The Sufferfest might be horrible, it might make you wish you had a better vocabulary of Russian swear words but there’s no doubting how effect it is as a tool for training. Sure, sitting on your bike inside a room, might make you look like a bit of a spaz to non-cyclist friends but we all know there’s a reason why we are doing this.

The weather has been pants most of January, and with the hectic snow and cold around at the moment, there isn’t much chance of me getting out. Thankfully those sadistic shits over at Sufferfest HQ have devised a way to burn that mid-life tire off, even in the darkest of months: The Tour of Sufferlandria

Pretty simple really: Ride 9 stages as you would do any major cycling event, but from the discomfort of your own home.

• Saturday, Jan 26th: Hell Hath No Fury
• Sunday, Jan 27th: The Hunted
• Monday, Jan 28th: Extra Shot + Fight Club
• Tuesday, Jan 29th: A Very Dark Place
• Wednesday, Jan 30th: Angels
• Thursday, Jan 31st: The Wretched + The Long Scream
• Friday, Feb 1st: The Downward Spiral
• Saturday, Feb 2nd: There is No Try + Revolve
• Sunday, Feb 3rd: Local Hero

The course is carefully balanced between agony, misery and despair. So, yes, the Tour of Sufferlandria is a worthwhile target for anybody looking for an early season goal.

I’m not due to fly anywhere during this period and the bike has been serviced and ready to be abused. Let the pain begin. Oh and how cool is that poster???

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I had a great race in Germany, an utterly shit sportive in the UK and battered some of the most horrible riding conditions I’ve ever ridden in, doing the Rapha 500. So what changed? Well I noticed that dropping sugar didn’t give me the initial response I’d hoped for and at the same time, finally discovered that the horrible feeling I had when I ate anything with wheat in, actually was something more than just a feeling: yup suffering from Coeliac disease.

If you take that into account, it really did shake things up when it came to training and diet. All the carbs you’d usually expect to have had to be thrown out of the window. A period of exploring what worked and what didn’t ensued, and I think (touch wood), I’ve nailed it. Most gels available will destroy me in an instance, as do most of the energy drinks. I’ve pushed myself to ride on water alone for 80 kilometers, at a decent pace (28+) and then to turn to more natural highs. Biltong, dried fruit and nuts seem to have more of an effect than the sugary shit found in gels.

So where do I want to go this year? tis a good question really as I think balancing work/life and play with riding will continue. I don’t want to race, it no longer interests me. I do want to ride as much as I can, as It’s a massive stress relief tool and with my various jobs getting more and more stressful, it’s a necessity more than a luxury.

I also want to get more into MTB, something that has been itching for a while.

Here’s to 2013, no matter where you are, enjoy the ride.

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33 degrees, sunshine and blue sky. It does make it easier to do longer distances but it wouldn’t last. After packing up the bike and heading back to the UK, I was greeted with a weather system that could make a hardened man weep. Last year it was incredibly mild and dry, which allowed for more enthusiastic riding, alas this year that wasn’t the case. Rain, rain rain and more rain along with winds meant it would be a struggle to say the least.

 I had to average 55 kilometers a day in order to make the target. This included landing early on the 25th, heading home and doing presents and then heading out for a quick 48 kilometers before riding to the in-laws for lunch (thankfully I have a very supportive wife). She’d already purchased the Rapha winter tights for my birthday and they were coming in handy, along with the hardshell and my mud guards.

As the conditions worsened, so did the Colnago. Full of mud, cow shit and other debris from the road, it became a squeaky ride and tested my patience. There was no point cleaning it mid-challenge, so I lubed bits accordingly and rode like a man possessed. I wasn’t aiming to do stellar mileage, I’ll leave that to the Aussies and Stefan but was happy to finish in one piece. 

Another year done, lost some weight over the period and felt great having that beer on the 31st.

