Majorca with GPM10, Annecy, and the Paleo Diet

April 1^st marked the start of my work with cycle tours company GPM10. I was looking forward to changing my focus away from competition for a time, and enjoying the less stressful and enjoyable routine of running training camps. I arrived on a balmy Friday evening in Majorca for 18 days of warm sun.

First day- New bike, new kit, lightweights- bliss

That first evening was particularly memorable because of the ludicrous amount of extremely expensive equipment lying on the lawn outside our suite. I was stunned speechless, and I've been exposed to my fair amount of bling kit after working at Cyclefit. There were pink Serotta Meivicis, green Serotta Meivicis, Serotta Ottrots, Indy fabs, Colnago C59s........ the list goes on. The pinnacle of this excess was on the 4^th day. One of the riders punctured Cipollini's lightweight wheels but didn't have to worry; we replaced them with a spare set of lightweights in the van. In fairness the European lightweight rep brought most of the wheels out, but it will still very amusing.

We had three training camps during the 18 days I was in Majorca. The first group was a very entertaining party of New Yorkers who came via bike shop- Signature Cycles. The second was the motley crew from Cyclefit, and the third was a small private group.

Everything went very smoothly apart from one disastrous day to San Salvador with the Cyclefit group. I managed to make three wrong turns in a single return journey- taking the fast group on a tour of burnt-out cars and industrial zones. The 2^nd group found my gaffs particularly hilarious; being passed twice in one ride yet still beating us back. It was safe to say my red face when we rolled into the hotel wasn't caused by sunburn. The day scarred me enough that I haven't made a wrong turn since.

The last night- failing to smoke a cigar

Majorca finished with a road trip back to Annecy via Barcelona. After a day of manual labour packing the van, which felt very difficult in contrast to the sunbathers by the pool, I headed to Palma to catch the ferry. From there I sailed to Barcelona, then drove to Port Bou for the night and tackled the last part of the drive to Annecy the following day.

I was shocked by the scenery when I arrived. The pristine lake with the backdrop of the craggy mountains was much appreciated after the dull drive along the motorways. My brother had come to stay for the week, so we went for a ride around the Lake, enjoying the surroundings and loosening my knee and ankle which had seized up. A friend arrived from Paris the following day, and we spent a week exploring Annecy, Chamonix, and Geneva.

When I arrived in Annecy, I started experimenting with the Paleo Diet after reading 'Paleo diet for Endurance Athletes' by Joe Friel and Loren Cordain. What a great way to eat! Loads of fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables. Check out this quick summary- http://www.trainingbible.com/pdf/Paleo_for_Athletes_Cliff_Notes.pdf , but the whole book is worth a read. It gave me far more insight into nutrition than I have picked up from five years of experience racing and training. The drawbacks quickly revealed themselves though. It is hideously expensive, which isn't compatible with my intention of saving for University. It is very impractical- trying to consume 4000- 6000 calories a day of meat, fruit, vegtables, nuts, and seeds, is very difficult and plays havoc with your digestion. Compromise was the only solution; I am eating more protein, fruit, and vegetables, but haven't cut out dairy or grains.

Pre-race nerves- with an Eritrean in the background

After a brief trip to the UK to see the rest of my family, I returned back to Annecy to prepare for the upcoming trips. Beforehand though, I got the chance to race the Tour Du Chablais. I was nervous as this was a prestigious event raced over a hilly 160km on the southern shores of lake Geneva from Thonon to Evian. I almost stuffed it up within the first hour when I arrived at the first climb in the last group- I just didn't quite understand the regional tactics. The French race like lunatics, with every rider, regardless of there aspirations for the rest of the race, hammering away trying to form a break in the first hour. I thought, 'We have 4 hours to race with mountains, are you crazy?'. I should have done the same though. Finding myself in this perilous position with the broom wagon shuffling along behind, I put in a massive effort to make my way to the second group- and wasting a lot of energy. After 3 more hours of aggressive racing, I rolled in 18^th at the finish line in Evian.

