La Rallye Malmaison

I rode 110km on Saturday with the expats, it was quite hard, as we had some new guys so I was going for it on the hills, but I still wanted to ride this randonnée on Sunday. I couldn’t persuade any of the others to come along. It’s a bit annoying, they consider randos beneath them, just because old guys on bikes with mudguards and (god forbid) women ride them. They don’t seem to get it, that you ride them as fast as you want to. You get the route all mapped out for you, you get a snack on the way and a snack at the finish, and it’s a grand day out.

Anyway, I got up dead early (again), to ride up the hill to the start to meet Neil (who is the best expat rider I know, and thinks randos are great when he isn’t racing, so I know he has the right attitude). He was fairly late, and arrived with a tale of snapping his chain right outside his house and having to nip back for his spare back (as you do). It was a very popular ride, and all the route maps were gone, but no problem we would just follow the arrows.

We set off, saw an arrow and rode through the forest. We had agreed to ride the 75 (km) as I was knackered from the day before and it would be another 100+ day ride for me anyway. I knew the first of 2 stops would be at 25km so I felt good as we belted along, and even got in with a couple of riders from the Croissy club. Then they stopped at a ravataillement, but when we asked, they said it was for the randonnée de Marly (not our rando), not to worry, we pressed on, following the arrows. We were sure to hit Thoiry and our stop in a minute. 30 gone, no stop, 35km no stop, 40km no stop. And Neil says to me, “we are nowhere near Thoiry”. We then realised right from the start we had been following the wrong arrows! Fortunately, Neil knows these very pleasant, green and damn hilly parts and said he would find our way to Thoiry. Which he duly did about another 12km later.

We tucked in to our overdue cake and chocolate! It had been a fine ride to areas I had never seen before, even if it wasn’t the right way. The stop was the same stop for 50km, so we decided to head back from here. We got in a nice group of riders, and went up the stupidly steep climb at Mareil instead of Maule hill. Neil was easily first, I was 3rd up it, not bad on a tired set of legs. I got dropped to 4th a bit later on the second part of the climb, but we all came back together for the ride back to the start.

We had a good chat with these guys we had ridden the last part with, they worked for Citroën (Neil works for Peugeot), and they hoped to see us again on a rando. It would be good for my other expat friends to see that randos are for everyone. I rode home pretty tired to complete an 103km ride and a 215km weekend!

Cyclauto 78 – Gold or……. BUST!!!!

The last words I said to my wife when I left the house were, “it’s going to be a disaster”. And so it proved. I could give you reasons why, but to say it was all because my mother came to stay would sound a bit lame, but then you’ve never had my mother to stay.

I had a goodish start position, and when the flag went down I stayed with everyone in the first 5km to the first climb, and I made a good effort to just about be at the back of the lead group of 100 riders when we crested the hill. But God, the pace was hard, I hung on and hung, down to the back on the climbs, moving up a little when I could. An hour gone, and I was hanging in there, only another 3.5 hours to hang on for a gold. An hour and a half and it’s a real fast section and I am dying, there are two riders behind me, then one, then I am the last, the very last. I claw back up, get in, ride a little, try to eat something. What a mistake, my mouths full of food and I can’t breathe, bang! Shot out the back. 10 metres away from the last wheel. Shit, shit, shit – it’s all over.

100km still to go and now I am on my own.

I rode alone for a good 20 minutes waiting for the next group, and when they caught up I thought well at least they aren’t so fast. Well until we reached the first hill and Bang! Shot out the back, I’m gone. Fucking hell, this is terrible. That’s it.

I climb off after just 75km tear up my number and hide until everyone’s gone past. Then ride home, well at least the GPS is useful now, I can’t get lost. I am so angry, that was it, Gold award or bust, and hey it was bust. I actually found my way back to the route for the closing parts of the race. And I find the last ravataillement, where I sheepishly get out my torn number and ask if I could have a glass of coke and a slice of cake! They are very sympathetic, and I feel a whole lot better. I get to the finish (having ridden 115km instead of 165km) a good half hour before the leaders arrive, by which time it is pelting down with rain, so at least I missed all that. But it sure was embarrassing, I’ve never packed up before. Still I rode with the leaders for 90 minutes didn’t I? That’s got to be worth something.