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Pete Anslow on Returning
Just minding my own business I was, talking to me mate over a pint. I became aware of an elderly figure approaching our table in a somewhat erratic manner and then slump into a chair with us. I ignored him.
“Hullo” he said.
I looked up – Mr.Crisp.
“The club is celebrating its 50th birthday soon, would you like to come?”
So I did.
Move forward a couple of weeks.
“It’s about time you got yourself fit. Why don’t you join the cycling club again?”
“Yes my beloved” (gotta keep them sweet). “But that old mountain bike of mine weighs more than the mountains it claims to be able to climb, and anyway I could never keep up with them.”
“Well look for a new bike then.”
So I did.
Move forward a couple of weeks.
Search ebay and find some fantastic bikes. Can’t afford most of them though. What do I need? Shall I have a steel, aluminium, titanium, or carbon fibre frame? Do I want aero wheels, 180 gears and an ejector seat, or would something hewn from solid granite better suit my style. Shall I go for the devil I know (Campag) or some new-fangled Jap stuff? Decisions, decisions…
Move forward a couple of days.
Drive up to Sheffield to collect second hand iron I had bought. Bit of a treck, but the bike was in really super condition, and exceeded the speck quoted, so let’s get away before he notices. Try it out with a short test. It goes like the wind – I have never ridden so fast in all my life. This is fantastic. I’ll stop around the corner and have a proper poke around it. Ah. That explains it. The computer is calibrated in Kms. Bugger.
Move forward one day.
O.K. The proper test today. I’ll get away and put some miles into my legs and see what this thing can really do. I had better get a helmet I suppose. (At this point may I point out that last year I managed to fall off my bike, bite through my tongue, chip several teeth, break an elbow and a wrist – and I WASN’T EVEN MOVING!!) What colour would match my bike best? (Oh God - I’m turning (back) into a nerd)
Right off I go then. This is quite easy this cycling lark isn’t it? All the fuss these old boys make about riding is clearly rubbish. WHERE’S THE B……….. GEAR LEVERS THEN? I’ve got 18 coggy thingies and I can’t find any of them. Stop and have a look. Don’t panic and don’t look like you don’t know what the hell you are doing. Pretend to be checking something. Logic – that’s what we need. Just follow the cables backwards from the mechs. THEY GO TO THE BRAKE LEVERS! What the hell is this, some devious trick. You can only change gear whilst braking. That doesn’t seem very efficient to me. O.K. Panic over. I wobbled the brake lever and it moved sideways. That must be it then. Keep checking and LOOK COOL. Right now to get up this damn great hill and then I’ll be in Great Doddington already. It’s a lot better now I can change gear. I’ll fly through here looking like a pro (I know Crispy lives here you see – and he might spot me and be dead impressed) Perhaps not then, I’ll take Lower Street and hide. Through Doddington and on to Earl’s Barton. Easy peasy this. Down Station Road and under the main road. Peace of cake.Turn right and have a look up to Whiston church in all its glory. 25 mph. Simple. Ah, Cogenhoe. Change down. And again. And again. And again. God – this is HARD. Change down. OOPs. I’m in bottom already. Now – in my glory days (ha ha) I rode a fixed. Hills you just have to hate them. You hurl yourself at them, eyes bulging, heart racing and you DEFEAT them. Yeah right. I’ll walk then.
And so it went on, Billing, Ecton (more walking) Overstone, Sywell. It’s a nice smooth road alongside the airfield, BUT, there’s a hundred mph headwind and I’m only doing 6.5 mph (I had re-calibrated the computer into English you see). No wonder it was so easy before. Oh God this is AGONY. My legs are fine. My back does not hurt. Even my neck is OK. But my bum. I’m going to have a look at this saddle – perhaps it needs a little adjustment. Wait a minute. This ‘aint a saddle. This is a bacon slicer! A pointy arrow shaped thingy designed to submit every pressure point to the maximum agony. This is a bacon slicer bum basher. Who the hell invented it. Some expert in medieval torture I’m sure. It cannot have been a cyclist. In my day you had to break your saddle in. Now, with all the technical advances, you don’t, but you sure as hell have to break your bum in. I’ll never walk again, and I’m still miles from home. And hungry. And thirsty. And my bloody bum HURTS.
