Dubai Marathon 25th January 2013 - Race Day

No appetite in the morning as others around me have their porridge and oats.  Two cups of tea and a shortbread biscuit for me is sufficient.  I’ve never needed, or felt like, eating before running.  In fact, I’m not a fan of dinner the night before either.  None of the pasta-carboloading hype for me.  It is the previous week of nutrition which is stored in the cells of the body that accumulates to make the difference.  Eat well as a routine, not just the 24 hours before an event.  And not eating dinner the night before reduces the risk of getting the stomach cramps and GI problems on the run I’ve decided.
But boy – I’m thirsty! ‘J’ai la guelle de bois’ I once learnt from a Frenchman.  Little bit of a headache too.  At least that’ll take my thoughts of discomfort away from my legs...

Rushed taxi to the start line.  Meet others at the bag drop-off.  Bad nights’ sleep due to nerves they say.  Four pints and a bottle of Rioja I say.  You look shit they say.  See you at the finish I say.  Ten minutes to the start.  No time for stretching; I’ll do the warm-up in the first three km’s!  Toilet first.  Past the portaloos and endless queues.  Not for me.  There is always a fancy hotel or restaurant open nearby... Get to the back of the start line behind two thousand other runners as the start gun goes off with barely enough time to touch my toes.  Here it goes: 42.195km.  It is not going to be pretty...

No sight of the Ethiopians and Kenyans for me this year at the rear but it really is a great thing about marathon running that you can line up on the start line with the world’s best and compete in the same event as them. You couldn’t turn up to Wembley for a kick-about with your mates...  I move up past the back markers.  Thankfully no pantomime horses obstructing the way.  Settle into a steady pace as I continue to move up the field.  No sign of the others.  Should I have left the hotel five minutes earlier to avoid this congestion?  Not to worry.  The runners thin out soon enough.  It won’t make much of a difference to my time, certainly no more than the bottle of Rioja.

No looking at the Dubai skyscape for distraction.  A thick fog hangs in the air hiding the top of the Burj Khalifa.  Eyes ahead instead.  I feel a little disorientated as we come out of the Business Bay and the Dubai Mall until we pass the Trade Centre, the original ‘tall’ building of Dubai completed at the start of Dubai’s building frenzy and modern day invention but now dwarfed by all those all around it.

Towards the sea and the flag at Customs House.  The fog opens temporarily 5km in and I quickly grab water at the first aid station.  A runner besides me says, unknowingly, that it is a little early for being so dehydrated already.  He has no idea...

I see Matt and Steve on the other side after the U turn behind me, followed by others: Toby in his build-up to Ironman South Africa; James, Tom; the trio of Danny, Richard and Craig together; then I pass Colin at around 8km.  He says I’m looking good and strong which is encouraging.  I think how I need to get in touch with Colin when we are back in our sandpit for some runs together... And by now I’m beginning to feel strong.  I settle into a steady rhythm. 4min15 per km pace as I go through the 10km after 45 minutes.  Maybe this won’t be as bad after all.

Along the Jumeriah beach road the fog thickens again.  It keeps the temperature down.  No wind either.  Near perfect conditions.  Visibility ahead is about 75 metres.  The fog and poor visibility has another benefit.  I can only see a couple of runners ahead, and certainly no sight of the Burj Al Arab at the turnaround point some way still to go up ahead.  I remember the previous marathons here that the out and back route is psychologically difficult with the Burj Al Arab or huge flag at the other end never appearing to come any closer despite the accumulating fatigue.

But today the fog creates a quiet space for me to be in.  I run in a little zone, exclusive of others.  The hang-over came and went at the 15km mark and now I’m enjoying myself.  This is it: running free of constraints, expectations, pressure.  I’m running because I want to, because I enjoy the breathing, the rhythm, the feeling.

The East Africans fly past on the other side of the road; the half-marathon mark for me is still up ahead.  Only a half-marathon! Not the full thing some might scoff but it still is a long way nonetheless.  Maybe it needs another name to make it sound less like the inferior relative of the 42.195km but an achievement in its own right, as has the half-ironman become known as the 70.3 event has due to the all pervasive American marketing.  But that then annoys the purist in me when I hear 70.3 finishers say they are ironmen – no you are not!!  But those that scoff the achievements of half-marathoners, or even the 10km, won’t be runners themselves.  What do they know!

Half-marathon mark: 1h30min and a few seconds and I’m feeling good. My concerns begin to recede.  I’m actually feeling strong both mentally and physically and I begin to think about this as a race for the first time.  In an instant the race plan comes to me: to attack the last 10km with everything I have left in my legs.  Push myself to my limits, to find where those limits are today.  The whole build-up has not been about this marathon with the Paris goal still work in progress, and although I seriously thought I’d be happy with this as a training run and therefore a time of 3h15/3h30, I now decide with intent that the fiasco of this morning and the recklessness of last night should not get in the way of a sub three hour time.  The symbolic sub three is well worth the effort: it is too close an achievable target to pass up.  And even if I do blow-up, to hell with it – it will be fun trying!  It will be a valuable experience regardless of the outcome.

