so bad after all............
At the top of the Nant y Garth the heavens opened and its like riding down a river blindfolded. The only way I can see is to perch my glasses on the end of my nose and peer over the top of them al la Larry Grayson (though, I'm sure you'll be disappointed to learn, this was not coupled with the hand on the hip). Once clear the Garth we tottle along merrily to the outskirts of Ruthin where Matinee puts the hammer down and goes up the last drag at 22mph. He said later "my computer wasn't working" - this is another oft used phrase when one of them wants to let everyone know how well they are going - "I didn't think I was going that fast, it felt easy". Sometimes I could cheerfully put a stick through his front spokes!!
The crapi express races through the countryside like the well oiled (god I wish I had been) machine it is (and not, as some have mentioned, like an anaconda after a particularly heavy meal). The obligatory headwind is there but doesn't seem to slow us down. I'm still taking turns on the front and looking like a proper rider, maybe it won't be so bad after all......... Somewhere just outside Denbigh, physiologically, something went clunk & the quads began to remind me that they really were VERY sore. On the last stretch to the cafe at Tweedmills the Matinee idol asks for the pace to be lifted and slowly but inevitably I begin to slide "Off the Back".
Now the rest of the lads will tell you that they don't bother racing for signs or any of that other stuff that takes place on some club rides. They indeed don't but once the cafe's in site Chris, Matinee & Flatulance (aka Le Patron - Flatulance copyright of Mrs Matinee, all rights reserved) are off. Ron tails off slightly but as he's moved about 16 tonnes of earth this week, he's building a patio, its understandable. Reports that the patio is a cover for Ron's plan to make a fortune by reopening Bersham colliery in his back garden is unconfirmed at the time of going to press.
Le Patron orders beans on toast and teas all round, "Do you want salad luv?" "We'll have whatever you've got" replies Al thinking he's getting it gratis. Bl**dy hell the salad costs more than the beans on toast! Still it was very nice. Hopefully now we've refuelled I'll be alright for a bit.
Once through Bodfari the road just seems to go up and up, a continual drag, the others are spinning effortlessly and chatting away whilst I'm seriously wondering whether I'll need dentures by the time we've finished. I am now in full blown grovelling mode where every turn of the pedals hurts and every slight increase in tempo is agony, god knows how Ronnie is coping after his mining exploits. Eventually we turn off for Cilcain and Flatulance comes out with another of his patented catchphrases "there's a lot of drags on this so take it steady". To be fair they are taking it steady but that's still far to fast for me, every climb sees me fumbling for bottom gear like an overexcited schoolboy reaching for the tissues.
By the time we hit the Mold - Ruthin road its left to Le Patron (aka flatulance) to tow my sorry hide towards Llanarmon. He said first thing that he reckoned I owed him about 480 miles - after today I probably need to tow him 550 to even things up (sorry Al but my back won't take it!!). I probably owe all of them about 700 miles on the front so looks like once I retire from cricket at the end of this season I'll be spending my remaining days on the front of the peloton.
Eventually I crawl past the Liver pub and we make it back to A525 just above Bwlchgwyn. This decent is another one that seems to "flick their switches", soon I'm hanging on the back screaming into Coedpoeth at over 30mph. By the garage my big end goes and I have to ease back (very gingerly!). Everyone regroups for the last tottle into Rhos. The other four are explaining to each other how they didn't get dropped at various points on the descent, rather it was their choice. I'm wondering how many days it'll be before I can walk up stairs again. There is one last, short drag which kills me. The others, who don't race of course and are not at all competitive, take off like greyhounds out of a trap. These unseemly scrums really don't become them. But I'll let you into a secret, me and every other Lantern Rouge out there are secretly jealous. We long to be fit/good enough to be in the mix and, dare I say it, win the sprint to the top one day - just don't tell the other four!
Back at Le Patron's its teas all round (a bit like me). I can't believe how much my thighs hurt. Why do you do it I hear you cry, because now a few hours later I can honestly say I really enjoyed it. Maybe I'm just lucky to go out with a great bunch of lads who put up with my frailties and never abandon me on the road. For that lads I am very grateful. Chapeau
Off the Back Archive - 14 April 2007
14th of April 2007
Really looking forward to this ride then "the patron" emails the route. Suddenly it doesn't look too inviting - you get flatter rides in the Alps.
Still we're off, I feel quite perky on the way to Ruthin, almost take a turn on the front until Ronnie hurtles past - obviously it wasn't meant to be!! Leaving Ruthin the hills start and the others are away - like four whippets and me struggling to chase them down like an asthmatic Newfoundland. God its hot, why am I the only one sweating? Still the leg from Cerrigydrudion to Corwen is fairly flat so maybe that won't be so bad...........
I'm still not sure what happened on the A5 apart from all hell breaking loose. All other road users were left flailing in a dust storm followed by the lonely tumbleweed (me of course!!). The temporary lights at Padog bends offer no respite as they change just as we arrive, oh goody! The crapiwheeler express barrows through, keeping pace with cars and then accelerating down the hill on the other side. I can no longer feel my legs!!
We eventually reach Corwen for the cafe stop. I dismount with all the style and aplomb of Jimmy Saville after a heavy night. My legs seem to be moving to some internal Shakin' Stevens soundtrack and I have no control over them. The stop overruns whilst Paul (our dashing matinee idol - he always dashes to the toilet as soon as we pass one!!) has apple pie for desert.
We start again and someone seems to have swapped my legs for a pair of rubber ones. Chris (who the hell let him have an even lighter bike - should be made to ride a butcher's bike!) and Paul are soon pulling clear (Maybe Paul needs the toilet again). Al & Ron slowly but surely leave me behind (or was it for dead?) With the aid of a long wait involving 3 games of chess, two of ludo and a quick burst of I-spy I catch up and we all enter Llangollen together.