Update

Rapha’s made a cool infographic with some stat porn

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Easter Sunday: [√]
Shitty overcast weather: [√]
Tarmac, gravè and mud?: [√]
Riding 100km around Hertfordshire: [√]

Other than gorging your own body weight on chocolate, there isn’t much else to do on an Easter Sunday. Rapha saw the plight of many and decided to offer a social ride with a gathering at the finish to watch Paris Roubaix 2012 and enjoy beer and frites. Their homage to one of the great monuments of the sport, Paris-Roubaix, promised to be an adventure along the lanes, bridleways and dirt roads of Hertfordshire.

The weather would play a key role in this social ride. Would it piss down like every other Bank holiday?, come on.. this is England and you’d be mad to think otherwise. Heading out to Central London early, the weather was showing its face and it was wet. The start saw myself and the rest of the London Phoenix riders take shelter under a shops awning until the start. Now, some clever sods had decided it would be more suitable to ride this on a cross bike. Wise choice you say, well I was beginning to think the same whilst looking at my Colnago Master’s rather skinny and indeed slick tires.

As we set off, the pace was good and we were hurtling through North London. All was going well until we hit that first bit of bridleway. It wasn’t romantic or classic, more like bone-jolting and sliding like you were on ice. Yes, the bike choice wasn’t a good one and this might hurt. Kilometer of kilometer went by and after the fourth bit of dirt road, I was feeling rather smug, HAH, no punctures yet Daniel!

What a dick, my Hell of the North was about to begin. Going down a particular rough bit (funny, a road bike isn’t meant to go over rocks, so I was amazed how far I’d gotten), I heard the dreaded bang and felt my arse shake like nothing else. Problem is, when you are sliding down a steep decline on thin wheels, it’s not exactly easy to stop quickly.

Puncture #1: split in the tube caused by a sharp piece of rock. Hmmm, notice my saddle bag is full of water, that sucks

All fixed and off I go, well for a kilometer or more and ssssssssssssssss, arse.

Puncture #2: split in tube, caused by another sharp piece of rock, this time the split is wide and the tube is trashed. Next!

Ok, new tube, let’s do this. Tarmac, gravel, tarmac, gravel and BANG.

Puncture #3: front decided it has had enough of the abuse. By now, I notice an alarming fact that the water has indeed stuffed all my inner tube patches. Cue loads of cursing and shaking of fists, I’m down to my last tube. Look I’ve had three punctures, surely the gods of cycling won’t punish me anymore?

Thankfully Rapha’s fuel stop was like an oasis. There, alongside the sweets, Bike Food bottles and bananas, were the heavenly sights of Specialized finest tubes. Yes please gentlemen, may I take two? Feeling all smug and with a mouth full of sweets, I was back on track and hurtling down bridleways. Hell of the North, pfft what are people on about? Oh how fate can be so fickle. BANG.

Puncture #4: fucking rocks, my rear tire now has a lovely split in it. Cue me using some of the now wet patches to act as a barrier, I soldier on.

Right near the end, we were supposed to make a loop over the highway and then turn back on ourselves to head to the pub. SSSSSSSSSST, are you fucking kidding me????

Puncture #5: Rear tire now has two gashes in, about 8mm long. I use a bit of plastic bag I find next to me and do a Macgyver (I’m rather happy with myself at this point, you have to laugh I guess). Whilst I’m busy repairing the problem, Rapha’s kind photographer is taking pictures. Then, as I look at the back of my seat, where the seat bag should be, I notice a void. It has decided to abandone ship too.

Five kilometers, 5000 meters is all I needed to ride to get back. I’ve got no tubes left, no patches and my multitool has now gone awol. Honestly, going over that last bit of gravel wasn’t the best part of the day, so when the sign for 1 Kilometer was seen, I was ecstatic.

