Mr Bay,
During a 10 minute lull in very average Friday morning, my mind wandered to a possible career change.
Not to say I’m not happy being a structural engineer for the local authority, I just figured that this career path won’t exactly get me to the goal I’ve concluded to be my zenith. My peak. My ‘Armageddon’.
“What is his goal?” I hear you say. Well wipe that fringe away, this is going to win you that Oscar...or another Saturn Award.
Mickey, I want to put my hat in your ring and give you a helping hand in your future filmography. I say helping hand, I mean I want to get wealthy off your talent. I want to be the Dec to your Ant. The Emilio Estavez to your Charlie Sheen. The Haylie to your Hilary.
Let’s not avoid the obvious; you my friend, should be up there with James Cameron. You’ve got that magnificent fringe and the occasional b-ball hat to casually throw on. Your thinking cap . Jimmy on the other hand, what is he? 85? Granted he owns his own diving bell and snorkel...or something? Yes he’s produced classics such as Avatar, Titanic, True Lies, Point Break, Terminator 2, to name a few. But; these all pale into insignificance when compared to Armageddon and Megan Fox in Transformers. Do you have her number? Just give me a couple figures, I’ll guess the rest.
Back on track. You and I will admit the “dropped bollock” with ‘I Am Number Four’. I haven’t seen, but 6.1 stars on IMDB? C’mon Mickey. Crocodile Dundee has 6.5 stars. Mick Fucking Dundee!?
I want to help you, Mickey. Help me, help you. Fly me over, buy me lunch, let’s throw some parties and we’ll talk. You know it makes sense. You’ve got one bollock left, don’t drop this one. I still have two. That’s three bollocks, Mickey. James Cameron has old bollocks and more than likely, the bends...and a fetish for blue reproductive organs if Avatar is anything to go by.
Let’s do this. Find me a slot; I’ll turn my hand to anything. Acting, camera...ing, photography, painting, packed lunches...you name it. I’ll grip your key. I’ll be your best boy. Let me grip that boy. Hell, I’ll even work in costume....I’ll help out with Megan Fox and Emma Stone’s gusset maintenance. I was a boy scout.
Also, I see you’re doing Ninja Turtles? And you’ve got George Takei on board. An Asian turtle eh...or is he Splinter? My Mam is called Avril. Coincidence? No, that’s fate.
Did you do Star Wars?
Look forward to working with you.
John Williams
Friday, 9 November 2012
Friday, 24 August 2012
Cymmer Off Road & Tuska Tri (Welsh Sprint Championships)
Cymmer Off-Road Triathlon
Right up the arse end of the A41...4..something...18...4? this small off-road tri is a gem in the rough. No, wait, a diamond in the polish. Fuck it, it’s a good event.
The 600m pool swim went well, bar the fact that I ate early then forgot about the hanging around involved in pool based tri’s. I then started hammering the gels like some form of High5 junkie. Nabbed the 2nd quickest swim of the day.
The bike route had changed before the event due to some pissy tree disease. So it was basically out on a road – climb up the forest – descend down the forest – back on the same road. Not the most exciting or technical routes, but a good climb would be able to separate the field slightly. Bar almost descending blind due to the amount of shite that was being thrown up into my eyes, it was pretty much straight forward. I genuinely can’t make this more excit...oh, I saw a fox. A ginger one.
Onto the run, we’d have to do 2 x 3k laps. It’s a great run; out on a cycle path, across a massive river (stream), then back on a dirt track where it got pretty tight with overtaking.
This really isn’t excit...oh, I saw a cat. A black one.
Anyway, finished 2nd overall and lost out to Simon Thornton. Who’s pretty handy.
Tuska Triathlon – Welsh Sprint Distance Championships
Wanted to give this event a real good crack.
My swimming had been going great towards the end of this season, so to feel like I couldn’t really get started on the morning was a disappointment.
Getting out the water in the second group, there was a gap of over 2 minutes already. Not ideal, but let’s face it, going out the wrong way of T1 didn’t help the matter either. Belated apologies to Lewys Winfield-Young and Richard Dando for taking them too...pretty sure I said this after the last race, but next season, actually listen to what the race briefing has to say. Tuh-wat.
The bike was a strange one. I felt pretty much shite the entire way round, but my time wasn’t *too* bad. I’ve neglected my cycling over the last couple months and it’s shown, but still, I was happy with how it went and made up a handful of places. And yeah, Tuska is not flat.
The run was going to be interesting as I came back into T2 with 3 others around the same time. Despite only being able to do one run a week for the last month or so, I’m surprised at how well I’m running these days. I was able to put a small gap into the guys around me and was starting to catch a couple guys in front, but simply ran out of k’s to bridge it. Again, I made up a couple positions on the run and gave pretty much all I had left. Finished 15th overall. *thumb up*
In terms of the field, that has to be the strongest sprint field I’ve raced against. It’s a good yard stick to measure myself with and with a solid winter under my belt, I’ll be looking forward to 2013...although I still don’t know what I’ll be doing (bar an attempt at a sub 2:10 Olympic time).
