The Dubai marathon is less than three weeks away

The next Coast to Coast is planned for the 15^th February...

But the question is how would the pros have ridden the Coast to Coast?  And how would I manage on their routes, their cols – that is what my season of cycling will all be about.

But first, time to get running.  The Dubai marathon is less than three weeks away.  Yalla, Bo!

Statistics for Coast to Coast

Final Distance 240.2km
Time 7:10:56
Elevation 1239m
Average speed 33.4km/h
Maximum speed 75.6km/h
Energy Output 5473kJ
Calories 6102

On Strava.com:  16/11/2012 Coast to Coast, Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Cold towels and a cheer, but it is a beer I’ll take for my reward

This is my fifth Coast to Coast ride and it is has been a great way to gauge my cycling progress.  The first time I rode the course I suffered the last 60km, constantly struggling to stay in the group.  There were no turns at the front from me as I tried desperately to conserve energy and in the last 10km I was dropped with the other stragglers one by one for a lonely ride to the finish.  Once you’ve blown, that is it – game over.  The second event and I was sitting a little more comfortably in the peloton; the third time I was putting in strong pulls at the front and by the fourth event I was definitely holding my own with the big boys.  While I still consider myself new cycling, certainly compared to many others out on the road, I take comfort in feeling how much I have progressed over the last five years.  So what for today – an epic solo breakaway?  Let’s see how the next thirty minutes evolve...

The leading group of 30 or so riders settles into a steady routine: two-by-two, do your turn, peel off; organised.  But then the side wind strengthens – no one wants to be in the right line, coast side, taking the wind. An echelon forms, riders looking for protection from the wind behind others, the left line is pushed out into the middle of the road – riding is now dangerous, the tension is palpable.  Cars overtake far too close, we are taking up too much of the road.  Curses are muttered; an accident is waiting to happen and we all know it but are somehow powerless to prevent it.  The peloton is tense, nervous.  Some riders need to move right and take the wind.  A road captain needs to take charge and sort this shit out – maybe now is the right time for that solo breakaway?  30 kilometres to go, too far.  And then, without a word, the peloton calms down.  Like a school of fish, the chaos settles and the peloton returns to a steady routine.  Tetchiness gone.

20 kilometres to go and a few last short hills for the tired legs.  On my first few Coast to Coast rides it is about now that I fell off – shattered – but today I’m feeling strong.  Let’s smash this group apart – “I’ll go” – did I really say that?  Next turn on the front I put the hammer down, if only for my own benefit.  Did it make a difference?  I doubt it.  Then I see Elton moves past with a knowing tap of Nick’s shoulder: could a small breakaway take everyone by surprise?  But then someone attacks off the front – less than 5km to go.  He won’t make it on his own.  He remains out in front by 30m or so.  No one wants to chase him down, expend the energy on behalf of the rest of us. He will tire on his own accord.  But he isn’t.  Then Richard gets to the front, adrenaline pumping after his chase back from his puncture, “no way I’m letting that bugger win – I saw him holding onto a car in the mountains!”  Ahh, doping in cycling exists, whatever the level...

Ten riders left for the final km – I’ll have a pop!  No – didn’t accelerate with enough.  Maybe the new bike really would make a difference, or should I have thrown my water bottle to lessen the load like the pros?  A sprint it is to the line but by now I’ll take finishing with the big boys knowing that I’ve finished stronger than before.  400, 300m to go – no chance.  I’ll take 6^th.  Was that Elton up ahead?  Nick is close behind.  At least we put the most kilometres in today... 

We arrive to a welcoming reception at the Le Meriden hotel in Fujairah – cold towels and a cheer, but it is a beer I’ll take for my reward.  I feel pleased with myself: 240km today, my furthest to date, and a strong finish.  Until I met Kath afterwards who ran the route!  Running the same Coast to Coast 220km route having set off the night before – chapeau and hats off indeed!  Amazing! Now ultra-running; that gets me thinking...