And so ended my first day back in the saddle. (Well mostly out of it actually!!) 20 miles covered (in 2 hours!!!)
I am now the proud owner of a bike with a magnesium frame and carbon forks (not aero though – I suppose I’ll loose a few points there) I have “offset rim technology”, SIS, hollow cranks, and tyres running at 135 psi. It’s all very wonderful, but it doesn’t stop your bum hurting! Whilst I was riding I noticed all the advances made during the last 40 years, but there are still some left to tackle. The helmet may have “21 holes sculptured to ensure maximum airflow”, but my head still sweated (and I don’t have a lot of hair left). I also noticed that the manufacturers still insist on building in D.I.M. to every bike they make - Dynamic Instability Mode. This guarantees that you will fall off only on the steepest hill or most dangerous junction. Very clever I’m sure.
Back at base and it’s time to clean and polish it again. I’ll shine the chain up a bit, and blacken the tyres too. I’m sure I saw a speck of dust under the bottom bracket just now. What’s that on the top of the seat pin? Nerd, what do you mean nerd? Oh, I see what you mean. It’s true, I’m really back.
So there we are. 40 years since I last rode in anger. (30 of those spent smoking.) 4 kids sired. 3 stone added. 1 heart attack suffered. Perhaps my dreams of thrashing you all in a race were a tad optimistic, but I am back and I will come out again when I get myself fit. In the meantime, if you see an old bloke with a beard, riding a state of the art bike and looking a complete prat in his mighty silver helm, whilst muttering to himself, please take pity on him. After all you might end up like it yourself one day, and you wouldn’t want anyone to laugh at you just ‘cos your bum hurt, now would you?
Pete on Returning (2)
You may remember last month when I finished my tale at the end of my first day back in the saddle.
Please allow me to continue my saga from day two.
Amazingly, after the previous days tribulations, I felt really good as I pushed my bike outside to start my next ride. My legs were fine, and nothing really hurt at all. I pushed the bike to the other side of the road and swung my leg over. Aaaaaargh!! The bum agony was still there. It had been dormant for 24 hours, but as soon as it was re-introduced to THAT saddle back it came. This, of course, presented me with a bit of a dilemma. The day before I had travelled 14 miles before the onset of pain, now I was going to have to start out with it. Ah well, no pain, no gain – isn’t that what they say? Perhaps the pain would go away as I rode. Within two miles I realised that the pain was not going to go away, but at least it did not seem to be getting any worse. I rode on. I had chosen a different route this time, so it was not until I reached Easton Maudit at 10 miles that I was faced with my first choice. Should I turn right for Grendon (3/4 mile), or go straight on for Castle Ashby (31/2 miles)? I did a quick and surprisingly useless calculation in my head. Go right and I might only manage a ride of 15 miles – better go straight on. Half way down the road I was busy calculating again, and this time worked out that I would probably end up doing 25 miles. Don’t forget that bum please. It had been complaining steadily all the way round, and now it realised that it would have to face another 15 miles it began to shout louder. What do you do with such a miserable appendage? You can’t ignore it, or it will get ratty and cause even more trouble. On the other hand, if you listen to it you aren’t gonna get home – and it will have won. Carry on then. Fortunately, although my maths were reasonably accurate, my memory of local roads was not, and I found an alternative route to Grendon that did not pass through Castle Ashby, did not pass Go, and did not yield me £200. With this new revelation, the bum decided that perhaps it had won after all, so it should be magnanimous in victory and lower the pain level a tad. Perhaps I might make it home after all. I did too! Furthermore I went round the new route in some 15 minutes less than the day before, so had a new higher average speed to my credit.