So, in terms of a comeback season. I’m fucking ecstatic. Considering I’ve been running once/twice a week since March and the fact I’m racing again, I really can’t complain. A big middle finger to the consultant who said to “give up running as you’re not built for it”.
5 races. 3 podiums. 36th at a European Championship and 15th at a National Championship. Pass me the beer.
Next up for me is a week in Greece with no trainers/bike then onto a ‘mystery trip’ to somewhere in Europe with 5 mates – guaranteed to hurt more than any race this year.
Oh....and an entry to Rother Valley Tri – an AG selection race for the ETU Sprint Champs in Turkey. Still undecided.
Last one, I also fell off a childs BMX on a night out with some mates.
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
An application to become one of the Champions of the Earth
We all saw it, we all gasped at it, we all want it as a title to stick on out work desk...bedroom door...car bonnet.
Anyway, I’m going to attempt to get myself into this organisation and put Ammanford on the map. John Williams - Champion of the Earth.
Dearest Champions of the Earth,
During the Olympic London 2012 Games Ceremony Opening (I’ve moved the words around to avoid copyright infringement and a personal visit from Seb Coe), I, like the other 30 trillion viewers, was left with my mouth firmly agape by the title of Champion of the Earth.
Intrigued by this title, I have put aside my ambitions of reaching the 2016 Olympics held in Rio, Brazil on the British Synchronised Diving team and now fully commit my sustainable self (thumbs up), to getting a seat on the Champions of the Earth table. I imagine it’s an oval table, constructed from Swamp Chestnut Oak, naturally fallen of course, with individual seats created using materials salvaged from a local recycling centre. None of this IKEA shi...rubbish. Along with this Swamp Chestnut Oak oval table and delightful, if not uncomfortable seating, I imagine there’s a coat stand placed near the entrance of the board room where selected members are able to hang their capes. If this isn’t the case, I propose as the newest member, that this should be installed along with a fireman’s pole. I’ll be more than happy to design and manufacture my own cape and fully utilise the ‘C’ grade I achieved in A-Level Art & Craft.
I’ve noticed that you have a selection policy, which I think is great. We don’t want any old lunatic in a suit joining our select team of Champions of the Earth *cough* Boris Johnson *cough*.
These are the points that you have detailed as criteria to be matched to be considered. I will continue to show how I have achieved and in some cases, surpassed these.
• Policy Leadership
• Science & Innovation
• Entrepreneurial Vision
• Inspiration & Action
Policy leadership.
During my sporting career, I have developed a distinctive leadership skill which has drawn many plaudits. A key moment that I can refer to involves the time I was selected as Captain to lead my town’s (excess of 6,000 inhabitants) rugby team. Known as the ‘crazy gang’, we’d often play with an obvious handicap in numbers and on times, were forced to pick Jason Senchall. A charismatic, yet often confused man, whom in his glory days was a prolific try scorer, but at the end of his career seemed happier to talk to the opposition and congratulate them on their success before starting the game. Taking over a ragtag group of men and turning them into league winners and cup finalists was no mean feat, but with a policy that included; no warming up, selecting a team during kick off, asking members of the public if they fancied a game and listening to Ashlee Simpson to ‘get the blood pumping’, we were and still are, fondly remembered as one of the most successful rugby teams of our generation.
Science & Innovation.
I once passed a physics test with a 99% pass rate* and witnessed a school colleague eat calcium permanganate. My favourite elements from the periodic table are Rubidium and Boron. In terms of innovation, you can agree that listening to Ashlee Simpson prior to a rugby game is pretty much on the cusp of an act of genius. I also once used a circular wooden curtain toggle as a conker during my school days. Obviously I painted the toggle in three shades of brown first, but it went on to become undefeated over an entire spring term.
Entrepreneurial Vision.
Have yet to appear on Dragons Den, but have built a TV/towel storage unit in GCSE Technology. Many slated this idea and claimed it was a big, wooden box with a lid, but they clearly lacked entrepreneurial vision.
Inspiration & Action.
The information detailed in “Policy leadership” clearly surpasses both these requirements. I once scored 26 points in one game of rugby; inspirational AND action. Apart from these points, every day I inspire local redheads as I step into the public eye. I laugh at the cheap jibes, the laughing, the coin throwing and general shouts of “oh look, someone’s put a polo shirt on a scotch egg” or “look! A day walker” and annually I venture to countries with temperatures well in excess of 13 degrees Fahrenheit despite advised not to by my local GP. Truly, truly inspirational.
I do have some requests prior to being selected onto the Champions of the Earth board:
• I want a red phone.
• Ammanford to be renamed “John Williams – Champion of the Earth”. Imagine it, “you are now entering John Williams – Champion of the Earth”. Beautiful.
• A cape.
• A selection of apples, a sharp knife and a bathtub full of balled melon.
• To carry the Olympic flag at the Olympic games in Rio, 2016. On horseback. Topless. Me, not the horse – preferably a cross-eyed Shetland Pony.