Pringles and Pepsi: salt and sugar. And an ice cream – I feel like I’m on holiday!

The second water stop stands out as a cyclists’ oasis; pitched up alongside the dry, arid road is a sponsored banner promoting Gu.  Amongst the grappling, snatching hands, I refill my water bottle.  A rep from Gu proceeds to tell me the advantages of the ultra-enduro gel that releases energy over prolonged periods, and how the quick boost gel will get me over the mountains, how I might like a caffeine x2 extra, how about the sold gums to chew on in the meantime: what would I like he asks? “Whatever is free” I reply, earnestly.  I take a handful of samples to tape to my top tube in my next triathlon to make it look like I know what I’m doing.  It is good of the guys to be standing out in the desert waiting for us to cycle past, for which many are hugely grateful, but I feel a little heretic amongst those sucking away so diligently.  Instead, I take a dried date and a couple of figs from my pocket and remount my bike and look up the road.  Here it is: the best bit next...

The Hajar Mountains.  Certainly nothing alpine but here in the desert, a challenge nonetheless.  Time to stop socialising and get to the front with the big boys.  A hush descends upon the peloton as the first incline strings everyone out immediately.  This is it – no more pissing about. Time to ride.  It is not a race but no one wants to get dropped; everyone wants to challenge themselves and I want to be in the first five at the tunnel at the top of the main climb.  A couple of warm-up climbs first; the lead group splits, reforms on the 70km/h descents; a definite sense of purpose now.  I sit in, then a quick turn at the front, move off; there are plenty of others to share the work – too early to see how strong I’m feeling.  We reach the main climb past Wadi Helo – there is a strava segment here but I’m not sure where it starts.  I’m ten riders back, 10m from the front.  The pace doesn’t quicken, it remains steady but I slowly move past those in front.  This is it: the rhythm, the feeling, the satisfaction.  I pass others but the front two remain 10m in front, not getting away, not dropping me.  Then I realise its Elton – I’m not letting that bugger get away!  But I’ve left it too late – I’ll take third as I look over my shoulder to see a line of lycra coming up behind.

The descent.  I’ve ridden it a few times now, getting to know the curves and the potential end-of-the-day spots.  92km/h is my maximum, with a favourable tailwind down the valley and super smooth road surface.  Once past 60km/h it is all fast.  The local riders have an advantage going down.  I make a concerted effort not to lose time on the descent as I know I am still to perfect the technique.  And descending is all about technique: a disengagement of the mind from the consequences too, but descending is a skill to be practised rather than the ascent which is a fitness to be gained.  On previous climbs it has annoyed when I’ve smashed myself to pieces to take a minute or two out of someone, only for them to fly down past me on the descent.  As it is, a couple do pass but that is fine – we will need a little group for the run down to the coast.

 

The third and final water stop at Kalba before the last 60 plus km along the coast.  Pringles and Pepsi: salt and sugar.  And an ice cream – I feel like I’m on holiday!  The last two hours is fast time.  After the mountains the first group of riders collecting at the water stop ride with intent now.  No more chat – do your time at the front, push hard, but not too hard.  Sure, there is the second group behind, but no one wants to get dropped.  It is not a race, but it is no longer the social ride it was earlier. 

 

To share a passion - that is what connects people

This year’s Coast to Coast appears to be the biggest yet – 200 hundred riders someone says.  It is not a race (not yet, at least) and so as we roll-out at a steady 30km/h it is a good time to pair up two-by-two for a catch-up with other riders who’ve become friends through cycling and triathlon.  I feel an instant rapport is formed with someone when the point in common is something that each party loves doing and is a shared enjoyment.  I meet up with people who I’m only just on first name terms with.  I know very little about them despite having shared hundreds of kilometres with them but the bond and affinity is so much greater than with colleagues when all we share is the job.  To share a passion – that is what connects people, not pay day.  This insight encourages me further – leave work and ride!