The next day was blustery and showery. I did not feel quite so enthusiastic about another 20 miles of purgatory, but then out of the blue, the phone rang. It was an old mate of mine. He took up cycling a couple of years ago, and bought himself a £1200 bike a few months ago. He is 15 years younger than me, and very considerably fitter. Would I like to come out with him? Yessir I would. I did explain that my average speeds were likely to be about half of his, that my maximum about a third of his, and I walked up hills.
“No problem” he said, “I’ll just poddle along at your pace”. Right.
Off we went, me in the front. “You set the pace and I’ll be just behind you”, he said. Right. Unfortunately, there was a headwind blowing. A strong headwind. The kind of wind that demolishes your hollyhocks and whips the top off your beer. By the time I had reached the half-mile point I was completely knackered. I kid you not, I could hardly breathe, and communication with the rear gunner was decidedly stilted.
“Are you OK”
“Ug”
“Pardon?”
“Ug”
“What?”
“Yeah can’t breath” wheeze, gasp.
“I’ll come to the front and take the wind then”
“O.K.”
“How’s that?”
“Ug”
“What?”
“Still can’t breath”, but that was probably ‘cos we were now rapidly approaching the speed of light.
“Let me know if you are struggling”
“Ug”
By the time we reached Doddington and had turned out of the wind a little, I began to be able to breath normally again. This wasn’t so bad – and just look at that computer – 22mph! Then we turned down towards Hardwater Mill. As soon as we were off the main road my mate was gone like a whippet. There was no problem following, indeed I could freewheel and keep up easily (the additional weight you see), but then I started to think about bare arms and road surfaces. I’ve had the odd argument with roads in my time, and have always lost. By now I was doing 33.5 mph and I have to admit that I braked. Off he went completely oblivious to my plight. Ah Well – I’ll soon catch him up. I did too, but then couldn’t breathe for a further 3 miles, by which time we were rapidly approaching Wollaston and I realised that this was going to be a somewhat shorter route than usual. Over the roundabout we flew, but then my heart sagged as I saw Cobbs Hill in front of me. “Walking”, I shouted, and he obligingly (if a little grudgingly I thought) joined me. Once we reached the top it was back into the saddles for a near light speed experience towards Irchester. On that top road, coming in from Wollaston, you will find an electronic indicator to warn motors travelling at more than 30 mph. “I want to trigger that on my bike” he said. Right.
Down Gypsy Lane we turned, and then, to my surprise, pealed off through Irchester Country Park, eventually exiting at Lt Irchester. Now, from choice, I would not have chosen that route, given the tyres we were both running, and the state of my bike (immaculate) I ended up with a very muddy road bike, trying desperately not to fall off on the stony/muddy track, whilst simultaneously avoided potential puncture hazards – all at 35 mph! Not a happy bunny was I!
I did get home, sweaty but unbowed, my bike steaming and creaking. All that effort and I had gained a miserable 10 miles to my total. We never went slow enough to converse, so any advantage I might have had riding with someone else was lost. In future I shall ride alone – at least until I am fit enough to talk and ride at the same time!
So there I was doing my thang, riding rather smoothly (I thought) and looking cool. And there they were, four of them, all dressed up like some mini tour peleton, coming the other way. They didn’t say a word – didn’t need to. They all looked at me as though to say “A tee shirt, tracksuit bottoms, casual shoes – oh how passé”
It’s true; I really hadn’t bothered too much about how I looked since I started to ride again (why break the habit of a lifetime?) And yes, there were some issues I have to admit. Tracksuit bottoms for a start. Low backs you see, so if you pull them up to cover your back, the crotch tightens and you end up with your danglies distributed into places they have no right to be. And I must admit the tee shirt did tend to show off me knickers, but hey we are all mature adults here aren’t we.
So, better get myself togged up properly. I know, I’ll go to a specialist shop and see what they suggest. When I mentioned a “top and shorts” the salesman could scarcely contain his mirth.
“Oh I think we can do better than that sir” he smirked. “What you need are these all in one lycra cycling suits. No more cold backs, and the material is the most aerodynamic known to man”.
“But it’s pink and mauve with a vermilion slash” I said. “I don’t do pink and mauve.”