Slowly, inevitably the elastic snaps between Llan and home - it’s a combination of me going slower and the rest finally deciding I'm not going to get any better. Left to my own devices I feel better and even, I imagine, put the hammer down a bit (Before you say anything I know, I know but allow me the escape of fantasy please!). I hurtle into Rhos like a runaway tortoise, I am very glad to be out of the saddle!
Everyone else has done their weekly shop by the time I get back but they are very kind and don't mention it. Naturally they are all appalled that I can't make next week's ride and show their disappointment with silence and playful smiles..........!! They'll be sorry when there's no one there to keep the pace nice and slow.
Seriously guys have a great ride next week and all you readers out there in cyber land be kind to all cyclists - one could just be the "lantern rouge".
Really looking forward to this ride then "the patron" emails the route. Suddenly it doesn't look too inviting - you get flatter rides in the Alps.
Still we're off, I feel quite perky on the way to Ruthin, almost take a turn on the front until Ronnie hurtles past - obviously it wasn't meant to be!! Leaving Ruthin the hills start and the others are away - like four whippets and me struggling to chase them down like an asthmatic Newfoundland. God its hot, why am I the only one sweating? Still the leg from Cerrigydrudion to Corwen is fairly flat so maybe that won't be so bad...........
I'm still not sure what happened on the A5 apart from all hell breaking loose. All other road users were left flailing in a dust storm followed by the lonely tumbleweed (me of course!!). The temporary lights at Padog bends offer no respite as they change just as we arrive, oh goody! The crapiwheeler express barrows through, keeping pace with cars and then accelerating down the hill on the other side. I can no longer feel my legs!!
We eventually reach Corwen for the cafe stop. I dismount with all the style and aplomb of Jimmy Saville after a heavy night. My legs seem to be moving to some internal Shakin' Stevens soundtrack and I have no control over them. The stop overruns whilst Paul (our dashing matinee idol - he always dashes to the toilet as soon as we pass one!!) has apple pie for desert.
We start again and someone seems to have swapped my legs for a pair of rubber ones. Chris (who the hell let him have an even lighter bike - should be made to ride a butcher's bike!) and Paul are soon pulling clear (Maybe Paul needs the toilet again). Al & Ron slowly but surely leave me behind (or was it for dead?) With the aid of a long wait involving 3 games of chess, two of ludo and a quick burst of I-spy I catch up and we all enter Llangollen together.
Slowly, inevitably the elastic snaps between Llan and home - it’s a combination of me going slower and the rest finally deciding I'm not going to get any better. Left to my own devices I feel better and even, I imagine, put the hammer down a bit (Before you say anything I know, I know but allow me the escape of fantasy please!). I hurtle into Rhos like a runaway tortoise, I am very glad to be out of the saddle!
Everyone else has done their weekly shop by the time I get back but they are very kind and don't mention it. Naturally they are all appalled that I can't make next week's ride and show their disappointment with silence and playful smiles..........!! They'll be sorry when there's no one there to keep the pace nice and slow.
Seriously guys have a great ride next week and all you readers out there in cyber land be kind to all cyclists - one could just be the "lantern rouge".
Monday 12 October 2009
Off the Back Archive - 29th June 2008 Lord Baltimore finds a friend.
Another Sunday so it must be time for one of the Patron's exercise's in pain. The Patron nearly faints in orgasmic delight when he spots the new Bianchi c.2.c on top of the Matinee idol's car. He finally has the bike to go with his movie star looks. The Patron just manages to wait until the bike is off the roof before getting on for a go (but it was touch and go). The Crapi's are down by one today as Chris has to go and play with bits of cars. The deficit is made up by Dave from the Oswestry club. The Patron says it's a new route (we find out en route exactly how new!).
Your cuddly (ok, fat) Lantern feels he must step up and go on the front a bit in Chris's absence. Ten miles in, with the pace showing no signs of abating, it’s time for a rethink. Dave looks equally stunned. For all the talk of taking it steady the Patron and Rocket Ronnie just can't help themselves. Twenty miles in and the pace is still high, over 17mph average, well at least Dave is suffering as well! Next thing Dave wizzes to the front looking very comfy, is it drugs or has he just found his legs. It looks like a long lonesome road of hanging on the back for the Lantern. Respite for me arrives in the unlikely form of a herd of cows returning from milking. I catch up and we idle away the time looking at the best looking farmer anyone has ever seen.
Soon we are off again and the drags are killing me (and me back!!). We pass through a very pleasant village whilst the Patron looks for a turning, he's sure it's round here somewhere, he just manages to stop himself asking the Rocket which way he thinks it is. Eventually after a delightful detour we arrive back in the same village, where the patron contrives to make out it was all part of the plan. Eventually he finds a road that's steep enough for him and we set off up it. Another endless drag which everyone else cantered up whereas I did my by now celebrated impression of a ninety year old with emphysema who's smoked 90 a day. Reaching the top I find a conference about which way to go, the Matinee Idol has a very serious look on his chops - the cafe stop is looming and no one seems to know where the cafe is! We turn right and the heavens open and we get our first drenching of the day. Just when I think things can't get any worse we top a hill on a nice little B road and the 15% downhill has been resurfaced and there are chippings like ball bearings everywhere. Matinee casts a despairing look at his new shiny paintwork. The Patron decides it’s too steep and gets off (see it’s not just me!!). Only the Rocket and me (your intrepid Lantern) risk the descent at any pace. I can't control myself and fly past Ron, it was worth it just to see his face!! How I got round the next right hander I'm not sure, suffice to say I was looking for a soft landing. We stop at the crossroads for another team talk and strike out for Church Stoke. Eventually we reach civilisation - the cafe stop - after only 38 miles. Things are not looking good at this stage (and before you ask no I wasn't riding behind the Patron), it’s a long way back to Oswestry from here and I'm knackered. Soon after the cafe stop another team talk re directions (this one designed to minimise my sufferings), when asked Ron utters the immortal "I don't mind as long as we pick the pace up a bit". Oh dear! Within 5 miles of the cafe stop it’s raining again and by the time we hit the A483 at Welshpool I can barely make out Dave's back wheel in front of me. The ride up the A483, for the most part, passed in torrent of water and pain. Thanks to the effects of the diazapam I slipped Ron when no one was looking the pace is sufficiently genteel (between 18-25mph less you think the rest of the crapis are getting soft) for me to hang on until we are almost back in Oswestry. The elastic snaps with about 4 miles to go and I trundle in after Dave has departed. My average speed was 16mph over nearly 63 miles (god knows what average the rest of the crapis had) and I feel more knackered than the previous week. With barely a word I slink off home.