Utterly spent

Next Post: Down to Business in the Alps

The Grand Finale

As you may have guessed by my procrastination in blogging, I didn't win any races by the time I left Bilbao on March the 28^th. I had four more races, or opportunities, from the time of my last blog to enjoy the life of a full time racer.

The first race took place in Villatuerta and was unlike any of my previous experiences. A strong crosswind shredded the peloton to pieces in the early stages, leaving a group of 25 riders to duke it out over the barren flatlands near Pamplona. I struggled as the only Koplad/Uni2 rider against eight from the potent Caja Rural squad. I scraped a 7^th place out of a chasing group. Given the conditions, it was no surprise that the winner was a lanky Dutchman called Van Geffen. And it is true, the Spaniards' abilty to ride in crosswinds definetly doesn't match their climbing skill.....

The competition the following day was relatively uninteresting. It was a flat circuit so I was at the disposal of Argentine sprinter/roommate Diego Asis. Unfortunately HTC-Colum... oh sorry, Koplad/Uni2 mistimed the chase and couldn't catch one of the escapees. Diego sprinted to third place, which was an excellent result as his confidence had taken a beating the previous day.

My final weekend contained two very significant races. I wish they came earlier in the month, as I could feel my power waning and my powertap backed up my sensations. The 18 hour training weeks were starting to take their toll after a lazy winter. My maximum power outputs were fading on the climbs, as was my max sprint power. I tried to taper during the final week and regain some strength, but it was too late.

The first race was on our local circuit around Sopelana. It was rolling terrain but was likely to be decided in a mass sprint- Diego was the man for the job. I again acted as domestique, knowing that tomorrow Diego would return the favour in our race at Gorla. He finished 8^th which was a respectable result, but he was disappointed with himself.

Gorla was to be my race as team leader. A brutally hard course with two 5 kilometre climbs in at an average gradient of 8%. Former winners included Contador and Sastre, and most of the top five would get a professional contract of sorts at the end of the year. Based on the previous races, a top ten was perfectly achievable for me. After 3 kilometres of climbing, I realised that I was having a 'journée sans', or literally a day without (I think that is the correct expression?). I will never again shout abuse at the GC favourite on television who climbs like an angel one day and a stone the next. I was digging deeper than I had ever gone all year, but was struggling to hang on to the back of the grupetto. What a terrible feeling! I joked around for the rest of the day with Diego, eventually finishing in 34^th place. Luckily at the finish I was treated to some Pintxos, or the finest Basque Tapas made by Paul's mother. My racing finished with the whole team in good spirits despite my truly absymal result.

Diego trying to pull me up the climb at Gorla, all I could do was gurn

In between my racing I started to enjoy myself far more than in the initial weeks. A local newspaper was interested in interviewing me- http://www.deia.com/2011/03/22/deportes/ciclismo/un-ingles-vino-a-bilbao . An Englishman racing in Flanders is a common occurrence, but to race near Bilbao was obviously quite unusual. It's a shame I look like Lloyd from Dumb and Dumber in the photo.

Another Argentinian arrived before my final weekend. There are now around eight in the Basque Peleton- all seeking a future in cycling and in Europe. Franco Guttierez (who was quickly re-named Fran so as not to offend any locals), was possibly the most laid back individual I have ever met. His riding style was similar to Juan Mauricio Soler's, and was very quick on every terrain. It will be interesting to see how he and Diego can pair together in races.

I left Bilbao planning on returning at some point during the year. The racing was the most enjoyable I have experienced, and I made some great friends. However returning to the UK was really special. I badly needed some mental and physical recuperation, and where better to do so with my brothers and sisters sitting in front of the Xbox and Family Guy? I still couldn't resist making a Spanish tortilla though.

Next stop- Majorca and Annecy with GPM10!

No Earthquakes in Spain

Although the current earthquake/tsunami/nuclear crisis in Japan is making cycling look pretty frivolous at the moment, everything keeps rolling along. It is nice to see Fumy Beppu, a Japanese rider on Team Radioshack, drumming up lots of support on twitter and also including a minutes silence before the start of the Tirreno- Adriactico stage. The disaster has been the only significant news that has reached me since I have been in semi-isolation here in Bizkaia, and it shook me out of the cycling bubble that I was/am slipping into. Between training, eating, racing, twitter, and talking with cyclists, there isn't much in my life at the moment that isn't related to two wheels.