I drop back to find some familiar faces to say hello to.  In a far larger peloton than they are used to, I see some from our sandpit: Jim, Steve, Tom, Denes, Alistair; Toby from his sandpit island; Fleming and Richard preferring their new sand will be here somewhere too.  Cycling with others allows both social interaction and solitude.  You can ride together, chatting away, or peddle along without saying a word to the person next to you without either party being considered rude or unapproachable.  I ride along with Robert and recall how we spent an hour or so a few years back talking about nothing in particular.  Then how we both went, months later to Port Elizabeth and at the bike check-in for Ironman South Africa we got talking with a fellow competitor who had also flown down from the Gulf; how I knew a fireman from Germany working in Dubai too, and he knew of a teacher from Kuwait also, until it became apparent that it was each other we were talking about, minus the cycling helmet, glasses and lycra providing anonymity.

40km in and the pace begins to quicken as some people move to the front; others wonder why the increase in speed – maybe an intermediate sprint?  But it is not a race, yet... We arrive at a petrol station on the outskirts of Dubai and the queue outside the toilet explains: no one wants to be fifth or more down the line.

The break allows for a cup of sugary tea and cake for a dirham at the nearby restaurant – far more effective I believe that the over-priced and hyped-up gels.  But what do I know expect back in the day it was all done on bread and water, mostly...

Sugar levels high, and the sun now rising, the peloton continues on in good mood.  A sudden stop changes the bonhomie: rider down, clipped handlebars, dented helmet; nervousness prevails for a few kilometres until the fallen is forgotten.  Best not to dwell on someone else’s misfortune.  It could be me next time, everyone thinks to themselves.

Another 50km of easy riding.  Some get to the front and take the wind.  Others just sit in and enjoy the desert of the UAE.  Banking and rippling dunes, ever-changing on the whim of the winds which are thankfully low today.  Through the haze the Hajar Mountains come into view, and it will be where the real riding begins. 

 

The start of the Coast to Coast

The alarm goes off at 03.45.  Riding in the Gulf requires early starts to beat the heat but also to get the km’s in whilst the roads are quieter.  Two cups of tea before Nick is up, last nights’ curry to deal with, shower, then something to eat.  Yoghurt with sliced banana and some nuts – an established start to the day.  Out of the house at 04.30 to ride to the Lime Tree Cafe and the start.  Nick’s great idea five hours earlier, and the same number of beers beforehand, was to add an extra 25km to the day to meet the strava BMC challenge.  Ahh, strava.  I must get in touch with the guys who set it up.  The segments have added much needed excitement to the otherwise now mundane rides in the sandpit.

Bags are deposited into the support cars to meet us in Fujairah, 200km away.  I check that it is Wolfi’s car as I chuckle to myself as I remember someone’s haste last year: arriving late and a little flustered, a disorientated and sleepy guy approached a car and asked the driver to take his bag assuming the car was part of the convoy leaving with the 150 plus riders.  The driver followed for 40km to the first stop having tried to tell the rider he wasn’t anything to do with the event!  Elsewhere, would the driver have done a U turn, never to be seen again with the unexpected gift?  Living in the Gulf has brought trust of others, but also a little complacency.

Still dark at 05.30 as the peloton departs.  I realise it is not the place for an epileptic following the multitude of flashing rear lights.

Best without the sound...

 

Coast to Coast route

The Dubai Roadsters Coast to Coast route - 220km from Dubai to Fujairah

Better to gamble on victory than to secure a comfortable defeat

Arriving at Dubai airport I wait, routinely now, at the carousel for my bike to come.  I ask myself the familiar questions: will it arrive; what condition will the bike be in; was it necessary to take the rear derailleur off; will I prove to the airline that the CO₂ cartridges will be intact despite their fears?  Routine has replaced the early day feeling of concern and anxiety.  Now there is just resignation to the inevitable.  Sooner or later the bike will be damaged, or lost.  Uninsured.  But now after penning my thoughts about the new 695 I feel a little guilty; a little adulterous.  How can I consider replacing my dear silver Storck – we’ve been through so much together!  But, you will be tested tomorrow.