“But sir, these are the colours of Team Cross and Blackwells Pickles, and they finished 9th in the last Tour of Ethiopia.”
“How many teams competed then?”
“Nine I believe sir, but we don’t get a lot of call for them in size XXXL, so we don’t have much choice of colours.”
“ Come on then, let’s have a try.”
“You won’t regret it sir, the changing room is over there.”
In I go and get to work.
“How’s it going sir?”
“I look bloody ridiculous. My arms are up by my ears and there’s a damn great hole between my legs.”
“Perhaps if sir would try it the other way up?”
I was beginning not to like this bloke.
“Let’s have a look at you then. Ooh it fits like a glove. Suits you sir”
“No it bloody doesn’t.”
“Yes it does. You’ll notice how the lycra flattens and flatters the figure sir.”
Oh it flattens all right, but it just moves everything around, so instead of a smooth body extension gently flowing over the front of me y fronts, I have now developed a fine pair of 36 DD manboobs, and me testimonials are just below me kidneys.
“Na it’s not me, what else have you got?”
Big sigh.
“Well, I suppose you could try the bib shorts sir”
“Do you wear the braces over or under your racing vest then?”
“Oh sir!
“Look I’ll take them – just give me a pair of those and a racing vest in my size that is not pink, purple or lime green.”
Right that’s the hard bit, should be plain sailing now.
“Oh I’d like a couple of pairs of white socks please”
“Socks sir?”
“Yes socks. Those funny shaped things you put on your feet, White ones. Size 8. Please” (I was getting a bit p’eed off now as you might surmise)
“ Well, sir, most footwear now comes with dedicated undergarments shaped and fitted to your foot and the particular shoe. They are lycra on the outside and goretex on the inside with a high wick filter built in. Some also come complete with a carbon based anti smell system.”
“How much?”
“I believe they start at £35.00 sir.”
“35 quid for a pair of socks?”
I groaned. I still needed some track mitts and cycling shoes. Here we go again.
“I need some shoes.”
“Certainly sir. Would sir like shoes, bootees, or sandals, carbon fibre reinforcement or aluminium. We stock a range of colours and season ratings.”
“What?”
“Season ratings sir. A bit like sleeping bags. Suitable for winter, summer or multi season. Leather, Nylon, Neoprene or Brushed Cotton. Black, Grey, White, Red, Purple, Silver or Brown. SPD or not. In fact, I do believe we have just taken delivery of some pink ones to match the suits”
“Look mush. I just want a pair of black cycling shoes size 8, into which I can fit some ordinary white socks size ditto. I don’t care what they are made of or whether I can visit Oslo or Timbuctoo in them. And I want some Track Mitts right!”
“Track mitts sir?”
“Oh for God’s sake, just give me some bloody gloves. I don’t care anymore. I’ve lost the will to live.”
Next time you see me I shall be the height of cyclistic sartorial elegance. I will be wearing a pair of black shorts with built in braces partly covering my Team Cheltenham and Gloucester Building Society racing vest, finished in delightful shades of plum and puce. My shoes are lime green with brown detailing, and the over-knee length socks are black with a purple stripe. To complete my ensemble my gloves, which appear to be sponsored by Marigold, and are completely waterproof, are a lovely buttercup hue.
You wait until I see those four again. I’ll hold my head high and proudly smirk back!
Pete on Training
My wife said to me the other day, “Surely it must be getting easier now” (referring of course to my velocopedic adventures) “No”, I said. “The problem is that as I get fitter, so I want to go faster, so it never does get any easier”.
I am now 45 days into my comeback scheme. I have covered 934 miles at 14.68 mph. I have managed a 62 mile ride, a 20 mile ride at 27 mph, and a 200+ mile week. If that seems a bit of a far cry from the 10mph I managed for 20 miles just 45 days ago, than I have to admit that it is. It is however completely true. I have made a few tiny changes however!
