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martinlawless · 6 years

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Maldon Road Race

Regional B Road Race, Cat 3-4, Sunday 7 October 2018

Maldon is miles away. This race is further on, and deep into the Dengie Peninsula. It’s rolling terrain, not unlike Hertfordshire. It’s so far to the coast, you can see the expansive Thames estuary full of little boats at the peak of the course. It turns out this is the last Eastern Road Race League Regional B... ‘Reggie B’… event in the calendar, as the flat all-out race in Kings Lynn in Norfolk that was supposed to follow got cancelled.

This race is on the same day as Ashwell’s cyclo-cross race event and I feel bad that I’m not there to help or represent the club. But as it’s the last road race of the season I need 4 points - a 7th place or higher - to achieve 2nd Category status. So needs must! It’s a big ask. 57 riders, including ones I know who are in superb form.

This race would be different to my other local road races as we had a team. Dave was here. Though he was still pretty banjaxed by his virus. Steve was back for more to build on his 15th place at last week’s race over at Great Barford. And Alastair joined the ranks to help the team, flex his strength in a different way from his amazing feats on the Etape du Tour and Haute Route and - I suspect - get on with quickly getting to 3rd Cat and beyond.

It’s a long drive down with the heating on full blast to melt the ice off the windscreen. Chilly. I’m mostly skipping caffeine and high sugar drinks like beetroot juice at the moment. So it’s porridge, apples, bananas and Heart FM acting like some pacifier to calm the nerves.

I arrive and park up to meet Steve’s Ashwell battle-bus with my three team mates inside. As I approach, Dave presents me with fresh coffee and Steve is oiling up his legs in the back. It’s not quite the Sky team bus, but if he had installed a big screen at the front, and I’d put on a pair of ‘Dave Brailsford glasses’ on and waved a jiffy bag around, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

I get kitted up in the bright, fresh sunshine. As I ponder on whether to go long socks or short, and whether the new sunglasses match my Kask Mojito helmet, I sigh that I’ve gone ‘well roadie’ and am a million miles away from the cycle-cross scene going on at this moment with its blood, guts and muddy thunder. The high-white of my socks mismatches the off-white of my shoes. It troubles me.

We collect our numbers. Alastair signed on as reserve but easily gets a place. Ahead of a 10-minutes twiddle on the rollers to warm up, we chat about plans. Dave’s plan is to beat the virus and hold on. I say to Alastair and Steve that any friendly wheel at any point in the race is welcome and if either of them fancy a bunch sprint, give me a sign just before and see if I can catch their draft. Alastair is up for the experience and to pounce on an opportunity. Steve I think is honing in on a big result soon. Other than that: we all agree to let’s just enjoy this one.

There doesn’t appear to be any teams on the start sheet out in force. So the guess is that this will be another bunch dominated race with nothing too tactical going on.

We set off - eventually - having had to wait for the Regional A 2/3/4 race to pass so we don’t clash. Nearly half an hour after being called together, everyone’s warming-up is undone and some skinny riders are shivering. But we get underway and after what seems like a long neutralised start behind the lead car, we get to racing speed and we are definitely warm then.

The course is quite technical in parts. The roads are often tight. There are some big twists and turns too. But there’s no significant hill. Each of the four laps had a rhythm. Long fast TT-style eastern run. Single file. Warp Factor 9. Twisty-tight northern lanes into a headwind. Gently descending western blast, that was essentially a breather. Then more twists and turns south on a narrow lane. 4.5 laps. 47 miles.

I found the start hard. Partly through the waking up cold legs. Partly out of sheer lack of max power. I do what I can to stay top 10 or so and not get caught up with weaker riders behind. It’s clear from the off that Steve and Alastair are on a different wattage plane. They are bouncing around the very front effortlessly and it’s pleasing to watch, whilst gasping several places back.