• To ignite the Olympic flame with a stunt involving a flammable suit, Chris Akabussi and a pommel horse.
• Every Friday afternoon off to trial the above stunt. For the next four years.
I hope you find the above requests fair, as I’ve had to curtail the list and omit items such sacrificing a reality TV personality every Wednesday, revising the national dish of the UK to apples, introducing the centurion (100 beer shots in 100 minutes) to the Olympics and the Thunderdome to be reintroduced with Sepp Blatter & Piers Morgan to be forced in first (this should really go back on the list).
If you require a passport photo, I’d be more than happy to provide one along with finger prints. I have no criminal record and hold a clean drivers license. I’m open to flying lessons too.
*I marked my own paper
Yours’ in all things Champion,
John Williams – Champion of the World
Anyway, I’m going to attempt to get myself into this organisation and put Ammanford on the map. John Williams - Champion of the Earth.
Dearest Champions of the Earth,
During the Olympic London 2012 Games Ceremony Opening (I’ve moved the words around to avoid copyright infringement and a personal visit from Seb Coe), I, like the other 30 trillion viewers, was left with my mouth firmly agape by the title of Champion of the Earth.
Intrigued by this title, I have put aside my ambitions of reaching the 2016 Olympics held in Rio, Brazil on the British Synchronised Diving team and now fully commit my sustainable self (thumbs up), to getting a seat on the Champions of the Earth table. I imagine it’s an oval table, constructed from Swamp Chestnut Oak, naturally fallen of course, with individual seats created using materials salvaged from a local recycling centre. None of this IKEA shi...rubbish. Along with this Swamp Chestnut Oak oval table and delightful, if not uncomfortable seating, I imagine there’s a coat stand placed near the entrance of the board room where selected members are able to hang their capes. If this isn’t the case, I propose as the newest member, that this should be installed along with a fireman’s pole. I’ll be more than happy to design and manufacture my own cape and fully utilise the ‘C’ grade I achieved in A-Level Art & Craft.
I’ve noticed that you have a selection policy, which I think is great. We don’t want any old lunatic in a suit joining our select team of Champions of the Earth *cough* Boris Johnson *cough*.
These are the points that you have detailed as criteria to be matched to be considered. I will continue to show how I have achieved and in some cases, surpassed these.
• Policy Leadership
• Science & Innovation
• Entrepreneurial Vision
• Inspiration & Action
Policy leadership.
During my sporting career, I have developed a distinctive leadership skill which has drawn many plaudits. A key moment that I can refer to involves the time I was selected as Captain to lead my town’s (excess of 6,000 inhabitants) rugby team. Known as the ‘crazy gang’, we’d often play with an obvious handicap in numbers and on times, were forced to pick Jason Senchall. A charismatic, yet often confused man, whom in his glory days was a prolific try scorer, but at the end of his career seemed happier to talk to the opposition and congratulate them on their success before starting the game. Taking over a ragtag group of men and turning them into league winners and cup finalists was no mean feat, but with a policy that included; no warming up, selecting a team during kick off, asking members of the public if they fancied a game and listening to Ashlee Simpson to ‘get the blood pumping’, we were and still are, fondly remembered as one of the most successful rugby teams of our generation.
Science & Innovation.
I once passed a physics test with a 99% pass rate* and witnessed a school colleague eat calcium permanganate. My favourite elements from the periodic table are Rubidium and Boron. In terms of innovation, you can agree that listening to Ashlee Simpson prior to a rugby game is pretty much on the cusp of an act of genius. I also once used a circular wooden curtain toggle as a conker during my school days. Obviously I painted the toggle in three shades of brown first, but it went on to become undefeated over an entire spring term.
Entrepreneurial Vision.
Have yet to appear on Dragons Den, but have built a TV/towel storage unit in GCSE Technology. Many slated this idea and claimed it was a big, wooden box with a lid, but they clearly lacked entrepreneurial vision.
Inspiration & Action.
The information detailed in “Policy leadership” clearly surpasses both these requirements. I once scored 26 points in one game of rugby; inspirational AND action. Apart from these points, every day I inspire local redheads as I step into the public eye. I laugh at the cheap jibes, the laughing, the coin throwing and general shouts of “oh look, someone’s put a polo shirt on a scotch egg” or “look! A day walker” and annually I venture to countries with temperatures well in excess of 13 degrees Fahrenheit despite advised not to by my local GP. Truly, truly inspirational.
I do have some requests prior to being selected onto the Champions of the Earth board:
• I want a red phone.
• Ammanford to be renamed “John Williams – Champion of the Earth”. Imagine it, “you are now entering John Williams – Champion of the Earth”. Beautiful.
• A cape.
• A selection of apples, a sharp knife and a bathtub full of balled melon.
• To carry the Olympic flag at the Olympic games in Rio, 2016. On horseback. Topless. Me, not the horse – preferably a cross-eyed Shetland Pony.
• To ignite the Olympic flame with a stunt involving a flammable suit, Chris Akabussi and a pommel horse.
• Every Friday afternoon off to trial the above stunt. For the next four years.