Now I've showered and eaten it all looks a whole lot better, another enjoyable romp through the countryside with the dashing hero's who make up the crapi peleton. Thanks again to the Patron, Rocket Ronnie and the Matinee Idol (and Dave from Oswestry) for getting me round and not getting too grumpy when my lack of miles began to show (about a mile into the ride!) - it is appreciated.
Another Sunday so it must be time for one of the Patron's exercise's in pain. The Patron nearly faints in orgasmic delight when he spots the new Bianchi c.2.c on top of the Matinee idol's car. He finally has the bike to go with his movie star looks. The Patron just manages to wait until the bike is off the roof before getting on for a go (but it was touch and go). The Crapi's are down by one today as Chris has to go and play with bits of cars. The deficit is made up by Dave from the Oswestry club. The Patron says it's a new route (we find out en route exactly how new!).
Your cuddly (ok, fat) Lantern feels he must step up and go on the front a bit in Chris's absence. Ten miles in, with the pace showing no signs of abating, it’s time for a rethink. Dave looks equally stunned. For all the talk of taking it steady the Patron and Rocket Ronnie just can't help themselves. Twenty miles in and the pace is still high, over 17mph average, well at least Dave is suffering as well! Next thing Dave wizzes to the front looking very comfy, is it drugs or has he just found his legs. It looks like a long lonesome road of hanging on the back for the Lantern. Respite for me arrives in the unlikely form of a herd of cows returning from milking. I catch up and we idle away the time looking at the best looking farmer anyone has ever seen.
Soon we are off again and the drags are killing me (and me back!!). We pass through a very pleasant village whilst the Patron looks for a turning, he's sure it's round here somewhere, he just manages to stop himself asking the Rocket which way he thinks it is. Eventually after a delightful detour we arrive back in the same village, where the patron contrives to make out it was all part of the plan. Eventually he finds a road that's steep enough for him and we set off up it. Another endless drag which everyone else cantered up whereas I did my by now celebrated impression of a ninety year old with emphysema who's smoked 90 a day. Reaching the top I find a conference about which way to go, the Matinee Idol has a very serious look on his chops - the cafe stop is looming and no one seems to know where the cafe is! We turn right and the heavens open and we get our first drenching of the day. Just when I think things can't get any worse we top a hill on a nice little B road and the 15% downhill has been resurfaced and there are chippings like ball bearings everywhere. Matinee casts a despairing look at his new shiny paintwork. The Patron decides it’s too steep and gets off (see it’s not just me!!). Only the Rocket and me (your intrepid Lantern) risk the descent at any pace. I can't control myself and fly past Ron, it was worth it just to see his face!! How I got round the next right hander I'm not sure, suffice to say I was looking for a soft landing. We stop at the crossroads for another team talk and strike out for Church Stoke. Eventually we reach civilisation - the cafe stop - after only 38 miles. Things are not looking good at this stage (and before you ask no I wasn't riding behind the Patron), it’s a long way back to Oswestry from here and I'm knackered. Soon after the cafe stop another team talk re directions (this one designed to minimise my sufferings), when asked Ron utters the immortal "I don't mind as long as we pick the pace up a bit". Oh dear! Within 5 miles of the cafe stop it’s raining again and by the time we hit the A483 at Welshpool I can barely make out Dave's back wheel in front of me. The ride up the A483, for the most part, passed in torrent of water and pain. Thanks to the effects of the diazapam I slipped Ron when no one was looking the pace is sufficiently genteel (between 18-25mph less you think the rest of the crapis are getting soft) for me to hang on until we are almost back in Oswestry. The elastic snaps with about 4 miles to go and I trundle in after Dave has departed. My average speed was 16mph over nearly 63 miles (god knows what average the rest of the crapis had) and I feel more knackered than the previous week. With barely a word I slink off home.
Now I've showered and eaten it all looks a whole lot better, another enjoyable romp through the countryside with the dashing hero's who make up the crapi peleton. Thanks again to the Patron, Rocket Ronnie and the Matinee Idol (and Dave from Oswestry) for getting me round and not getting too grumpy when my lack of miles began to show (about a mile into the ride!) - it is appreciated.
Off the Back Archive - 22nd June 2008
As last Sunday was a trifle windy the Patron decided to take us up on the Moors. Thankfully I was blissfully unaware of this until it was too late. The Rocket Ronnie lost his computer to a falling branch before the ride even started. The first challenge was to get on the bike without being blown off. Another unsuspecting innocent and occasional guest rider, Mark, had joined us on his gleaning new Giant. Things were looking ominous.
Things set off at a fairly brisk pace due to a headwind as, dodging bits of flying tree, we eased past Bala lake (you could have surfed on the waves). Just after Llanuwchllyn (I think it was) was turned right and mercifully had a break from the wind. Just as I began to think this could be quite pleasant the Patron uttered the by now immortal phrase "There's a bit of drag coming up". This is normally the sign for extreme suffering as the road ramps up but this time it didn't... only because a ramp doesn't do justice to the steepness of the gradient and the pain in my legs. Everyone else cursed their way up but I wasn't so much off the back as off the bike. Yes I had to walk for a bit. Following this little warm up the road continued its upward trajectory for far too many miles for my liking. When the patron asked how I was feeling all he got in response was "This is ludicrous". It was, but things were about to get worse.