A fistful of frites and beer was waiting, enough motivation for anyone. Whilst the punctures were a bit mad, it didn’t dampen my spirits at all, in fact it became more hilarious as they racked up. Seriously, 700cc road tires are not meant to bounce over rocks and gravel, no matter how good the tires are. The Colnago rode like a dream, steel is real and my god did it take a beating.

Rapha, hats off to you, you pulled off one of the best social rides I’ve ever done. Pure brilliance and a big thanks to all of the team involved.

Next year, it will be on a mountain bike!

Update:

Those kind folk at Rapha decided I was the winner of the most punctures prize. My prize, the weight of a small child in chocolate!

brilliant

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Sure, it’s a training camp, so you ride hard and long and aren’t expected to take up much of the atmosphere whilst in the saddle. But the problem is, you do and you can’t escape from it. From the bastard climbs of the Colobra to the Puig Major range, you are bathed in some stunning landscapes.

I feel like my strength has increased, especially in the areas I felt I was weak in. That’s the benefit of riding/training in Mallorca, you have the three main areas of cycling available to you: Mountains, flats and descents.

In total for the six days, the tally is impressive:

720 kilometers ridden, 6242 meters climbed and a stupid amount of time spent in the saddle.

Riding with a great group of incredibly strong riders helped, as there’s nothing like a bit of competitive spirit to make you push yourself, even when you are knackered. So if you are thinking about doing a training camp, I can wholeheartedly recommend it.

The way the Spanish embrace cycling and indeed cyclists is nothing short of inspiring. It makes you want to ride and you feel safer doing so. If only that was the case for other countries.

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This is all that was going through my head for sixty minutes as I attempted the infamous climb of the Puig Major in Mallorca. A charming climb which included the Soller to Tunel de Monnaber, a HC category climb of 14.2 km at 5.8% average gradient and Puig Major Alecarts, a category 1 climb of 13.6km at 5.8% average.

Yesterdays ride was tough, tackling the climbs after already boshing 70 km wasn’t for the faint-hearted and thankfully my legs held. It’s amazing how your body reacts to situations, especially when put under pressure. There was no other way around this lump of rock, and with the fast climbers in the group already making a serious dent in the task, it was left to myself and Stuart to crack on and take turns towing each other up.

Majorca is just such a brilliant training ground for weaknesses. I came here feeling nervous about climbing, and now feel I know how to handle the bigger climbs in my own manner. Working out which cadence, seating position and little quirks that allowed me to climb tough climbs. The decent on the other side of the mountain was nothing but legendary. Winding mountain roads with few cars and unbelievable corners, saw me reach a respectable 73km/hr at one point. Sure I could have gone faster, but the wimp in me prevented it.

In total, 150 kilometers ridden, 1944 meters climbed and a 5:30 hours in the saddle.

The previous day saw a relaxing rest ride, ok, anything but relaxing on this trip. A small 109 km ridden, with a few coffee stops here and there (well it would be rude not to!). The best part of the day was just the general banter between the group, sure there was a copious amount of kilometers in between but the banter kept it going.

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Looking at the greats of cycling, it’s no secret that those Spaniards were pretty special and you can see why, when you ride over here.

The road is shared amongst motorists and cyclist. No common white van man trying to run you off the road, or the 50+ black cab who feels it’s his road and you are a mere annoyance. You are treated as an equal and cars respect your space. It’s such a pleasure to ride on roads like this, the UK and South Africa has a lot to learn.

In addition to the drivers, the quality of the roads is brilliant. 90% of the surface is smooth and free from pot holes. So no anger on the roads, a road surface thats perfect and hills, oh I forgot to mention the hills, but why else would you come here?

Arriving on the Saturday, the bikes were put together and a short, slow-paced ride was planned. Here’s where reality set in: they lied, there’s no such thing as slow-paced. We ended up doing a quick 50km ride at 31km/h. Not bad for being awake since 5am and in transit most of the day. After abusing the buffet, a 138 kilometer ride was planned. Scenery was out of this world and a quick climb to the top of San Salvador (Cat 2) to abuse a coffee and baguette.