I hope you find the above requests fair, as I’ve had to curtail the list and omit items such sacrificing a reality TV personality every Wednesday, revising the national dish of the UK to apples, introducing the centurion (100 beer shots in 100 minutes) to the Olympics and the Thunderdome to be reintroduced with Sepp Blatter & Piers Morgan to be forced in first (this should really go back on the list).
If you require a passport photo, I’d be more than happy to provide one along with finger prints. I have no criminal record and hold a clean drivers license. I’m open to flying lessons too.
*I marked my own paper
Yours’ in all things Champion,
John Williams – Champion of the World
Friday, 22 June 2012
Cosmeston Triathlon 2012
After spending so long on the sidelines injured (around 18 months) and also told to give up running as “I’m not built for it”, it was safe to say I had my fair share of nerves going into this race. My first since Bala 2010.
My training prior to the event was going well; swimming and cycling were a level above where I was before. Running on the other hand was 99% done on the treadmill and mainly intervals of 1k to limit stress on my knee. My longest, continual run before Sunday was 3 miles...and that was done once. And I stepped in dog shit during that run.
Anyway, if you are thinking of doing Cosmeston, then I’d suggest investing in a decent alarm clock or a fistful of ProPlus. 4:20AM I got up. 4:20AM! I’m hazy on exactly what I did in the morning, but I know I haven’t been up that early, sober, in a LONG time.
Got to Cardiff at 6am, set up bike, doused myself in baby-oil and rubber’d myself up. If you’ve come to this blog via a Google search of ‘Dogging’, then you’re in for a huge disappointment.
In the water for 7am, an average 13min swim later (wetsuit too small?) and exited in 11th. Forgot about the shambles that is a transition, and struggled to get on the bike...a verge later, I was down the road and breathing out of my arse. Slowly ticking people off along the 20k, I counted 3 in front at the halfway mark. Passing the guy in 3rd before getting back to Cosmeston, I had no idea how I’d run off a good bike effort. A quick kudos to the bloke who was HAMMERED near the bike exit at 7:15am. I found out he fell face first onto the road and was escorted by the police and given a cell/bed for the morning. Champion.
Onto the run, I had what looked like maybe 30 seconds onto 4th. I was convinced that I’d be caught in the first 1k and was on the cusp of cramping in both calves. Thankfully, this eased and just got in a rhythm of running/looking behind. The gap was growing if anything and I was feeling comfortable ticking along and just wanting to finish without my knee blowing up. With 1k left and after a long straight, I could enjoy knowing that I was coming in at 3rd.
It’s the second time in racing that I’ve missed the finishing shute.
Over the moon to finish with no pain/swelling/discomfort and a bonus of having 3rd. A big confidence boost for the ETU Cross Champs in Holland and Tuska Tri (Welsh Sprint Championships).
Course record was also broken on the day by a 16yr old from London – the third Brownlee - maybe a claim to fame when he races in Rio 2016? He’s going places (just not the pub...).
750m Swim: 13:10
20k Bike: 32:37 - Strava
5k Run: 18:42
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| Lost arm to a swan... |
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| Enterting T2 |
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| T2...shoes still clipped in. Forgot about that... |
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| Luckily, he didn't get a photo of me doing a commando roll under the barrier as I missed the finishing shute... |
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| Finish. Clearly impressed the kid with my Dino hand... |
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| 3rd Place. He's not my Dad...nice jumper though. Check the girl who's clearly impressed. |
Friday, 25 May 2012
Les Alps
In typical fashion, I left the packing to the night before I travelled up to London...then decided to play the Playstation and leave the packing to the hour before I was supposed to leave. So, forgetting to pack any bike nutrition, I rushed to Boots and bought a huge tub of aqueous cream and plasters; which raised an eyebrow.
We (myself and Ben – who has nothing to do with the above purchase) decided to drive to Grenoble. It’s about 8cm away on a map which equates to about 17hrs in a car; this will be used as a measuring guide to all my journeys from now on.
Arrived 10pm on the Tuesday to be greeted by our plush abode. I say plush, it was an adult sized Lego cabin with an added extra of guessing what panel would fall off when opening/closing a door. In all honesty, I was half expecting to see Pat Sharpe living in the bathroom with a set of twins and some excitable kids up to their eyeballs on dib-dabs.
Congratulations to you who guessed Funhouse. Bet you’re thinking about smashing up your Mam’s living room looking for a green sock and stapler, right?
Day 1: probably for the best, we decided to take this day easy and just spin out the legs after the long drive. Headed out of Bourg D’Osians and within 15k hit the first climb. So much for the easy spin. Two pretty hefty climbs later and during a bottle refill, I smashed a pint glass full of coke with some comedy fountain water squirting on a kids toy bike. Just warming myself to the locals. Made our excuses and descended back into Bourg. We didn’t venture that way again. (~65k + 1,200m ascent)
The rest of the day was spent with feet up and warming my fellow campsite dwellers with my sunburn.
