Mzansi Tour

I jumped at the chance to take part in the inaugural UCI 2.2 Mzansi Tour in South Africa when the opportunity arose. I would be riding for the Cape Town based team, NuWater, and, more importantly, it would be exciting to race back on home soil. But, as the temperature rose to over 40 degrees on the first day, it didn’t feel like home, it felt like a furnace.

Going Home

Getting there wasn’t easy either. After a 7 hour drive to Limoge for the 2^nd round of the French Cup, I had to immediately head to the train station for a 4 hour journey to Paris. With my suitcase and bike bag in tow, I arrived at the Paris airport just after 12pm and settled on the floor for a bit of shut eye before my 7am flight. At 5am I checked in for the 11 hour flight home. I wasn’t too happy about getting a middle seat but I felt more sorry for the passengers next to me because I only had the chance to baby wipe shower since the race the day before.

After two days of travel, I arrived home to rather festive South Africa and I couldn’t help becoming excited for the 5 day tour ahead. Then, horror! When we arrived in Nelspruit, where the tour was destined to start, I unpacked my bike to find my front fork had been smashed to pieces. The normal rigidity was replaced with a bendy piece of spaghetti. Being 7pm, I would have to wait until the following day, the day before the start of the tour, to source a new fork.

Spaghetti Fork

The next day, my hunt for a replacement fork began with 4 hours of phone calls to Giant reps, bike stores, and friends. I eventually tracked down one at Valencia Cycles in Nelspriut and, although the black and blue fork would look rather odd with my white frame, at least I would be able to start.

Stage 1

In preparation for the 165km stage, I ate my weight in breakfast. The temperature was forecast to be rising all day and with attacks flying as we rolled off the start line at Kruger Park, I knew I was in for a tough day. When a break eventually settled up the road, the peloton took on a steady rhythm but as the temperature rose over 40 degrees, the bunch continued to thin out on every climb. Even though the commissaires opened feeding early, riders were continuously scrambling for bottles and cold water in an attempt to control body temperature. Now accustomed to French racing in sub 15 degree weather, I realized I was clinging on with everything I had, struggling to handle the furnace-like conditions.

From racing in freezing conditions in France…

… to the scorching start line of stage 1 at The Kruger National Park in South Africa.

As we hit the main climb for the day I blew, like one of those over-heating cars on the side of the road you see in movies. I was steaming and I just wanted to pull over, stop and cool down. After a few km in no-mans land, the rather sizeable Groupetto picked me up. A long, hot 70km later, I crossed the finish line and ditched my helmet and shoes and immediately made a bee-line for a cold shower. I was unhappy and surprised my body had reacted the way it did to the heat but the heat is not something I could control or prepare for. Plus, it was hard to be disappointed when big-name riders had blown right along with me. I went to bed hopeful for a better day tomorrow.

Stage 2

Stage 2 felt a little like deja vu with hot temperatures and high altitude. The break disappeared in the first 2km leaving a hilly 188km left to cover. With NuWater represented I sat back and ate a considerable amount of “piesangbrood” (banana bread). The stage exploded in the final 40km and, after another hot day riding at 2000m, I just didn’t have the intensity to go with the front runners. Again I had to settle for the main bunch on the way to the finish. With the hardest two days of the tour behind us I was hopeful my body would adjust back it it’s natural climate and my legs and lungs would return.

Warming up before a stage

Stage 3,4 and 5

I’m not the sort of rider who likes to sit back and be “bunch filler” I like to mix it up, be aggressive and get off the front when the opportunity for general classification is out the window. Apparently, my legs were still in France. With no punch, it was hard to slip into any breakaways and I struggled to make the front splits. I had to be content with finishing the tour, getting a solid 800km in the legs at high altitude and looking ahead to the racing in France.

After a disappointing tour, I packed up my things and my mis-matched bike and headed back to France, eager to get my legs back. I can’t say for certain what the caused of my “dip” in form, whether is was the death-like heat, stress, fatigue, altitude, travel or a combination but there is not much to be gained on dwelling on it. It was a good learning experience, great to race on home soil, and I’m looking forward to seeing the benefits of a week of hard racing at altitude. I might also be looking forward to racing in 15 degrees again, maybe.