When we finally crested the last hill (for the time being) I thought I'd get on the front for the descent (actually I was just too tired to stop when everyone else did). I rounded a corner and the full force of the 60 odd mph wind hit me like a truck. The wind was funnelling right up the valley and by the end of the descent both Mark and I had to bury ourselves in an attempt to hang onto the back!! I thought biking was supposed to be fun. Eventually we hit civilisation, or rather the A470, and turned for Trawsfynydd. Right a nice bit of tarmac, not too much wind, maybe a chance to recover.... The pace went up quicker than Landis' legal bills and I was soon "off the back". This was when the crapis decided it was time to play one of their favourite games. One of them, Chris in this instance, waits for me and drags me bag to the bunch at a pace I can barely cope with. As soon as we are back on, before I can drag a draft of sweet air into me lungs the lead rider goes off like someone's shoved a firework up his jaxie. This leaves me off the back again, they repeat this until they get bored. I know we are headed for Ffestiniog before the cafe so am frankly appalled when we wizz past two signposts indicating a turn for the place! Eventually we do turn for Blaenau and yet another drag, I am now gasping like a new prisoner who's dropped the soap. I'm beginning to doubt whether I'll make the cafe let alone get back to Bala. Somewhere around Ffestiniog the group fragments and Chris is once again left shepherding the weak and infirm (or in this case Mark & me). Eventually, after another long drag naturally, we arrive at the cafe where the Patron narrowly escapes being beaten with a big stick by dint of the fact its open. My sole consolation is that Mark now looks like he's joined my world of pain.
We leave the cafe and another long drag ensues, Mark appears like a frisky young puppy and I am once again hanging on for grim death at the back. As soon as we hit the main road back to Bala it all kicks off (as usual), Chris, Paul and Al open a small gap on the rocket and go for the kill. Mark and I are falling behind faster than a mobility scooter at a Grand Prix. Mark and I make a combined effort to close up to the rocket so we can work together back to Bala. The rocket looks behind and sees us closing, I swear it’s only his sunglasses that keep his eyeballs in, he can't believe what he's seeing. Head down and legs spinning like Billy Whizz he disappears again. Mark and I work together and set a respectable tempo and arrive back not too long after the others. It is without doubt the windiest ride I've been on and the early stages were amongst the hardest yet (the Patron emails everyone later to say there was over 1100m of climbing), now that it’s all over, everyone's enthusing about the ride and keen for more (provided it’s not til next week of course). As always thanks to Chris, Ron, Al, Paul and Mark for an enjoyable ride - see you next week guys.
As last Sunday was a trifle windy the Patron decided to take us up on the Moors. Thankfully I was blissfully unaware of this until it was too late. The Rocket Ronnie lost his computer to a falling branch before the ride even started. The first challenge was to get on the bike without being blown off. Another unsuspecting innocent and occasional guest rider, Mark, had joined us on his gleaning new Giant. Things were looking ominous.
Things set off at a fairly brisk pace due to a headwind as, dodging bits of flying tree, we eased past Bala lake (you could have surfed on the waves). Just after Llanuwchllyn (I think it was) was turned right and mercifully had a break from the wind. Just as I began to think this could be quite pleasant the Patron uttered the by now immortal phrase "There's a bit of drag coming up". This is normally the sign for extreme suffering as the road ramps up but this time it didn't... only because a ramp doesn't do justice to the steepness of the gradient and the pain in my legs. Everyone else cursed their way up but I wasn't so much off the back as off the bike. Yes I had to walk for a bit. Following this little warm up the road continued its upward trajectory for far too many miles for my liking. When the patron asked how I was feeling all he got in response was "This is ludicrous". It was, but things were about to get worse.
When we finally crested the last hill (for the time being) I thought I'd get on the front for the descent (actually I was just too tired to stop when everyone else did). I rounded a corner and the full force of the 60 odd mph wind hit me like a truck. The wind was funnelling right up the valley and by the end of the descent both Mark and I had to bury ourselves in an attempt to hang onto the back!! I thought biking was supposed to be fun. Eventually we hit civilisation, or rather the A470, and turned for Trawsfynydd. Right a nice bit of tarmac, not too much wind, maybe a chance to recover.... The pace went up quicker than Landis' legal bills and I was soon "off the back". This was when the crapis decided it was time to play one of their favourite games. One of them, Chris in this instance, waits for me and drags me bag to the bunch at a pace I can barely cope with. As soon as we are back on, before I can drag a draft of sweet air into me lungs the lead rider goes off like someone's shoved a firework up his jaxie. This leaves me off the back again, they repeat this until they get bored. I know we are headed for Ffestiniog before the cafe so am frankly appalled when we wizz past two signposts indicating a turn for the place! Eventually we do turn for Blaenau and yet another drag, I am now gasping like a new prisoner who's dropped the soap. I'm beginning to doubt whether I'll make the cafe let alone get back to Bala. Somewhere around Ffestiniog the group fragments and Chris is once again left shepherding the weak and infirm (or in this case Mark & me). Eventually, after another long drag naturally, we arrive at the cafe where the Patron narrowly escapes being beaten with a big stick by dint of the fact its open. My sole consolation is that Mark now looks like he's joined my world of pain.
We leave the cafe and another long drag ensues, Mark appears like a frisky young puppy and I am once again hanging on for grim death at the back. As soon as we hit the main road back to Bala it all kicks off (as usual), Chris, Paul and Al open a small gap on the rocket and go for the kill. Mark and I are falling behind faster than a mobility scooter at a Grand Prix. Mark and I make a combined effort to close up to the rocket so we can work together back to Bala. The rocket looks behind and sees us closing, I swear it’s only his sunglasses that keep his eyeballs in, he can't believe what he's seeing. Head down and legs spinning like Billy Whizz he disappears again. Mark and I work together and set a respectable tempo and arrive back not too long after the others. It is without doubt the windiest ride I've been on and the early stages were amongst the hardest yet (the Patron emails everyone later to say there was over 1100m of climbing), now that it’s all over, everyone's enthusing about the ride and keen for more (provided it’s not til next week of course). As always thanks to Chris, Ron, Al, Paul and Mark for an enjoyable ride - see you next week guys.