Day 2: looking at the maps of the local area and finding a route that didn’t involve any climbs that were “Ferme”, we found some pretty tight switchbacks after a 40k gentle descent. Bonza! Headed out and soon realised that these tight switchbacks were seriously steep and we were blessed with some very humid weather between the sun showers. The views were pretty spectacular when I lifted my head, but in all honesty, I spent the majority of the climb dry-humping my headset up the mountain. It was seriously steep in sections. We summited, filled water up, descended, followed a yellow sign (don’t do this in France, it’s for ramblers/swingers) and ended on a dirt track for 5k, then a field, then across a river...then realised we *may* have taken the wrong route. iPhone out, back across the field, noticed a farm house with one of those circular targets on an outbuilding, past an angry Alsatian, over a bridge and bike-hike up a track to the main road. I was in Nepal again. Descended through some small towns, had a coke, saw a dog with the head the size of a sofa then reached Col D’Ornon. A long, winding climb in serious heat. At this stage, I just wanted to call it quits on the day instead of taking on Alpe D’Huez. Back to Bourg, feet up, more sunburn despite wearing arm warmers and a bellyful of food. (~110k + 2,100m ascent)
Day 3: Alpe D’huez. Something I’ve wanted to do since I watched my first Tour De France. And somehow, I gave myself a target of getting up in under 1hr. That’s right, 14km of climbing, no reprieve, just climbing. 21 famous switchbacks. So with my sense of direction akin to a lobotomised homing pigeon, I took a wrong turn, added 1km onto the ascent and finishing in 1hr 02mins. Added an ascent of Col D’Ornon from the “better” side to make up for my twat-nav climb on ADH. (110km + 2,200m ascent)
Day 4: armed with the correct route in mind, I was going to make it up in under an hour. It rained all night and the wind picked up, so I was back in Wales. Legs were surprisingly ok and plugged my way up in 58mins. A huge crowd* was at the top to encourage me as I wanged it in the big ring for the final couple turns to dip under my aim.
*there wasn’t a single person on ADH that day.
The descent on Day 3 took 16mins. Today, it took ~30mins. It was so cold, my brakes were sketchy and the road was seriously wet. I decided to head to Col Der Farx, climbed for nigh on 2hrs, including riding between a gap cut out of the snow/ice just wide enough for a car, then turned back 5k before the summit as I started to turn blue. It’s a brutal climb; something I’ll be back to do...just not on this day. I just got too cold to the point it was getting dangerous. Descending made me inevitably colder. Which was nice. I ate 1 ½ burgers that night. (120k + 3,200m ascent).
The 17hr drive home the next day is right up there as the best day of my life.
We stayed in Campsite Piscine in Bourg D’Osians. Ideal for cheap, cheerful accommodation and a great spot for cycling the main climbs. It was a shame that Galibier among others was shut, but I’ll go back one day. It’s totes’ worth it.
I took 8 pictures the entire trip. 3 of which were dogs.
All rides/routes are on Strava - jbwilliamz.
All rides/routes are on Strava - jbwilliamz.
Oh, forgot to add that I have managed one race this year; a 3/4 Cat Crit in Cardiff. Long story short, I made a break with 6 laps left and took 2 others with me. We got caught on the last lap and I finished in the main bunch...bad timing on my part, but enjoyed it.
Oh, also forgot to add I’m racing a my first Tri in nearly 2 years in 2 weeks time in Cosmeston. It’s a small, open water sprint event and barring any last minute disasters, the running is going ok. Managed my first outdoor 5km for a LONG time last week, so I should be able to get through ok.
Also, I’ll be racing in Holland in July for the European Off-Road Championships in GB colours again. A sandy 9k run is going to put me in a seriously uncomfortable box.
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| Bourg D'Osians |
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| Ben was a little tired after the first day... |
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| An amazing climb... |
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| Horse. |
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| Average view... |
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Top of D'huez
|
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| "AMBROSIUS...AWAY!" |
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| Turn 1.... |
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| Turn 2... |
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| Croix De'Fer |
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| Mmmmmmorvelo...brake dust on ankles. |
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| BOSH!! |
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Paris-Roubaix 2012
There’re tough races; there’re tough rides...then there’s Paris-Roubaix.
The oldest one day classic race in history and it’s produced some amazing drama over the years. I’d be lying if I said I was an avid follower of the race, where in truth, I’ve watched a handful of the organised chaos over the past few years. I’ve seen Boonen, Cancellara, Backstead and Van Summeren take wins in some pretty brutal conditions. So, with the in introduction of the Paris-Roubaix Challenge; organised by the same people who do the Pro Race as well as some Tour in France...? I jumped at the chance of seeing what the fuss was about and how difficult it was to ride the famous pave’.
Friday March 30th. A day of travelling from Carmarthen to London via Ammanford to crash at my sisters place in Richmond.
Saturday March 31st. 7am start and a drive across London to meet up with Jon. He’s American, so there’s not much more to be said. Oh, he did Paris-Breast-Paris (1,200km in 3 days). Then onto the Dover -> 45mins crossing -> St Quentin -> 2hrs into France. Easy. Register, feet up, some food (a very average pizza) and then watch France v Scotland in female football. France were prettier, the Scottish girls spat and it was rubbish.