Cracking the Top Ten

 

As we drove the winding roads back down towards Gap on the way home from GP Challoil we passed a place which most cycling fans will remember well: when Lance Armstrong rode across the grass to avoid the crashing Joseba Beloki. It’s so odd to think something so crazy and now historical happened on such a small, abandoned road on the side of a mountain. My day may not have been spectacular or momentous  but on a small, abandoned road up to a Ski Station, it was a moment just as historical in my books.

The weather on race day was also less than spectacular: grey clouds and frigid temperatures. There was only 60km on the books but with 2 large climbs followed by a 13km climb up to the finish, topping out at 1600m, it had the chance of being momentous.

Unlike any race I had ever done, the start line was at the base of a 6km climb. The race began as normal but a mere 4km into the race, thanks to an attack from an Aix-en-Provence rider, the race was torn to shreds. That one attack whittled the 60 rider field (only a few are crazy enough to enter these types of events) down to 15.

With little co-operation and a lot of attacking I switched into “don’t miss out mode.” Marking riders and trying to stay out of the wind was the plan. With the nonsense that front groups tend to get up to, the pace slowed and we were joined by another 15 riders from behind.

With 2 teammates now by my side, I was able to sit back let them cover moves while I rested and planned for the 13km uphill finale. We hit the bottom of the last climb and in usual French style the attacks started within the first 10m.

I kept my tempo and sat in the front group. We kept going up and up and up, small signs giving me a hint of the gradient that the next kilometers would hold. This was no spectacular Team Sky meticulously-planned leadout, this was just a group of 12 riders trying to inflict as much pain as possible on each other. As we neared the top one rider slipped away at the perfect time and, as the rest of us looked at each other, he eeked out just enough of an advantage to hang on and win. But the race wasn’t over for me just yet.

On the final run in to the finish, there was no banner in sight. With the finish line tucked around a hairpin out of sight, I just followed suit as everyone put it on the big ring and opened up. I may have attacked a few too many times on the way up as I was left struggling in the sprint and finished 7^th. Standing around trying to suck in as much 4 degree oxygen-deprived air as I could I was happy to finally break into the top 10 for the season. Like I said, not spectacular. Not momentus. But a little bit historical, at least in my book.

Race Report: GP St Etienne

Some days just start better than others. I rolled down to breakfast picked up a freshly baked croissant and some warm fresh bread. It was going to be a good day. Then reality hit and with GP Saint Etienne on the books, one of the highest category ranked amateur races in France, I went back for another croissant. Today was actually going to be a tough day.

Trying to slip away early

We lined up in St Etienne for a hilly 140km. Straight away, we raced up the 11km climb that we would eventually ascend four times during the race. Somehow we managed to cover the thing at 34km/hr! The real crucial factor for the race, however, was the crosswinds on top before the decent. I rode comfortably on the climb, suffered like a dog through the crosswinds, and kept it tidy on the decent.

Sitting comfortably on the climb

After a lot of unsuccessful breakaway attempts and splits, we were still ascending the major climb at a casual 30km/hr. Finally, we were on the last lap and as we hit the crosswinds section for the final time I was well prepared.  Then it spilt…

Sitting only a few riders behind the split I knew it was “now or never.” I shift down to and jump and hit the gas and see someone else had the same idea a split second ahead of me.  We both emerge from the peloton at the same time but thankfully he is slightly in front so I am sheltered. “I knew it would be a good day,” I thought. We are almost across to the front and as I roll through to take my turn I look back and see my saviour dangling in the wind and then cracking.  Guess he only had one croissant.

The race all lined out

From there to the finish it was all downhill, literally, and the bunch snakes down the twisting descent all the way to where the road levels out for 4km run into the finish. One of the bigger teams clearly had a sprinter present and successfully lined the bunch out. We hit a roundabout 600m to go. Some Russians go right, I go left. 400m to go it comes back together. Chaos. Screams and shouts. Sprinting. Race done. 25^th.

Suffering in the gutter

All in all a decent outing in a big race. I was happy with most of the race except the finish. I would never consider myself a sprinter but it’s clear I need to work on fighting to be involved to hopefully turn a 25^th  into a much more acceptable top 15. That’s something for next time; one step at a time. Maybe three croissants for breakfast…