Off the Back Archive - 1st June 2008
Well the day finally dawned when it was time to return to the peleton and reconnect with the pain. After several weeks of intense (ish) training I could delay it no more. Some things haven't changed in the 8-9 months I've been away. The patron still wants to go far too bloody early in the morning & he still says it'll be a nice gentle ride. Dolgellau - Aberdyfi - Towyn - Fairbourne - Dolgellau is the "nice gentle route". The first shock is seeing Ron decked out in a Tour de France yellow jersey - it’s like having your own sun along on the ride.
The full CRAPI compliment - Chris, Ron, Al, Paul and me set off and soon we hit the first climb & I remember why it took so long to come back..... The others amble on their way barely seeming to have to turn the pedals whilst I start to sweat like its 35 degrees and my breathing develops a style last heard on the sound effects for Ivor the Engine. After half an hour or so the fun subsides and we reach a downhill bit - the patron has waited and I chase him down the other side (he owes me money!) and we catch the others. Another hill ramps up and again the others seem to float up it whilst I now sound like Ivor the Engine with a blown gasket! On the next descent the CRAPIs are unable to hold the testosterone in check any longer and we hurtle down at over 30mph until Ivor's second gasket goes and I leave them to it.
Ron again shows a pressing need for a satnav on his bars when he then misses the turning for Aberdyfi. The road's flattish with a couple of drags. Each drag is murder for me, legs screaming like Mariah Carey at full throttle. I go backwards rapidly. Each time I nearly make it back another drag; and so it goes. Coming into Aberdyfi the CRAPs do their usual upping the tempo whilst each one pretends they’re not really trying, I stagger in alone and knackered. It's only halfway!!
After breakfasts and teas all round and fortified by Ron's comment about how far me belly sticks out it’s off again. The pace to the rest is probably nice and steady but I can feel the elastic stretch almost to breaking point as they race through Tywyn with my clinging to the back (I know my place!). Chris and the Patron pull me up a couple of drags and soon I find myself hurtling through Fairbourne at the back of the CRAPI express. I look up to see the Patron wipe some sweat off his brow and flick it behind him - it hits me in the face like a bucket of water. Refreshed I redouble my efforts and cling to their coat-tails as they scream along the valley floor like a low level jet.
The hill at Arthog finishes me off, Chris, Ron & Paul fly off to have their own private battle and the Patron settles in to drag me home - as I said some things never change. After thinking the pain will never end I arrive back at the car in 3 hours dead (and so am I very nearly), having done 50 miles and averaged over 16mph. I had forgotten how knackered you can feel at the end of a ride with the CRAPIs but at the same time feel great. The feeling is short-lived as Al announces a 70 miler for next weekend but tells me it'll be nice and gentle, now where have I heard that before.........
A big thank you to the rest of the CRAPIs for putting up with me today, despite my bitching I never lose sight of the fact that you'd be going a lot faster without the tubby lantern to slow you down. I will try to be better next week honest.
Well the day finally dawned when it was time to return to the peleton and reconnect with the pain. After several weeks of intense (ish) training I could delay it no more. Some things haven't changed in the 8-9 months I've been away. The patron still wants to go far too bloody early in the morning & he still says it'll be a nice gentle ride. Dolgellau - Aberdyfi - Towyn - Fairbourne - Dolgellau is the "nice gentle route". The first shock is seeing Ron decked out in a Tour de France yellow jersey - it’s like having your own sun along on the ride.
The full CRAPI compliment - Chris, Ron, Al, Paul and me set off and soon we hit the first climb & I remember why it took so long to come back..... The others amble on their way barely seeming to have to turn the pedals whilst I start to sweat like its 35 degrees and my breathing develops a style last heard on the sound effects for Ivor the Engine. After half an hour or so the fun subsides and we reach a downhill bit - the patron has waited and I chase him down the other side (he owes me money!) and we catch the others. Another hill ramps up and again the others seem to float up it whilst I now sound like Ivor the Engine with a blown gasket! On the next descent the CRAPIs are unable to hold the testosterone in check any longer and we hurtle down at over 30mph until Ivor's second gasket goes and I leave them to it.
Ron again shows a pressing need for a satnav on his bars when he then misses the turning for Aberdyfi. The road's flattish with a couple of drags. Each drag is murder for me, legs screaming like Mariah Carey at full throttle. I go backwards rapidly. Each time I nearly make it back another drag; and so it goes. Coming into Aberdyfi the CRAPs do their usual upping the tempo whilst each one pretends they’re not really trying, I stagger in alone and knackered. It's only halfway!!
After breakfasts and teas all round and fortified by Ron's comment about how far me belly sticks out it’s off again. The pace to the rest is probably nice and steady but I can feel the elastic stretch almost to breaking point as they race through Tywyn with my clinging to the back (I know my place!). Chris and the Patron pull me up a couple of drags and soon I find myself hurtling through Fairbourne at the back of the CRAPI express. I look up to see the Patron wipe some sweat off his brow and flick it behind him - it hits me in the face like a bucket of water. Refreshed I redouble my efforts and cling to their coat-tails as they scream along the valley floor like a low level jet.
The hill at Arthog finishes me off, Chris, Ron & Paul fly off to have their own private battle and the Patron settles in to drag me home - as I said some things never change. After thinking the pain will never end I arrive back at the car in 3 hours dead (and so am I very nearly), having done 50 miles and averaged over 16mph. I had forgotten how knackered you can feel at the end of a ride with the CRAPIs but at the same time feel great. The feeling is short-lived as Al announces a 70 miler for next weekend but tells me it'll be nice and gentle, now where have I heard that before.........