Sunday April 1st. 6am start and some standard French breakfast...cold meat, a crassoint and orange juice. Fucking French.
I’m not sure about anyone else, but from the outset, I always thought the ‘challenge’ was the same setup as a sportif. Judging by the results and trophies, it was essentially a glorified amateur Paris-Roubaix race? Weird setup in truth.
Anyway, started off in the final group (5 of 5) numbered 1359 from 1500. We set off in intervals of roughly 5 minutes and started next to what looked like Simon Gerrans (Australian National Road Race Champion and Milan-San Remo winner)...well, not really. This guy wore a national champions jersey, rode a 4k Cervelo S5 with a pair of Zipp wheels which nigh on cost more than the ferry I travelled over in. Riding 6k’s worth of equipment over the cobbles...braver man than me.
The start was pretty tame, joined a pretty big group of riders who gently ambled through the smaller towns before hitting the open road...where I realised that the headwind would be pretty much directly at us for the entire route. Making our way onto a longish drag, I noticed that people were quickly going backwards and eased myself off the front and picked my way through the field. The wind was pretty grim once caught between groups, but as soon as we hit a “hill”, I was making ground on the guys in front pretty easily; although I had to keep reminding myself it’s a long day in the saddle and we hadn’t even hit a cobble yet.
Looking at videos of the race from previous years, I realised that hitting the cobbles at speed, right through the crown was the way to go. So, as we approached the first section of pave’, I upped the gears and lowered the cadence...then immediately shit my bibs as soon as I touched a cobble. Likewise everyone else around me. Jesus H Christ...chaos ensued; bottles flew out of cages, saddle packs snapped off, riders fell and a LOAD of riders punctured in the first couple hundred metres. Mavic run motorbikes and the Police were flying up the cobbles with ease, popping off and helping people with wheel issues, riders were throwing bikes around like petulant kids, rims were bent...carnage. Somehow, I managed to slow down enough to ensure that my teeth didn’t fall out and my hands had taken it upon themselves to work without my control; a vice like death grip would mean that I would have to peel the fingers of my left hand off the bars later in the ride. Masturbation was not looking good for the next week considering my hand had turned into that thing off the Adams Family: “PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....LEAVE IT GO?!!”. Essentially, I’d be raping myself. Weird, huh?
Fortunately, the pave’ would ease as the day went on. Being held up was the only issue of the race, but that’s to be expected when 1,500 riders take part; although only ~900 finished. I got into a rhythm when approaching the cobbles and once you picked a gear, that was it, no changing during the section. I also found that mountain biking has helped my bike handling pretty well, I was able to pick good lines and ride on the edge of the cobbles and pass people at will...until about 110km in where I started to tire...and get sore...and get bored of a constant headwind and cobble combo.
I stopped at two feed stops for water. They were well run, but everyone assumed you were French....even though I constantly said “Ola” and “Gracias”...why, I don’t know?!
There’s a famous section of cobbles that I looked forward to the entire way around. At 90k in, we’d be hitting the Arenburg. We cycled alongside a HUGE factory which looked like something out of a WWII film, then cut through the middle of a forest on 2.4km of cobbles. Big, bastard cobbles. A funny thing happened on these big, bastard cobbles. Essentially, I thought I shit myself. My stomach was playing silly buggers and every time I hit a cobble with force, I thought I crapped myself. Now, this would’ve been ok if it was 100m long...but no...2.4km of it. Imagine that, 1.5 miles of “Oh my god...I’ve shit myself”. Needless to say, I smiled for the cameraman when he took a photo. I masked it pretty well.
Turns out when I stopped for a piss after the section, I didn’t shit myself. Hazza!
The third and final section of pave’ was where I managed to take a wrong turn...despite being a large police and spectator presence. I rounded a corner and out the corner of my eye, saw a cyclist disappear to my right. So I followed. For 4km. Then I realised the roads were open...after a strong chase, the guy in front didn’t have a number on his bike. In all honesty, he probably didn’t need to be called “YOU FUCKING, FUCK!!” but he was French.
4km back up the road and I rejoined the “race” on the cobbles. They were starting to take their toll and my wrists were very stiff at this point. More cobbles, more wind, saw a man fall on his face, more cobbles, more wind, saw a man fall on a straight piece of tarmac road then realised we’d finished with the cobbles for the day and was on the final stretch to the Roubaix velodrome. This is what I wanted to experience...it was a shame I was blowing out of my arse, but the crowds on the side of the road were fantastic! Rounded a corner and had my name called out as I entered the velodrome. Again, another experience where I nearly shit myself...the banks on the Roubaix velodrome are really....really STEEP!! Instantly took the sprinters line and crossed the finish to collect my medal. A brilliant day on the bike. Loved it. Didn’t shit myself.
The one thing I’ve noticed looking back at the results is the ~30 minute discrepancy between my Garmin 200 (GPS) and the timing they’ve given?