Today (written Monday 14th), I am making an excursion into Bilbao city centre. In the
morning I visited the Custom4us headquarters in Arrigoriaga (www.custom4.us), and in the
afternoon I am going shopping and sightseeing. Hopefully this will provide a mental and physical
break from the all-consuming pressure cooker that I put myself into during a race weekend.

The week preceding the races went very smoothly with nothing of much interest happening.
My training and recovery is possibly the best it has ever been. I have been doing consistent 17 hour weeks with no knee pain, illness, or over-training. The Lointek Women's UCI team gathered at the team house for a local race on the weekend. A few spoke fluent English so it was quite satisfying to have a conversation that didn't have to use my still very limited Spanish vocabulary.


Saturday's 105 kilometre race departed at 3:30 in a town called Lizartza. I abhor (yes, abhor!)
the morning before these afternoon races, as it means 7 or 8 hours of racked nerves before the start instead of the 3 or 4 hours before a race at 10:00. Much sympathy goes out to any team mates (or parents) who have had to endure my foul mood before races. Perhaps I should have listened to my mother about seeing a sport's psychiatrist. As per usual, I had nothing to worry about and the race was very successful, with my team-mate Diego taking fourth in the sprint finish. I put in a Thomas Voeckler style attack on the final two kilometre climb and soloed my way down the descent, imagining I was Samuel Sanchez. The peleton caught me on the 4 kilometre flat run-in, but I then switched to George Hincapie mode to lead out Cavendish (Diego), to the sprint finish.

Cresting the summit in Lizartza

The following morning's 115 kilometre race was in a town called Almandoz, just off the
French border. My role was to play Cadel Evans (think 2007), and stick to the back wheel of a rider called Igor Merino, who is apparently an excellent climber and likely winner. This plan didn't really work for two reasons. Firstly, a strong break got away without Merino that stayed away to the finish. Secondly, I could not follow Igor Merino's wheel, no matter how much I tried to emulate Cadel's limpet-like style. I exploded about a kilometre from the finish and lost about 8 or 9 places from riders behind who had better pace judgement than I. It truly was a spectacular finish though, and I couldn't help feeling very spoilt to be able to race on such exciting terrain without being professional. During the race I got a chance to have a 'team leader' experience, with the whole team on the front trying to bring back the break for me and another strong rider on the team. I can't say I was entirely comfortable with it, but it gave me some idea about what stress rider's such as Cavendish have to deal with.

So as the title hinted, no ground breaking results, but another enjoyable weekend. I am off to
go sightseeing, and try to forget about anything cycling for the next few hours.

Adios y buena suarte Japon!

´Schoolboy Errors´and Spanish Bike Posing

Attempting to descend at speed- I need to practice

I started my last race truly feeling like a British fourth cat. My legs were wallpaper white;
this was their first time in the sun for 4 months. I also had some of that dreaded stubble. I couldn't shave as I have a mild skin infection that has resulted in small red marks over my legs, which would scar if I used a razor (trust me, I tried in vain last week). My shorts were ABOVE my weak tan line, and my legs weren't particularly defined. I know these aren't the correct things to be worrying about on the start line, but I couldn't help it when lined up against all those tanned legs. It didn't bother me too much once we started racing. The circuit required some pretty intense concentration as we raced up and down five kilometre climbs. I felt really privileged to be able to race those road with no cars, as it is rare opportunity for amateur racers (at least in Britain).

The competition was only 100 kilometres as it was considered such a hard course, and it finished with an summit finish to Ereno. I wasted a lot of energy midway through the race when I let about 40 riders up the road ahead of me, and had to chase up a climb for half an hour after a bollocking from the directeur sportif (David Extebarria). I then missed the leading breakaway of three over the penultimate climb, and came second in the sprint from the chasing group. David called my mistakes 'schoolboy errors' in the following days newspaper article.