I start breaking down the segments: 10km to run before its 32km and then I’ll start to really push myself.  No.  Too big a chunk – something smaller.  3km to the 25km mark and I’ll take the isotonic drink – no idea which one it is – rather than water.  Then it is three more kilometres before the 2 hour mark. ²/₃’s done.  After that, it will be 15 minutes before I start pushing myself.  I remember Michael Atherton saying how he broke up the time at the crease into bite size chunks: in 15 minutes it will be 10 minutes before tea...

Currently running at 4min20 per km pace. I’ll aim to hit 4min pace – the target pace for Paris.  Too challenging.  No, not today; the last 10km in 40 minutes; too much to ask.  I work out that if I can manage 45 minutes for the last 10km I will have three minutes to spare.  It will be close but that strengthens my resolve. 

31km. Last of the ‘easy’ kilometres before the fun starts...

The Abu Dhabi triathlon last year was the first time that I really, really, pushed myself to my limits.  Competing with an injury could be considered unwise but I gained a far more valuable lesson and knowledge of myself compared with what I lost from a month of missed running training afterwards.  After the 100km bike I managed a 39 minute 10km and was absolutely spent at the end – totally and utterly, with nothing left having ran through pain to finish to collapse onto my knees.  But when considering the bigger picture, it gave me the confidence and knowledge that I can push myself to my limits if I desire it enough.  And today, although I did not earlier, I do now.  I flick the switch: let’s take this seriously.  10km to go.  Time to start running; no more pissing about; time to dig deep and to use my experience and confidence to do this.  I can achieve, but it will hurt and it won’t be easy.  The achievement will be greater as a consequence.  I try and recall a passage from a book I read recently: we decide for ourselves when it will hurt and it will not hurt unless I decide.  I reword it into my running mantra. 

I will decide when it hurts, and it will hurt when I decide.  Or is it better the other way round?  It will hurt when I decide, and I’ll decide when it hurts.  As I increase my pace the point is made: it is going to hurt, but not yet.  Stay focussed.

My breathing deepens but I remain relaxed.  First target is a runner about 100m ahead.  This is now the game – try and tick them off one by one.  I am the strong one toady, no fading for me.  I wonder how many are up ahead?  All those that had five minutes less in bed this morning and were in pole position on the start line.

35km mark.  Going well. No wall in sight to hit, but no heartbreak hill on the flat Dubai course either.  Garmin says 4.05 min pace.  I push myself to try and hold 4 minute km pace as I past the zoo.  The Lime Tree cafe isn’t too far.  The fog remains keeping it cool.  I pass on the water at the aid station but take a sponge to suck the moisture instead.  Less chance of getting a stitch from the sponge than guzzling from a bottle.  4 minute pace is too much; five seconds over a kilometre makes a difference.  I ease slightly.  It is beginning to hurt.  But not yet – I’ll decide when.  Push on.  Relax.  Remain steady; breathe steady; stay with the rhythm.

5km to go.  Still three minutes to spare but I’m aware they could evaporate quickly.  Then I remember the 195 metres to add to the 42km.  That will use up over a minute.  Now less than two minutes to spare.  It is going to be close.

Then I hear my name and a shout: “Go! Go, Go!!” That picks me up.  It is a long time waiting on the pavement as a spectator and it will be a long wait for the others from the sandpit to come past, but they are doing it and will appreciate the cheer and support as much as I do.

This really is going to be close.  My pace drops to 4min15.  There goes the two minutes if it stays like this.  I know I am going to be pissed off if the clock says 03.00 and then a handful of seconds.  There is no way I am wasting the effort of the last eight kilometres of hard running.  I will not betray that effort now.  I dig deep.

The twists and turns as I approach the Dubai Mall ruin my rhythm.  Relax.  Calm.  Clear my mind.  Keep the rhythm. Breathe steady.  I’m at my limit and wonder how much I have left for the last 2km as the sub three hour looms precariously close.  No need for water at the last aid station – dehydration won’t be a factor now, only my resolve.

I decide it can hurt now.

This is going to be very close.  Dig deep again, deeper.  3min50 pace.

Last kilometre.  Single-minded, focussed vision.  The fog has cleared but I am not looking up, not to the side, not acknowledging the claps and cheers from the spectators waiting for those behind; straight ahead only.  Fuck – this is going to be close.  I decide it can hurt a little more.

The last minute, the last bend; it straightens out and I see the finish.  Nearly there but still too close to call. 

Bollocks.  Fuck.  I’m shagged. 02.59.35.  I need a beer.  Then I start thinking if I can take another fifteen minutes off in Paris... That will surely hurt.