There are sustained attempts to break off the front by all sorts of riders in mixed teams. But it’s pretty clear none will stick as the bunch are having none of it. Alastair and Steve do more than their fair share of work to break things down here whilst watching and plotting for opportunities to break away themselves. I simply can’t play that strategy and stick in the bunch. I just watch out for a big break which I vow to make an effort to tag on to if it happens, but a smaller one would be too much for me and I have to let them go.

Hiding away as I am, I do find myself on the front for a minute or two after Steve encourages me to break out of the pack to free him up from a tight peloton position. He asks me to chase down a big fella who had a fondness for mad wattage-bazooka bursts off the front. I recall this bloke from previous races. There ain’t nothing tactical about it. He just loves doing it. Following his speeding wheel I find myself right on the nose of the bunch chasing him down. I pretend I do 26mph into a headwind for fun, before breakfast, for about 30 seconds and then apply a burst of power before sliding over to let the riders behind destroy the soloist’s impossible break.

There’s a new sensation in the bunch, while riding with team mates. There’s a bit of a forcefield around us. In part, because we seek each other out, in part because I think the bunch respect team mates desire to position together. There may be something about increased confidence too. I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s good to be able to chat and suss out the situation as we pelt along. ‘We’re only doing 100 watts!’ complains Alastair as the peloton drifts asleep a bit. I chortle to myself and reckon that Al and Steve are probably breakaway specialists and it’s where they’ll get their best results. Later on in the next lap, Steve crests the high point of the course with five other riders and they turn a gap into a break. Now it’s getting interesting.

Instinctively, Al and I assume the roles of breakaway management in the pack. Al being way more capable than me. As Steve extends the gap from the bunch, Al and I work to breakdown any chasing. It’s win-win: we either help Steve escape, or else Al and I enjoy saving energy by being out of any challenge to the break if it’s bridged.

The break almost works. It stays away for nearly a lap, but in the fast TT-section, it’s undone and we meet Steve again. I pat him on the back for a good go at it and hope his legs are not spent for the rest of the race.

As expected, the collapse of one break brings instant opportunity for fresh legs to immediately spark a new break attempt. There’s a bit of bustling up front. I watch as several riders seem to form a string ahead. It’s not unnoticed by Alastair and I tell him what he’s thinking: that there could be a second break and he should go for it. From several places back in the bunch, he jumps to the top as effortlessly as pressing a button in a lift. I can only watch in the bunch. More hiding, more energy conservation.

This break doesn’t quite work out. Al reckons there were too many in the group and the abilities were mixed. It’s hauled in and we’re back all together again as the bell lap is rung. Third gel, swig of juice and here we go.

This final lap sees valiant attempts to create a last minute break, but no attempt is realistic. We get to the final third of the lap and a familiar sensation takes over my legs. It feels similar to cramp. But it’s nerves. My legs feel like blocks of wood and turning the pedals feels alien. I stay around the top 10-15 riders all the same. Then, out of the blue, Steve absolutely flies by and beyond the bunch. It’s the most impressive application of power so late in the race. My nerves are dispelled as Al and I leap into the imminent shelter of opposing riders’ wheels, hustling to stop this solo break. Of course, Steve is hauled in. But it was a brave move and really helped his team mates.

We turn and face the final hill before the finish. We all take this fairly steadily, considering. We are spreading across both lanes now. So everyone is a little on edge. We get to the top and the speed begins to crank up. There’s less than 1.5 miles to go.

It’s getting faster and faster. We are now wide across both lanes of traffic and there’s a strong diagonal echelon all across the road heading towards the 90 degree turn off the usual lap, for a 300 metre dash for the line on a slight uphill road.

I’m behind the main thrust of the wedge of riders, that contains Al and Steve. And there’s no way through. There’s a mile to go. I recall a similar position in the King’s Lynn race last year and drop right out of the back of the galloping echelon and go all the way to the furthest right side of the road. Sure enough, there’s a small gap close to the verge. It’s tight but there’s no other way forward. I’m conscious that the need to be up front on the left turn is everything here, so there’s no dilly-dallying. I give it beans to get through the gap along with two others. Then there’s a huge slice of luck. A transit van appears, coming in the other direction. It instantly changes the shape of the peloton as they tighten up into one lane. For many riders, it’s all over for them. They’ll be way back. If I had waited a few more seconds, I’d be around 30th and out of the running. As it is, I’ve launched myself just in front of the menacing peloton. There’s another slice of luck: one of the other riders who broke out with me chooses to ‘go long’ and TT it off the front. So, he’s leading the way, I’m behind his wheel and the echelon is right on top of us both.