One revelation I have been having this past two weeks is that I do not need to worry about
my weight to climb well. I have been eating much more than when I was a junior and was doing a similar workloads, and feel ten times better, even if I am a few kilos over my previous 'race weight'. I can't help wondering how much I had handicapped myself over the years worrying about my calorie intake.

Next week I have another pair of hard, hilly races. I am not sure about the details, but
hopefully without my schoolboy errors I might pull of the big one!

All the races make it into the local paper


It is still entertaining noticing the small differences in cycling between England and Spain.
Sartorial elegance seems to hold far more significance over here for racers and for the regular club rider. I suspect that in Britain a lot of cyclists accept that they are part of a minority sport, and can't be bothered perfecting their appearance for the unappreciative public and rare passing cyclist. In Spain the public can understand when a cyclist is dressed correctly, or not, and it becomes all the more important to make an effort.

Wearing co-ordinated kit is a given, which is often not the case in Britain. Pro replica kit is rare, except for Euskatel- Euskadi, which is acceptable as it is a demonstration of regional (or national!) pride. Bikes are usually pretty clean and either Orbeas, Pinarellos, or BH, rather than the rash of Focus and Specialized that is seen in Britain. There is an amazing amount of deep section carbon wheels used for training. This can only be for appearance as there is virtually not a single flat road in the Basque country. What gives the Spanish away as true posers rather than aficionados is when you look closely at the details of the bike. The 105 chain on the Dura Ace groupset, the Michelin Lithion tires or a pair of Corima Carbon deep sections, the white oversocks covering up the old cheap shoes (which were ridden by a man on a Pinarello Dogma with Campagnolo Boras). These little tricks are far more commonplace than in Britain. I personally prefer it this way. What's the harm in enjoying looking the part?

Mi Primero Carrerra

Nothing is duller than reading someone's blow by blow account of a race, so in regard to my
first race in the Basque Country, I will try to keep it brief and interesting!

The weather in Soraluce was the same as most of Europe on Sunday, very wet and cold. I was
dressed (as well as normal racing gear) in a long sleeve thermal under-vest, knee warmers,
overshoes, and rain cape, but there were still the diehards out in shorts and jerseys. It was no
surprise that I didn't see them at the finish. It was a relatively short U23 race at only 120 kilometres, however it finished with two, very steep, three kilometre climbs, with a summit finish. I was suffering terribly from nerves all morning and before the start. David Extebarria (directeur sportif and ex-pro), kept reminding me 'tranquilo, tranquilo...'.

These worries soon disappeared when the race started as battling the cold took all my
concentration. After shivering for 100 kilometres, I entered the first climb in the peloton, and
crossed the summit in 6th position feeling confident. A front group of around 20 formed after the descent, with a team called Seguros Bilbao driving the pace. I was caught unawares at the rear of the group for the start of the last 3 kilometre climb. As the group fragmented I found myself picking through riders who had gone too far into the red, and finished 7th at the line. To see the report follow this link- http://www.palcodeportivo.com/index.php/ciclismo/amateur/10739-1oprueba-lehendakari.html

So what's it like to race in Spain? My biggest surprise was seeing that the leading riders over
the climbs were not all 60 kilo, ripped, Pantani look-a-likes. There was a large mix of body types, with the winner being a similar build to me. The racing felt no where near as fast as my experiences in Italy or Belgium, especially on the flat. Albeit it is very early season and this was only an U23 race. It was certainly far safer than Belgium and I only saw one crash. The race organisation was as professional as Italy, however the crowds were not as large.

During my moments of mind wandering, I was particularly impressed with the colours of the jerseys. The Spaniards thrash the British in the fashion stakes. The green of the Caja Rural Squad was particularly striking, but the grey and red of Seguros Bilbao was very edgy. I was particularly jealous of the Cole carbon wheels that Caja Rural were riding; especially up the last climb when I was lugging up my dead powertap on a Mavic Open pro rim. There is more loyalty to local bike manufacturers in Spain. Almost everyone is on a BH or Orbea, however there are also a large contigent of Pinarellos.

Today I recced the course for next Saturday´s race in Ereno. Thank god its only 100 kilometres, as it is the hardest course I have ever ridden. I just wish I had my Serotta with some race wheels........