Firstly that saddle had to go! There was no way I was going to manage that thing in a million years. I got myself a Brooks Professional (just like I used to ride), and spent some time lubricating it profusely underneath with neatsfoot oil. It is remarkable stuff this neatsfoot, but overuse it at your peril. I had artistic oil rings decorating my bum for days. So I searched out some Brooks Proofride, and applied that generously to the top of the saddle. Eventually, all was well, and I now have a semi broken-in saddle which I can sit on all day.
Then I got myself some rollers. Not those effete turbo trainers they all use these days, no, some proper rollers you have to balance on. You have to be smooth on them or you’ll fall off, so they help with your style as well as your fitness. I can now ride whatever the weather, and regardless of the light.
I could now set myself some targets. I thought a figure of 20 miles per day (except weekends when it would be doubled) would be attainable and would produce 180 miles towards my targets each week. As I get faster, so I obviously spend less time in the saddle, but I don’t think I can manage more time anyway, so that’s not a problem.
I originally set myself an easy target to the end of the year (at 20 miles a day = 2940 miles), but then decided that I would also like a bit of a challenge. I am heavily involved with the Fairtrade Movement, and the company I deal with have links with Tanzania, so I thought I would ride to Dar es Salaam (the capital) on paper, unfortunately rather further at 4959 miles. My computer estimates that I will arrive there sometime on March 8th 2008. We shall see!!
I have become a “go faster” junkie. Every time I get on the bike to train (that is - every day), I want to go faster than before. That is not possible of course, but I have been able to up my speed or distance (or both) every week since I started. I no longer accept limitations. I am riding faster now (O.K. on rollers – but have you tried to ride them for 20 miles – if not you really should) than I did 40 years ago. At the moment I think that what limitations I have (don’t forget too that I take drugs every day to slow my heart and lower my blood pressure), are in my mind. I’m convinced that my body can do quite a lot more yet, and that is something that never even occurred to me 40 years ago. I was never as dedicated then to training even though I was racing throughout the summer. My wife and kids think I am round the bend, but as I tell them, I always was! When they tell me that this will probably kill me, I reply that this would be second on my list of “ways to go” so who cares!!
This is all Crisp’s fault!!!!!!!!!
Pete on Diet
OK let’s get this over with straight away. I eat. I like food. I have no intention of giving it up for a sport.
However – I probably eat too much, I certainly eat some wrong stuff, and I might be persuaded to change a bit if I can see the benefit. Don’t you go telling me of the benefits yet though. I live with a bunch of vegetarians and that is something I can see no advantage in at all. None whatsoever. Have you seen what they eat? It’s horrible. Truly.
So it seems there are several things I could do.
I could cut out the bad stuff.
I could increase my intake of good stuff.
I could add vitamins etc by taking pills.
Cut out the bad stuff.
O.K. No fried food. No red meat. No animal fats. Reduce alcohol. Stop smoking.
I’m not giving chips and roast potatoes up – so there.
I don’t eat a lot of red meat anyway – perhaps one portion a week.
I don’t deliberately consume animal fat, but of course these are often contained in ready made foods, so will look more carefully on packaging in future.
Reduce alcohol. No. (Actually I drink very little so it wouldn’t make any difference if I did give up!)
I gave up the weed about 12 years ago.
There doesn’t seem much scope for improvement there does there. Let’s move on.
Increase intake of good stuff.
So. More salads. White meats. Fish (especially oily) Olive Oil on everything.
I quite like salads, so I could happily increase my consumption without any suffering.
What meat I eat is mainly white now anyway. I don’t think I really want to eat more, so can’t do much here.
I like fish with me chips. I can eat oily fish but you do tend to get a bit fed up with it I find. I suppose I’ll try to eat more though.
I have recently developed a liking for Olive Oil, so this is an area I could develop and enjoy doing so.
Still not any major gains to be had from this category – perhaps the next will be better.
Add vitamins and supplements.
I had a heart attack two years ago and have to take pills every day as a result. I’m damned if I can be bothered with any more.
That hasn’t helped at all then.
From my observations above, I must conclude that a change of diet would bring no benefit to me whatsoever. I might as well continue as I am and at least enjoy myself, rather than being a superfit miserable old git. (as opposed to an ordinary miserable old git!)
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