As I begin writing I draw parallels with riding.  I mustn’t be so self-conscious as I know nothing would be achieved if I don’t test myself, push on; I would not want to risk failure if I thought I’d be judged only on my first attempt.  I write these words and think of the opening chapter of Laurent Fignon’s autobiography, We Were Young and Carefree.  He wrote of how he had no fear and of how he felt it better to gamble on victory than to secure a comfortable defeat.  He also mentioned those eight seconds too.

And so this is how I would like my journey to be: following the pros of today but also reliving the classic rides of yesteryear and to give respect to the Giants of the Road who created the myths and magic of the sport.  To explore the history that makes cycling what it is – to celebrate the tradition and achievements, to feel the romance of the sport which allows it to survive the constant scandals and affairs.  To ride my race and to have my challenge; to journey along the roads through the heartlands of the sport.  To live the dream.  And it all starts tomorrow morning in the UAE for the Dubai Roadsters Coast to Coast November 2012.

First: no more work

First: no more work.  Save the dinars for the rest of the year and rather than invest the tax free savings into a fund that may well fall off the back of a yacht, or fly to Cyprus in the middle of the night (too eighties? – more recently then), be pissed up against the wall by some banker, the investment will be the bike.  My bike.  A pro’s bike.  And for me the choice is easy: Look.  Brand loyalty makes it an obvious decision.  My Look 496 triathlon bike has bonded with me, and me to the French brand, and therefore the road bike has to be the 695. 

All this on the 1h30min flight into Dubai. 

On the descent I pick up the book I’m reading, Pedalling to Hawaii by Stevie Smith and he quotes Goethe. 

“Whatever you can do, or dream you can do: begin it.  Boldness has power, energy and magic in it.”

And so the idea develops, the dream begins...

To ride; to be

Over the last five years since I bought my first road bike, my love of cycling had grown to be more than just training for long distance triathlon, more than improving fitness as originally intended; it had become my release from the mundane. My sense of independence and a vehicle, literally, for my need for achievement: cycling allowed me to achieve, and regardless of how far you rode or high you climbed, there would always be another strava segment out there – thank you Monty for the introduction of strava to our sandpit!

Cycling can be about goals and targets, but, as is nearly always the case, it is the journey towards the goal that is so much more rewarding for me.  And so my goal, and my journey, my rides towards my target, my idea: live the dream. Go Pro. Be a professional – or at least pretend!  Dedicate a year to cycling: a season in the life of a pro.

The Spring Classics: Milan – Sanremo; the Tour of Flanders; and then the Queen of the Classics, The Hell of the North; Paris – Roubaix before Liege-Bastogne-Liege.  Then the summer brings the grand tours: the Giro, le Tour, maybe the Vuelta too, before the end of season Monument – the Race of the Falling Leaves, the Tour of Lombardy.

To ride a season of races as close to the pros as possible.  To experience the thrills and spills; the blood, sweat and tears; the highs and lows; the sun and the rain; the ascents and descents: to follow in the Slipstream of the Giants of the Road.  Bartali, Coppi, Kubler, Koblet, Bobet, Anquetil, Merckx, Hinault, Fignon, LeMond, Indurain.  And then the EPO generation (who was the first?), to now, while the London 2012 and Sky euphoria is still fresh: Cav and Sir Wiggo.

To ride; to be.  A challenge, a target – a journey.

The story begins: In the Slipstream of the Giants of the Road

I’d been contemplating the travel, the adventure, the challenge for some time, but always with the inevitable hurdles and obstacles to prevent me taking the travels, the adventures, the challenges from the pages of others on my bookshelf to my road, my doing. 

But then it clicked; circumstance, good timing and an idea; all conspired with me, rather than against me.  As I boarded the plane to Dubai for the biannual Roadsters Coast to Coast 220km ride, the idea came to me...

And so Bo writes in 2013...

This is what it will all be about: a first draft; corrections later and improvements to do, editor's update to come.

But for now, words from Bo.