September Come She Will

Finally I can cry.

Having my gravel rash disinfected while lying on the sofa last Saturday night I started to cry. Not from pain, sadness or grief but just from the release of mental pressure I had put upon myself. I had just ended my race season on a high by successfully achieving my main aim of a medal at the National Championships. The mental pressure had been building all season, my Dad had died just 10 days before the opening race but cyclocross has always been a good way of adjusting and channelling my thoughts.

The week before the National is always stressful. It’s pretty much the only easy training week of the past four months, but my body always feels awful for it. I am constantly paranoid about getting ill and worried that I haven’t trained hard enough. Which is daft as I know my numbers and skills are good. It will be my eleventh consecutive National but this time of course there has been the added jeopardy of avoiding Covid beforehand.

There has been plenty of sacrifices over the last few months, being away from my Girls so much has been hard, every weekend and even four days apart over the Christmas period as I concentrated on training. The season up to the National has been an absolute dream. Whether at the grounds of Callendar House in Scotland or at the ‘Sands of Andover’, (see photo below by Pitchside Photos).

I have raced in some cool new venues and of course some old favourites. Travelling to events in the campervan has been such fun. Being on-site rather than in a nearby hotel really does make the weekend sweet. Whether it’s being able to check out the course the day before, the camaraderie of other riders and campers, showering in the van straight after or maybe just having time to binge watch all three seasons of Succession! Van life is cool, the video at the bottom, from a double race weekend last December, gives a brief insight into an evening in the van.

It is so much easier travelling to faraway venues if you can break up the journey. When travelling to the Falkirk, Scotland round of the Trophy series I stopped halfway at a campsite near Penrith and went on a glorious training ride up Great Dun Fell (see photo below). It was a savage climb and probably too much work the day before a race but exciting never the less. Whereas going to the Sunderland event driving up the east side of the country, I stopped at the Rother Valley Camp Site which was directly connected to the wonderful parkland with a downhill mountain bike course.

Great results have followed over the 19 races with 11 wins, however it is the result at the National I care most about and which would ultimately decide if the season has been a real success or not.

The National course at Ardingly near Crawley was awesome, the heavy going and tough power sections throughout would suit me. My prep for the weekend had been meticulous and regimental but it all nearly went wrong just half an hour before the start. I had decided to add one more psi to my rear tyre, but somehow managed to ram the valve’s inner core up into the tyre! I had a spare inner core but couldn’t remove the stuck one, (cyclocross tyres are glued on, so it is not possible to just swap tyres). The tyre was flat with no way of getting any air into it. Instantly I felt despondent and at a total loss as to how to proceed. I am saved by my friend who not only lent me his wheel, but he also set about swapping wheels as I continued warming up on the rollers. In a flash it was time to get to the start and gridding. The rain was heavy and the course a treacherous bog, the moment had arrived.

I have another faultless start and after a few turns I am clear of the field. All is going to plan until I crash just two minutes in. I come down heavy whilst transitioning from mud to gravel. As I jump back on, I feel my knee has been hurt and my hand is throbbing, but there is no time to hesitate, (the first few minutes of a cyclocross race are hectic, dangerous and so so important). As I push down on the pedals Darren Atkins is the first to get by me, a rival to a medal but even in the heat of the moment he graciously encourages me to get back up to speed. I feel the blood running down my leg but it’s my hand that is the concern as I struggle to grip the bars, I have also broken my shoe. Nowadays bike shoes incorporate the Boa system, which mostly works well but if there is an issue it is difficult to tighten. I don’t realise it at the time but I have ripped off the locking screw, luckily it is just tight enough. Over the next half lap through the treacherous and tricky quarry section I lose a few places, I am winded from the crash and panicking that the medal I so desire is slipping away. It is so hard to relax whilst struggling for breath, slipping in the gloop and trying to negotiate the technical sections.

I am down to sixth place as we hit a power climb (not the one in the photo above (taken by Charles Robertson), that shows the scrabble up from the quarry).  I give everything I can through the pedals. Less than a five minutes into the race and I am exhausted working at my maximum. This move gets me back up into third place, a position I spend the next half hour protecting.

Davina is screaming time gaps at me, Alina is frantically ringing a cow bell, my pit crew are hollering at me to keep attacking and I seem to have lots who know my name around the course. The last lap was both exhilarating and terrifying. I have that medal, I just have to hold on and not have any issues. I cross the line delighted, I very nearly shed some tears in front of my pit crew after the race. Even though in sport you have to give the impression of strength and dominance, I guess it’s ok to occasionally show some weakness. Such an enjoyable weekend, who would think spending a Saturday in heavy rain would be so pleasurable? (Finish line photo from Richard Howes).

The next morning and the big clean up begins, countless clothing and equipment to rid of all that glorious race mud. My mind is so much more relaxed and content, now I can be ill, it doesn’t matter, there are no more races for a while. I cut the chains off my bikes, signalling the end of the season. OK so I don’t need to use the huge bolt cutters as the photo may suggest but it is never the less symbolic and an annual ritual of mine. I would need new chains next season anyway, as I would never risk racing with a worn one.

By the way the title of this blog is a play on the title of a 60s pop song, chapeau if you know which one.

My body and brain are now desperate for a rest from the routine that has been in place since the start of September......race, clean, recover, train, pack, travel, race, clean, recover, train, pack, travel, race ………repeat, repeat, repeat.

Yet by midweek I miss it, a full seven months to go until we start all over again. I can’t wait.