A big thank you to the rest of the CRAPIs for putting up with me today, despite my bitching I never lose sight of the fact that you'd be going a lot faster without the tubby lantern to slow you down. I will try to be better next week honest.
Off The Back Archive - France 2007
Reports of my demise in sunny France have been slightly exaggerated so here are my recollections of the Crapi's "Tour to France". Le Patron passed a late fitness test and despite coughing like a lab reared beagle eased himself into my Fiesta for the trip to France. I don't want to go into great detail about the trip down to the Alps but a packed car and three big lads does not a pleasant aroma make!! After an eventful first evening kipping in a Formula 1 near Dole - Fireworks (It was Bastille day) until midnight, the asthmatic beagle coughing every 30 seconds until 3 am & then my alarm blasting out at 4.45am - we arrived at the wonderful campsite champ du moulin. Le Patron was lost for words and all he uttered to Paul (yes folks our very own matinee idol made the trip) and myself was "F**k me its beautiful". An early night ensued as we were off on our first ride on the Monday.
La Berarde - 16/07/07
To say Le Patron was excited on the day of our first ride is a slight understatement, he looked like he'd been on the pro plus & co-codomol when he breezed into our room at half past far too bloody early to chivvy us along. We set out from the campsite before the sun had climbed over the alpine peaks and within a quarter of a mile the road reared up like Evil Kenevil's take off ramp. Bloody hell it was steep to begin with, worry turned to dread as Le Patron and Matinee pedalled off, seemingly without trying, while I tried to convince my legs it would stop hurting in a minute. The views on the climb were fantastic, the scenery was absolutely stunning. Eventually after nearly two hours we made it to La Berarde - a little piece of paradise - and I slumped into my chair in the cafe. Hopefully there are some pictures on the website of this fantastic place for you to see for yourselves. Now comes the fun bit - the descent - this is the bit I can do (probably something to do with weight/momentum ratios). After taking nearly two hours to get up I got back to the campsite in about 20 minutes, Matinee and La Patron choose a more leisurely pace and arrived back to find me cleaning my bike. The picture Paul took of me has been classified under the Official Secrets act - suffice to say man boobs and a sizeable gut were captured in all their glory. After a visit from the Lantern's older and only marginally less dashing older brother another early night was taken, after some fortifying wine had been imbibed of course!! Tomorrow we were off to see the Tour.
The Galibier - 17/07/07
Another early start, we have to get the car as close to the top of the Col de Lautaret as possible so we don't have too far to ride. I drive as I'm determined to find a spot near the top as I'm knackered after yesterday's ride. After a pit stop (which proved to be a false alarm) for Matinee to study the intricacies of French pipe work we parked at the top of the Lautaret (Hurrah!!). Bikes were quickly unloaded and we were off. Le Patron and myself had both indicated we'd stop on the ride up so as not to kill ourselves before Thursday's big ride. Actually in Matinee's hearing Al said he'd "wait for the lad here" but we all knew what he meant!! The climb from the top of the Lautaret is only (!!) about 5 miles but it took me the best part of an hour to get there. Mostly Le Patron and myself rode together whilst Matinee went on his own sweet way. The last kilometre or so is 12% and both Le Patron and myself struggled. Matinee caught the sprint for the top on camera though I doubt we broke 5mph, the picture of me gurning like someone trying to pass a watermelon on the pictures link gives you a glimpse of the pain and suffering involved. We must have been at the top before 10am and the Tour wasn't due through until 4ish. It’s amazing how quickly the time goes, chatting to other cyclists and watching the French police wrestle people off their bikes when they ignored their instructions. In next to no time the annual scrum known as the Tour caravan winded its way up the Galibier and we scrabbled for the meagre pickings left by the crack German squad - there was at least 6 of them working both sides of the road!! Eventually news starts to filter through, a Barloworld rider is away - no one has any idea who Soler is at this stage. Soon we see the helicopters circling above the riders and a red dot comes into view. As they wind their way up the mountainside towards us we begin to pick out individual riders on the road. It becomes clear 2 Discovery riders are chasing Soler. Suddenly Soler goes past us at an amazing rate closely followed by Popovych (what a good Tour he had) and Contador. Cadel Evans is burying himself to get over the top still in contention, Rassmussen, Moreau and the other contenders fly past (how do they go so fast?). There are now gaps before other riders appear. First you hear the noise of the crowd the crowd parts and the motorbikes appear, suddenly the rider(s) come into view. Vino gets towed over (obviously hadn't filled up with Super unleaded blood at this stage), Boogerd leads a group over the top. Soon the Grupetto appears and all thoughts of taking pictures are suspended so we can shout encouragement to Geraint Thomas as he goes past. Le Patron is waving his flag like a marmot on speed. As he passes Thomas nods at us to acknowledge our support, Le Patron and I are in raptures - It’s made our holiday.
Eventually the broom wagon passes and we can make our way back to the car, we are swiftly back at the campsite and babble excitedly all evening about what we've seen over more red wine. What a great day.