Overall the legs felt good, averaging 14km/h. Look, I’m not built for climbing so i’m happy with that speed. The next day would be the real test as we were planning on hitting Sa Colabra (Cat 1) and Col de sa Batalla (Cat 2). Thing is, the sneaky shits didn’t tell me that whilst I was bombing down this most amazing mountain, for 12 kilometers, I’d actually have to turn around at the bottom and ride back up it.

What I don’t understand is why this road exists. There are no houses down from the peak to the ocean, and only a few shitty restaurants when you reach the end. To build a stunning road like this, is beyond me. After hitting the bottom and boshing two energy gels, it was time to head back up the snake and try and reach the summit.

This mountain was a bitch, winding roads and average gradients of 8% to 11%. To make matters harder, once you reach the viaduct, you aren’t finished sunshine, there’s still a shit load of more climbing to do. Thing is, when you do reach the end, it’s a great feeling knowing you’ve climbed a Cat 1 hill and done so without crying or sitting on the side of the road. Even better knowing you’ve earned that custard slice or five at dinner.

I’ve come to realise that whilst not my strongest area, climbing can be done and enjoyed.

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Call on me – Spin spin sugar
Crawl on me – Spin spin sugar

Whilst it might be the title, and indeed lyrics, of a brilliant track from the Sneaker Pimps (90′s music was great, you have to admit), it’s also a good indication of the addiction I had to the evil sucrose. I craved it, devoured chocolate and really enjoyed a can of Coke. Thing is, the warning signs were there. The mood swings when I didn’t have any sugar fix in a day, the rush when I did. The fact of the matter was, my body was addicted to sugar and without me doing something drastic, the effects of sucrose would finally cause some damage.

On the 1st February (I just like to start things on even numbers, yes O.C.D is strong in this one) I made a conscious decision to cut back as much sugar from my daily diet. I’m not one of those freaks who remove all instances of anything bad. a healthy balance is needed. I enjoy chocolate and the occasional choccy digestive (shock, horror, that fat bastard!) and think you can have both, if you act like a responsible adult.

I’ll never be a skinny man and I’m actually ok with that. There’s this perception that to be a decent cyclist, you need to have the body of a 10-year old boy and I feel that’s all a load of utter bollocks. Sure, the leaner you are, the faster you will fly up hills. Watch really skinny guys go down that same hill, it’s like watching a paper bag on a windy day.

So back to the sugar cull. It started off all so well, me constantly looking at the packaging and determining how much sugar (or the evil others often used as substitutes) and deciding if it was worth it. I totally stopped drinking all sugar-infused drinks and settled on Pepsi Max (1 calorie, no sugar and suits my cravings). After four days, I actually felt ok. Sure, the cravings were there and I was a bit moody but nothing too bad.

All that changed when I went out for a ride with Mr Lowe. Nothing too hectic, just a jaunt up into the countryside. Everything was as expected up to the 40 minute, when it felt like my entire body had hit a wall. I’d already had one gel and it didn’t have any effect. Finally struggling up Toots hill, I asked Paul for a spare gel and soldiered on. Thing is, my legs felt empty and I was dizzy. I’d hit the wall that so many others experience when cycling.

I was gutted and felt utterly shit. Thankfully Paul pulled me home, as by now I was exhausted. I put  it down to not having a decent enough breakfast (funny, in hindsight, it was the same breakfast I’d had for months before) and thought of it as a blip and tried again. Saturday mornings ride with the Phoenix crew and all was looking great for the first 40 mins (see a pattern emerging here?) and then up one hill in Hertfordshire, my legs decided that they didn’t fancy playing and promptly gave up.