I have to play with the situation I’ve been given. We pass the lonely house I’d marked out as the 20 seconds before the left turn point. I yell at the rider in front to keep going and not to drop his pace. I glance back at the peloton and I pretend that I’m saving myself for a big sprint and waiting for them to blink first to fool the bunch that I’m poised to go even faster - all in an attempt to stop them sprinting for as long as possible. I need to make that corner in a top position. I glance down at the speedo and see we’re at 32mph and figure we’ll be at the corner sooner than I thought so feel confident I can hold this pace having done some similar sprint work at Welwyn Wheelers’ excellent road racing coaching sessions.

Amazingly, the corner comes into view and me and the TTing guy in front have kept our places. I’m also in a perfect line to take the corner. As we approach it, sprinters at last break out of the echelon and swing by to my right. But then there’s another slice of luck: they all follow a bad line and underestimate the turn. One guy rides into the verge, and several others brake hard. Their race is over. I’ve not touched my brakes on the turn and am able to smoothly assume a low, aggressive position in the drops for the last 300 metres.

A few get around me, but I pass some of them again in the sprint. I am super aware this is a golden chance and that it’s now or never. The TTing guy in front goes pop spectacularly. I think he underestimated the dash for the line. I pass him, find another wheel, draft and pass him too and suddenly find myself with just three riders in front of me with just a few seconds to the line. I’m gaining on them, so I know I’m doing OK. And I can’t hear the whoosh of carbon wheels on my heels. I go over the line and raise my hand in celebration. 4th place. 8 points. I’d smashed my target.

Alastair is right behind me and first to congratulate me. I’m dizzy with everything. But very quickly notice Steve’s not around. We cycle back down the course. Al says he saw a big crash in the corner of his eye. ‘One of yours is in the brambles, mate’ says a rider, and hooking up with Dave, we three quickly dash back to the corner.

Steve’s already with a medic when we get there. He hit a really poor part of the road at officially recorded 30mph which sent him and another rider flying into the ditch. His legs are like Johnny Hoogerland’s, ripped to bits by brambles. He’s holding an ice pack on his elbow and his back is sore and shirt ripped. The marshal is incredulous about the incident, insisting Steve flew 10ft into the air and that he’d never seen anything like it. Another rider hit the deck too and cracked his helmet. But, Steve seems fine in himself and things could have been much worse. We note the irony that Steve really animated the race the most today and he was the last person to deserve a crash, DNF and not get a result.

It’s eventually back to the HQ. Steve gets further treatment. He’s going to be all right - all things considered. I get my 4th place prize money. Alastair gets a prize as highest 4th Cat rider, 12th. And we head off home. Dave had to pull up half way, his heart rate telling him he’s still poorly.

So it’s 2nd Cat for me next season. I’ll really miss Regional B road races, underlined as I think there’s a bit of newly found Ashwell road-racing momentum coming through. I’ll have to see if the others can get to Cat 2 as well and we can do more team-based objectives in racing. Or I wait a year and get demoted back to 3rd Cat!

Accruing points started back in December. 11 months of racing. I did it using the Ashwell ‘half-rice half-chips’ method of mixing Road and Grass Track. 24 points on the Road. 20 on Grass Track.

I am toying with a focus on 2019 being less about points, and more about individual placings in certain Masters events: Tour of Malta and things like that. But for now, I’m not putting a number on my back for a while and not worrying about that.

Thanks to everyone who has ridden, helped, cheered me on and motivated me to getting to this achievement that seemed utterly remote not so long ago. Cheers.

Strava link: https://www.strava.com/activities/1889706216

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