Alpe D'Huez - Col de Sarenne - Les Deux Alpes - 19/07/07
The day of the big ride arrives and I'm worried - so far I've shown all the climbing ability of Cyril Smith. Le Patron is a cauldron of nervous energy again and the atmosphere in the chalet reflects this. We emerge, eyes streaming, and I get dropped on the ride down to Bourg D'Oisans. This does not bode well. We hang a right and after a short straight pain explodes into every leg muscle as Alpe D'Huez ramps up before us. Le Patron said later that even though we'd described it to him, nothing prepared him for the severity of that first ramp. We all settle into our own rhythms and Matinee is soon lost to sight. I'm climbing behind Le Patron, which is not ideal given the smells we'd endured earlier that morning. If he overstrains himself now you'd need a snow shovel to get me out!! Then that marvellous thing that sometimes happens to cyclists occurs - suddenly it’s not as hard to climb. I don't mean to suggest it’s easy, it still hurts really deep down, but I find a rhythm and slowly overhaul Le Patron (to be fair he is taking his time and looking round like a kid in a sweet shop). Le Patron looked up at a structure seemingly miles and thousands of feet above him and ideally wondered, "What's that?” He just settled on it being some sort of buttress to support the cliff when a car went along it and he realised it was where we had to go!! After 1.5 hours of pain I reach the top, proud that I've now completed it twice without stopping but not sure I can go on. Le Patron is not far behind and we join Matinee at the cafe where he's been working on his tan for the last half hour. After refreshments I feel strong enough to continue and we climb out through the top of Alpe D'Huez, past the airport and drop down and then back up to the Col de Sarenne. Le Patron tells me at the bottom of this climb that he's cooked and won't be doing Les Deux Alpes. Again we all find our own rhythm and I keep Matinee within 50 - 100 yards throughout the climb but I have to dig deep. It was sweltering on the climb and Le Patron looked to be suffering as he wound his way up with the speed of Geoff Capes towing a lorry!! About 30 seconds after reaching the top he announced to Matinee "I don't feel too bad, I'm definitely up for doing Les Deux Alpes"!! I suggested I go on ahead on the descent and take some pictures, I whizzed down a couple of Kilometres and set myself up on a bend. Whole minutes ticked by before Matinee appeared and I got some shots. Where was Le Patron, he'd started the descent before Matinee? Careful questioning elicited from Matinee that Le Patron was coming down the Sarenne slower than he'd gone up it - a truly amazing feat!! Eventually he came into view and started to wind his way down towards us - it was like watching Steptoe's horse. In response to helpful catcalls like "Get off and push" Le Patron shouted "I'm a father and a husband, you won't be so cavalier after you've bounced off the bonnet of one"!!! The man's a poet! Eventually we got down to the bottom and only had to talk Le Patron down two more steep bits!! After fortification we began the ascent of Les Deux Alpes, Matinee and myself started together and I tried desperately to hold his wheel. After about 3K I couldn't manage it any longer, it was too hot. So all three of us snaked our own path up towards the summit. With 5k to go to the top I realised if I carried on I simply wouldn't have the energy to get back to the campsite (a lovely 5 mile climb to finish the day). I more or less fell off the bike into a patch of shade by the roadside. After barely a couple of minutes hyperventilating I managed to summon the energy to ring Le Patron as he'd also said he'd probably stop. It turned out he was someway near me - "Hang on he said a lorry's just going past". As he said that a lorry passed me and when I looked out he was barely ten yards down the road talking to me on his phone. "Oh you're there" he said pointing whilst still talking into his phone. So that's where the ascent of Les Deux Alpes finished for Le Patron and myself. Matinee made it all the way and had the pictures to prove it. I did make it back to the chalet but I think I was right not to go for the summit of Les Deux Alpes.
So that's the edited highlights of our alpine adventure, we had a fantastic time. I would just like to thank Paul (Matinee) and Allan (Le Patron) for being such amiable travelling companions - roll on next year.
Reports of my demise in sunny France have been slightly exaggerated so here are my recollections of the Crapi's "Tour to France". Le Patron passed a late fitness test and despite coughing like a lab reared beagle eased himself into my Fiesta for the trip to France. I don't want to go into great detail about the trip down to the Alps but a packed car and three big lads does not a pleasant aroma make!! After an eventful first evening kipping in a Formula 1 near Dole - Fireworks (It was Bastille day) until midnight, the asthmatic beagle coughing every 30 seconds until 3 am & then my alarm blasting out at 4.45am - we arrived at the wonderful campsite champ du moulin. Le Patron was lost for words and all he uttered to Paul (yes folks our very own matinee idol made the trip) and myself was "F**k me its beautiful". An early night ensued as we were off on our first ride on the Monday.
La Berarde - 16/07/07
To say Le Patron was excited on the day of our first ride is a slight understatement, he looked like he'd been on the pro plus & co-codomol when he breezed into our room at half past far too bloody early to chivvy us along. We set out from the campsite before the sun had climbed over the alpine peaks and within a quarter of a mile the road reared up like Evil Kenevil's take off ramp. Bloody hell it was steep to begin with, worry turned to dread as Le Patron and Matinee pedalled off, seemingly without trying, while I tried to convince my legs it would stop hurting in a minute. The views on the climb were fantastic, the scenery was absolutely stunning. Eventually after nearly two hours we made it to La Berarde - a little piece of paradise - and I slumped into my chair in the cafe. Hopefully there are some pictures on the website of this fantastic place for you to see for yourselves. Now comes the fun bit - the descent - this is the bit I can do (probably something to do with weight/momentum ratios). After taking nearly two hours to get up I got back to the campsite in about 20 minutes, Matinee and La Patron choose a more leisurely pace and arrived back to find me cleaning my bike. The picture Paul took of me has been classified under the Official Secrets act - suffice to say man boobs and a sizeable gut were captured in all their glory. After a visit from the Lantern's older and only marginally less dashing older brother another early night was taken, after some fortifying wine had been imbibed of course!! Tomorrow we were off to see the Tour.
