Kingston Wheelers Cycling Club Annual London-Brighton-London

 A ride that felt harder than the numbers suggest.

Maybe it was starting at 6:30. Maybe it was not having coffee in the morning. 

I’m sure that chasing The Pope in the first few hills helped. He normally takes one or two climbs to warm up but today he was on it from the beginning. 

I received a small blow to my left knee as a result of a minor fall. Nothing serious, but a small nuisance for the rest of the route. That also contributed to making the ride feel harder than the numbers suggest.

Trying to hold Bidders wheel when he sets himself in full pacing mode is definitively a factor. Made worse by how easy he makes it look like. You, killing yourself to hold his wheel, and him looking like he is going to buy some bread around the corner. That’s psychological torture. Definitively a big contribution to making the ride feel harder than the numbers suggest.

Anther psychological torture was climbing Ditchling Beacon. Bidders went ahead. I was pacing the other three riders. Not feeling great but proud of the work I was doing. A solid work in my mind. Demonstrating, once again, that what goes on in my mind doesn’t necessarily correspond with the reality a few seconds later everyone passed me. I struggled the rest of the climb to not being dropped. Psychological torture.

A very welcome stop at the Regency gave me the opportunity to load in caffeine. A coke and a latte. Caffeine did its thing and the ride started to feel easier than the numbers suggest.

But only until Bidders hitted the front again. 30 seconds later the ride was, again, feeling harder than the numbers suggest. Bidders hitted the front as soon as we got out of Brighton. Fair to say the ride didn’t feel easy for very long.

My performance improved though. I almost held his wheel in every single climb in the return leg. I was so full of myself that climbing Box Hill I was considering outsprint him for the KOM. A bit of a cheeky move if you consider he sat in the front for most of the climb but I have a peculiar honor compass when it comes to taking KOMs. The problem was a rider passed us. A rider positioned in his bike as riding with imaginary aero bars. Well, if you are going to pass Bidders up Box Hill riding imaginary aero bars you better be a very strong rider. 

He wasn’t very strong. 

But he was strong enough to drop me and kill my chances of getting a very well deserved KOM. I’ll admit feeling some pleasure seeing Bidders passing him at the top. Mainly because that meant I was close enough to see it. 

That gave me a moral boost. For me, a moral boost at the top of Box Hill means I fancied my chances of taking the Horton sprint. That’s quite a statement when you have Nick, a real sprinter, in the ride.

Long story short, I was last in the Horton sprint. I was so far back that I couldn't even tell who took it (and I didn't ask so the rest didn't realize how far back I was).

I hope you now understand why this was a ride that felt harder than the numbers suggest.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11993086258

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

The worst sprinter in history

 

Second to last at the Horton sprint.

Considering I didn’t sprint I’d argue it was a great result. I’m that easy to get happy about my own performances.

My excuse (there is always an excuse) is I honestly thought the sprint was called off. The road was very wet, it was sunny at that very moment, but minutes ago it was raining a lot. Perks of the British summer.

I think I was third wheel as we appeached the last roundabout. I could probably brag about being a naturally well positioned sprinter as I got there without even trying.

I saw a couple of riders going on the drops and the naive in me still thought the sprint was still called off. 

I felt the pace accelerating ever so slightly and I didn’t think much of it. 

Then I saw Jack attacking and everyone following suit and I all I could do was to admire how fast they went for the line.

Let’s be honest I was never a great sprinter. My lack of skills to read the signs around me, very clear signs in highsight, probably makes me the worst sprinter in history.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11829176067/

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

Arrogant without legs

 Arrogant without legs.

A recipe for a disaster. 

A disaster that came as early as 25 km into the ride.

Arrogant enough to try to drop GC Denis from my wheel climbing Green Dene. 

Obviously, without the required legs.

Everything went well until the ramp where the gradient increases came. The point where I wanted to attack. Also the point where GC Denis knew I was going to attack. And the point where I knew that Denis knew that I wanted to attack.

More importantly, the point where I exploded in pieces coming almost to a stop.

GC Denis passed me, looking relaxed. He even was able to ask if I was fine. 

It’s weird how these blow ups happen. 30 seconds after it I start asking myself why did I stop, I start telling myself I could have carried on.  

31 seconds after the blow up I start making excuses.

32 seconds after the blow up I have at least half a dozen of them.

The winner this time was something related to my heart rate strap not working. A pathetic excuse if you ask me.

Arrogant, without legs and making pathetic excuses.

The rest of the ride was brilliant though. Only a few showers, I wasn’t dropped and I took the Esher sprint.

He who does not console himself does so because he does not want to.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11821451338 

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González