Here’s the ride details from my Garmin which can be seen on Strava too;
Ride Time: 5:35:29 (5:59:30 on the event listing?)
Distance: 158km
Calories: 2,707kcal
Elevation: 903m
Ave Speed: 28.5km
The kit I used.
Movelo bibs/shirt: Superb. Surprisingly, my arse was unscathed through the day. A quality chamois and, importantly, a zipp on the rear pockets of the shirt for keys/money. Love that gear!!
PBK arm/leg warmes: Used them for years. Perfect/cheap.
Oakleys: You’ll need glasses for the race whether wet or warm. There was a surprising amount of dust being kicked up.
My Giant TCR composite was amazing. Damped a huge amount of vibrations and it stayed in one piece!
Shimano R500 wheelset. £70 from Merlin cycles...they’re unbelievable value. Rock solid.
Continental 4 Seasons (28cm): not a single puncture. Enough said really?
Specialized bottle cages. Didn’t lose a single bottle.
My best tip for the race itself would be to double up on gloves; forget the double bar tape, it’s cheaper to throw two pairs of gloves on. This worked a treat for me, but if I were to do it again, I’d consider taping my fingers at the knuckles – they rattled the entire ride and have come out in a bruise 3 days later. I used PBK gloves and a pair of Castelli gloves over the top.
If you get the chance to do it....do it.
Hip hip...pave’.
The oldest one day classic race in history and it’s produced some amazing drama over the years. I’d be lying if I said I was an avid follower of the race, where in truth, I’ve watched a handful of the organised chaos over the past few years. I’ve seen Boonen, Cancellara, Backstead and Van Summeren take wins in some pretty brutal conditions. So, with the in introduction of the Paris-Roubaix Challenge; organised by the same people who do the Pro Race as well as some Tour in France...? I jumped at the chance of seeing what the fuss was about and how difficult it was to ride the famous pave’.
Friday March 30th. A day of travelling from Carmarthen to London via Ammanford to crash at my sisters place in Richmond.
Saturday March 31st. 7am start and a drive across London to meet up with Jon. He’s American, so there’s not much more to be said. Oh, he did Paris-Breast-Paris (1,200km in 3 days). Then onto the Dover -> 45mins crossing -> St Quentin -> 2hrs into France. Easy. Register, feet up, some food (a very average pizza) and then watch France v Scotland in female football. France were prettier, the Scottish girls spat and it was rubbish.
Sunday April 1st. 6am start and some standard French breakfast...cold meat, a crassoint and orange juice. Fucking French.
I’m not sure about anyone else, but from the outset, I always thought the ‘challenge’ was the same setup as a sportif. Judging by the results and trophies, it was essentially a glorified amateur Paris-Roubaix race? Weird setup in truth.
Anyway, started off in the final group (5 of 5) numbered 1359 from 1500. We set off in intervals of roughly 5 minutes and started next to what looked like Simon Gerrans (Australian National Road Race Champion and Milan-San Remo winner)...well, not really. This guy wore a national champions jersey, rode a 4k Cervelo S5 with a pair of Zipp wheels which nigh on cost more than the ferry I travelled over in. Riding 6k’s worth of equipment over the cobbles...braver man than me.
The start was pretty tame, joined a pretty big group of riders who gently ambled through the smaller towns before hitting the open road...where I realised that the headwind would be pretty much directly at us for the entire route. Making our way onto a longish drag, I noticed that people were quickly going backwards and eased myself off the front and picked my way through the field. The wind was pretty grim once caught between groups, but as soon as we hit a “hill”, I was making ground on the guys in front pretty easily; although I had to keep reminding myself it’s a long day in the saddle and we hadn’t even hit a cobble yet.
Looking at videos of the race from previous years, I realised that hitting the cobbles at speed, right through the crown was the way to go. So, as we approached the first section of pave’, I upped the gears and lowered the cadence...then immediately shit my bibs as soon as I touched a cobble. Likewise everyone else around me. Jesus H Christ...chaos ensued; bottles flew out of cages, saddle packs snapped off, riders fell and a LOAD of riders punctured in the first couple hundred metres. Mavic run motorbikes and the Police were flying up the cobbles with ease, popping off and helping people with wheel issues, riders were throwing bikes around like petulant kids, rims were bent...carnage. Somehow, I managed to slow down enough to ensure that my teeth didn’t fall out and my hands had taken it upon themselves to work without my control; a vice like death grip would mean that I would have to peel the fingers of my left hand off the bars later in the ride. Masturbation was not looking good for the next week considering my hand had turned into that thing off the Adams Family: “PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....LEAVE IT GO?!!”. Essentially, I’d be raping myself. Weird, huh?
Fortunately, the pave’ would ease as the day went on. Being held up was the only issue of the race, but that’s to be expected when 1,500 riders take part; although only ~900 finished. I got into a rhythm when approaching the cobbles and once you picked a gear, that was it, no changing during the section. I also found that mountain biking has helped my bike handling pretty well, I was able to pick good lines and ride on the edge of the cobbles and pass people at will...until about 110km in where I started to tire...and get sore...and get bored of a constant headwind and cobble combo.