The Galibier - 17/07/07
Another early start, we have to get the car as close to the top of the Col de Lautaret as possible so we don't have too far to ride. I drive as I'm determined to find a spot near the top as I'm knackered after yesterday's ride. After a pit stop (which proved to be a false alarm) for Matinee to study the intricacies of French pipe work we parked at the top of the Lautaret (Hurrah!!). Bikes were quickly unloaded and we were off. Le Patron and myself had both indicated we'd stop on the ride up so as not to kill ourselves before Thursday's big ride. Actually in Matinee's hearing Al said he'd "wait for the lad here" but we all knew what he meant!! The climb from the top of the Lautaret is only (!!) about 5 miles but it took me the best part of an hour to get there. Mostly Le Patron and myself rode together whilst Matinee went on his own sweet way. The last kilometre or so is 12% and both Le Patron and myself struggled. Matinee caught the sprint for the top on camera though I doubt we broke 5mph, the picture of me gurning like someone trying to pass a watermelon on the pictures link gives you a glimpse of the pain and suffering involved. We must have been at the top before 10am and the Tour wasn't due through until 4ish. It’s amazing how quickly the time goes, chatting to other cyclists and watching the French police wrestle people off their bikes when they ignored their instructions. In next to no time the annual scrum known as the Tour caravan winded its way up the Galibier and we scrabbled for the meagre pickings left by the crack German squad - there was at least 6 of them working both sides of the road!! Eventually news starts to filter through, a Barloworld rider is away - no one has any idea who Soler is at this stage. Soon we see the helicopters circling above the riders and a red dot comes into view. As they wind their way up the mountainside towards us we begin to pick out individual riders on the road. It becomes clear 2 Discovery riders are chasing Soler. Suddenly Soler goes past us at an amazing rate closely followed by Popovych (what a good Tour he had) and Contador. Cadel Evans is burying himself to get over the top still in contention, Rassmussen, Moreau and the other contenders fly past (how do they go so fast?). There are now gaps before other riders appear. First you hear the noise of the crowd the crowd parts and the motorbikes appear, suddenly the rider(s) come into view. Vino gets towed over (obviously hadn't filled up with Super unleaded blood at this stage), Boogerd leads a group over the top. Soon the Grupetto appears and all thoughts of taking pictures are suspended so we can shout encouragement to Geraint Thomas as he goes past. Le Patron is waving his flag like a marmot on speed. As he passes Thomas nods at us to acknowledge our support, Le Patron and I are in raptures - It’s made our holiday.
Eventually the broom wagon passes and we can make our way back to the car, we are swiftly back at the campsite and babble excitedly all evening about what we've seen over more red wine. What a great day.
Alpe D'Huez - Col de Sarenne - Les Deux Alpes - 19/07/07
The day of the big ride arrives and I'm worried - so far I've shown all the climbing ability of Cyril Smith. Le Patron is a cauldron of nervous energy again and the atmosphere in the chalet reflects this. We emerge, eyes streaming, and I get dropped on the ride down to Bourg D'Oisans. This does not bode well. We hang a right and after a short straight pain explodes into every leg muscle as Alpe D'Huez ramps up before us. Le Patron said later that even though we'd described it to him, nothing prepared him for the severity of that first ramp. We all settle into our own rhythms and Matinee is soon lost to sight. I'm climbing behind Le Patron, which is not ideal given the smells we'd endured earlier that morning. If he overstrains himself now you'd need a snow shovel to get me out!! Then that marvellous thing that sometimes happens to cyclists occurs - suddenly it’s not as hard to climb. I don't mean to suggest it’s easy, it still hurts really deep down, but I find a rhythm and slowly overhaul Le Patron (to be fair he is taking his time and looking round like a kid in a sweet shop). Le Patron looked up at a structure seemingly miles and thousands of feet above him and ideally wondered, "What's that?” He just settled on it being some sort of buttress to support the cliff when a car went along it and he realised it was where we had to go!! After 1.5 hours of pain I reach the top, proud that I've now completed it twice without stopping but not sure I can go on. Le Patron is not far behind and we join Matinee at the cafe where he's been working on his tan for the last half hour. After refreshments I feel strong enough to continue and we climb out through the top of Alpe D'Huez, past the airport and drop down and then back up to the Col de Sarenne. Le Patron tells me at the bottom of this climb that he's cooked and won't be doing Les Deux Alpes. Again we all find our own rhythm and I keep Matinee within 50 - 100 yards throughout the climb but I have to dig deep. It was sweltering on the climb and Le Patron looked to be suffering as he wound his way up with the speed of Geoff Capes towing a lorry!! About 30 seconds after reaching the top he announced to Matinee "I don't feel too bad, I'm definitely up for doing Les Deux Alpes"!! I suggested I go on ahead on the descent and take some pictures, I whizzed down a couple of Kilometres and set myself up on a bend. Whole minutes ticked by before Matinee appeared and I got some shots. Where was Le Patron, he'd started the descent before Matinee? Careful questioning elicited from Matinee that Le Patron was coming down the Sarenne slower than he'd gone up it - a truly amazing feat!! Eventually he came into view and started to wind his way down towards us - it was like watching Steptoe's horse. In response to helpful catcalls like "Get off and push" Le Patron shouted "I'm a father and a husband, you won't be so cavalier after you've bounced off the bonnet of one"!!! The man's a poet! Eventually we got down to the bottom and only had to talk Le Patron down two more steep bits!! After fortification we began the ascent of Les Deux Alpes, Matinee and myself started together and I tried desperately to hold his wheel. After about 3K I couldn't manage it any longer, it was too hot. So all three of us snaked our own path up towards the summit. With 5k to go to the top I realised if I carried on I simply wouldn't have the energy to get back to the campsite (a lovely 5 mile climb to finish the day). I more or less fell off the bike into a patch of shade by the roadside. After barely a couple of minutes hyperventilating I managed to summon the energy to ring Le Patron as he'd also said he'd probably stop. It turned out he was someway near me - "Hang on he said a lorry's just going past". As he said that a lorry passed me and when I looked out he was barely ten yards down the road talking to me on his phone. "Oh you're there" he said pointing whilst still talking into his phone. So that's where the ascent of Les Deux Alpes finished for Le Patron and myself. Matinee made it all the way and had the pictures to prove it. I did make it back to the chalet but I think I was right not to go for the summit of Les Deux Alpes.
So that's the edited highlights of our alpine adventure, we had a fantastic time. I would just like to thank Paul (Matinee) and Allan (Le Patron) for being such amiable travelling companions - roll on next year.
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