Dubai Marathon 25th January 2013 - The Day Before

As I open the first little green can from the Royal Danish Court I think ahead to 07.00 tomorrow.  Dubai is the setting again but rather than with my bike, tomorrow’s challenge will be 42.195km on foot.  And a challenge it will be.  Although my running goal this year is the Paris marathon in April, 11 weeks away, and tomorrow is as much a training running as a weekend away, I remain a little daunted.  There is no doubt the marathon deserves respect.  As I sip from the little green can, I wonder if Haille begins each marathon with trepidation.  I doubt he sips from little green cans the day before though...  But it is my way.
For reasons I can’t quite work out yet, I’m not confident about tomorrow.  I know I have the experience in my legs, if not the required base km’s at the moment, to get me through, but maybe that experience and knowledge tells me it won’t be pretty tomorrow.  Assuming that to be the case, I am expecting a big wake-up call and a clear idea of how far I am away from my Paris goal of 2hours 45 minutes.  This would be an hour quicker than my first marathon nine years ago, also in Dubai.  Boy!  How time has flown by here in the sand. But will I be flying tomorrow...?

So, what will need to be done to achieve the 2h45?  No more boozing.  Unlikely.  Compromise: no more hang-over’s – know when to stop, and then stop before that.  Possible.  In fact; achievable. It must be.  The desire for quality training is there.  Improved recovery time too.  That means strategies at work to reduce the workload and spend less time on my feet pacing around, as if my urgency is really required.

No sugar or the ever tempting biscuits.  Is it the sugar highs and lows that causes my mood to fluctuate so – the mildly bi-polar personality that means when I’m up I’m with the 10,000 men but when I’m not, self-doubt and the need for reassurance dominate?  The jaded morning after the night before contributes to the mood swings I’m sure.  While Dr. Steven Peters and the yoga gurus will have plenty to say about my state of mind, what I eat and drink, and to not be tired, are the easiest variables to control and get me on a consistent path.

What else for the sub 2h45?  Training.  The illusive, perfect training plan.  To include the swim and bike too: there is still Challenge Vichy in September and the ETU European championships and the sub 10 hour ‘ironman’ time to aim for and achieve...  How about some core and strength work?  More yoga?  Possibly, but the key sessions will always be in the water, on the bike, or out on a run.  But how to structure the three disciplines brings us back to the illusive perfect training plan.  Joe Friel and Gordo Byrn, Tim Noakes and every issue of Runner’s World or Tri247 have the plans, but do they work?  Would they work for me?  Consistency they all say is the key.  But I like the angle presented by Dr. Peters in his Chimp Paradox.  Enjoy the process.  No pressure.  Rather than “I must go for a long run”, instead “I might”; rather than “I should – I could”.  Don’t beat myself up about missed sessions: for fuck’s sake, it is hard enough training in the sandpit as it is with essentially only threes rides, and another three runs, to base my training around.

Ahh, the mind games to play on a long run.  Imagination is the best companion on the run down to Fintas.  Telling Mike Canning one day at work that I took the cliff top path at the weekend and saw that the dolphins had come close to shore, with him replying that he took the muddy track through the woods and ran amongst the wild flowers instead, puzzled the eavesdroppers, confused as to where we were talking about.  We left the incredulous enquires unanswered.  But we knew where we had been...

But back to marathon training.  Don’t complicate it: just run!  But what do I know about proper training?!! In preparation for the Abu Dhabi International triathlon I have vowed not to swim, having not been in the water since my last triathlon in August.  I somehow know Alistair Brownlee won’t approve but I am curious to see how my 1500m swim time will compare with the previous three Abu Dhabi events at all around 25 minutes.  Hours in pool hasn’t seen a great return for my swim split so let’s see if the opposite is true...

But again I digress.  The familiar descent over the man-made Palms and then past the Burj Khalifa brings me back down to the task in hand: the Dubai marathon tomorrow.  Only one thing for it: Dubai Duty Free and a dozen more little green cans from the Royal Danish Court and a couple of bottles of Rioja...

I better go to bed – it is 1am and the alarm is set for 05.00.  Good job I am not taking this seriously but do I drink the night before to provide a poor excuse for a poor performance.  Do I look to self-destruct?  What would Dr. Peters say to my night before preparation?  I say not to be so precious.  The preparation is very rarely perfect or ideal when you have to travel to events, as I do coming out of my sandpit, with things like flight delays and nutrition often compromised.  Pissing about the night before is relaxing for me in its own way.  You are unlikely to sleep well, tossing and turning in a new bed, paranoid that you may miss your alarm, having the A/C keep you awake – may as well have an alcohol induced slumber I say.  But why do I take the night before a big training run or ride more seriously than the event itself?  Maybe because race day is the cherry on the cake and is to be savoured as a result of accumulated previous sacrifices.  I feel the whole event is to be enjoyed: prior, during, and after the race.  And anyhow!  It has not done me harm in the past.  But the question is how much more could I achieve without being boozed up? 

I remember reading something about the boxer, Ricky Hatton.  He would always have a big fry-up breakfast the day of a fight to demonstrate to the assembled journalists that he was ready, at his peak, and that nothing at this late stage would make a difference to his performance.  A sign of confidence and intent.  I like his sentiments.  Enough of this though.  To bed at last.

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.