I’d hit the wall a second time round in less than 72 hours, with 35 kilometers to go. There is nothing worse than knowing you still have a distance to get home when there is no fuel left in the system. Defeated and knackered, I took a long look at what the root cause was and came to the conclusion – too much sugar is a bad thing but cutting it all out isn’t an option either. Yes, I’d lost some weight and to be honest, I’m feeling and looking the best I’ve done in a decade but I didn’t have the energy to continue riding like I had. I needed to balance out my intake and act accordingly.

The last few rides have been much better, actually faster than previous attempts. I still have the occasional digestive here and there, but it’s all in moderation. This week, one rider who has always been an inspiration, Mario Cipollini, has said he wants to come back and ride as a pro. What’s cool about this is that he’s built like a man, currently sitting at 90 kilograms and let’s be honest, looking damn good for a 42-year old. In his day, he was one incredibly fast rider and i’ll hedge a bet that if the UCI allow it, he’ll show a few youngsters a thing or two.

Proof that you don’t need to be wafer thin to be a good fast cyclist.

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“January is here, with eyes that keenly glow,
A frost-mailed warrior
striding a shadowy steed of snow.”
-  Edgar Fawcett

January is a month often used by many to loose weight and start the year fresh. For me, it was more of an attempt to keep riding on the roads and spend as little time on the indoor trainer as possible.
Don’t think I don’t enjoy the Sufferfest videos, I do, it’s just that riding or indeed performing any sport indoors is just, well, alien.

With that in mind, a number of jaunts were planned, Strava rides studied and routes plotted. All of this around Englands strange weather cycles (is it hot, is it cold? am I wearing enough layers?)

Thankfully, it has been seasonably warm. I’ve yet to don the jacket and it has been great to see so many other cyclists on the road at this time of year. Along with the new Colnago daily trainer bike, I’ve enjoyed being out and noticed that my fitness levels have gone up. I’m putting it down to the likes of the Rapha 500 and the Sufferfest. Overall my average speed is higher and recovery times are much less than before.

Now looking at the stats, it’s not bad but not exactly large numbers (keep on telling myself that it’s quality over quantity)

Amongst those kilometers was a bloody quick ride with James and co up in Milton Keynes. Some enjoyable jaunts around Essex, including a refreshing ride with Paul and sadly, over ten hours on the indoor trainer and a new ride out with the East London Velo club.

February is looking up. The travel schedule is still screwing things up, with me being away for a week, but I hope the snow clears so I can get in at least 250 kilometers a week before the month is out. I’m also heavily watching what I eat and have decided to cut my overal sugar intake by 70%. I’m a realist, there’s no way in hell I’ll be giving up sugar completely but for the next month, it’s all about moderation.

Which can be a sod, as chocolate is my weakness.

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Overall the ride has been brilliant. The frame is stiff, incredibly responsive and very comfortable. You don’t feel like you are riding a steel frame from 1987. A few notable additions have helped, the Rotor Q-rings are really enjoyable to ride. I find myself being able to maintain a much higher cadence than before and climbing is a pleasure again – well, can it really be that much of a pleasure, more like i’m not screaming like a mine worker whilst doing it.

It’s hard to nail down exactly what I like, the pedal stroke is smoother and recovery is indeed much quicker. That dead leg syndrome of previous rides has long gone, a welcome addition.

This weekend I headed out with East London Velo on their Sunday ride. Benefit of this lot is that they ride around my hood, so no more lengthy car trips to get to the ride meeting point. Straight away, the pace was quick and I was wondering if i’d managed to latch onto some race team. Turns out, they have a healthy number of Cat 2 riders in the group and as a result, we were averaging 34 kph.

Thankfully, the hours on the turbo trainer have paid off, the effort wasn’t too much and I was even keeping up on the hills (ok granted, not with that skinny fella, who utterly wiped the floor with anyone else, effortless doesn’t even come close). In the end, we did a respectable 74 kilometers and I learned some new routes to take in Essex.

So if all goes to plan, I hope to ride with them again as it was a great run and a fast one at that.

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