I stopped at two feed stops for water. They were well run, but everyone assumed you were French....even though I constantly said “Ola” and “Gracias”...why, I don’t know?!
There’s a famous section of cobbles that I looked forward to the entire way around. At 90k in, we’d be hitting the Arenburg. We cycled alongside a HUGE factory which looked like something out of a WWII film, then cut through the middle of a forest on 2.4km of cobbles. Big, bastard cobbles. A funny thing happened on these big, bastard cobbles. Essentially, I thought I shit myself. My stomach was playing silly buggers and every time I hit a cobble with force, I thought I crapped myself. Now, this would’ve been ok if it was 100m long...but no...2.4km of it. Imagine that, 1.5 miles of “Oh my god...I’ve shit myself”. Needless to say, I smiled for the cameraman when he took a photo. I masked it pretty well.
Turns out when I stopped for a piss after the section, I didn’t shit myself. Hazza!
The third and final section of pave’ was where I managed to take a wrong turn...despite being a large police and spectator presence. I rounded a corner and out the corner of my eye, saw a cyclist disappear to my right. So I followed. For 4km. Then I realised the roads were open...after a strong chase, the guy in front didn’t have a number on his bike. In all honesty, he probably didn’t need to be called “YOU FUCKING, FUCK!!” but he was French.
4km back up the road and I rejoined the “race” on the cobbles. They were starting to take their toll and my wrists were very stiff at this point. More cobbles, more wind, saw a man fall on his face, more cobbles, more wind, saw a man fall on a straight piece of tarmac road then realised we’d finished with the cobbles for the day and was on the final stretch to the Roubaix velodrome. This is what I wanted to experience...it was a shame I was blowing out of my arse, but the crowds on the side of the road were fantastic! Rounded a corner and had my name called out as I entered the velodrome. Again, another experience where I nearly shit myself...the banks on the Roubaix velodrome are really....really STEEP!! Instantly took the sprinters line and crossed the finish to collect my medal. A brilliant day on the bike. Loved it. Didn’t shit myself.
The one thing I’ve noticed looking back at the results is the ~30 minute discrepancy between my Garmin 200 (GPS) and the timing they’ve given?
Here’s the ride details from my Garmin which can be seen on Strava too;
Ride Time: 5:35:29 (5:59:30 on the event listing?)
Distance: 158km
Calories: 2,707kcal
Elevation: 903m
Ave Speed: 28.5km
The kit I used.
Movelo bibs/shirt: Superb. Surprisingly, my arse was unscathed through the day. A quality chamois and, importantly, a zipp on the rear pockets of the shirt for keys/money. Love that gear!!
PBK arm/leg warmes: Used them for years. Perfect/cheap.
Oakleys: You’ll need glasses for the race whether wet or warm. There was a surprising amount of dust being kicked up.
My Giant TCR composite was amazing. Damped a huge amount of vibrations and it stayed in one piece!
Shimano R500 wheelset. £70 from Merlin cycles...they’re unbelievable value. Rock solid.
Continental 4 Seasons (28cm): not a single puncture. Enough said really?
Specialized bottle cages. Didn’t lose a single bottle.
My best tip for the race itself would be to double up on gloves; forget the double bar tape, it’s cheaper to throw two pairs of gloves on. This worked a treat for me, but if I were to do it again, I’d consider taping my fingers at the knuckles – they rattled the entire ride and have come out in a bruise 3 days later. I used PBK gloves and a pair of Castelli gloves over the top.
If you get the chance to do it....do it.
Hip hip...pave’.
Pure Sweet Hell...apt,
Detour...8km's worth...
Pave'...
Route sticker with cobbled sections...
St Quentin....
Cobbles....
Arenberg...in the ditch...
Cobbles...
In the ditch...
Friday, 2 March 2012
LL Cool Blog.
As seasons go, last year was a complete write off. I didn’t do a single Triathlon and withdrew from over 8 key events and didn’t manage a run over 10 minutes for 10 months. Pretty bleak eh...?
In terms of disappointment, I put it up there with maybe....Samuel Jacksons’ appearance in the Deep Blue Sea. You’ve got the genetically modified, extremely intelligent shark with the ability to swim backwards without drowning itself, an up-and-coming action star in Thomas Jane, eye candy in Saffron Burrows and one for the laydees, the self proclaimed “Ladies Love Cool James...John...Joseph...Jaali...Junk?” who plays the chef on the isolated research facility (which is based miles out at sea – for what reason?), he has a pet parakeet who ‘speak hood’ just like LL Cool Jaap – who incidentally, isn’t related to Ice Cube, Cuba Gooding Junior, Mr.T or ET.
Then, sandwiched in-between all this dross, you have Samuel Jackson. He’s a cool bloke, he’s had an afro, braids, worn a kilt and killed snakes on a mother fucking plane. Anyway, he played an adventurer and survived/endured everything mother nature had thrown at him, lava, snakes, velocoraptors, Quentin Tarrantino, LL Cool Jafar and the lead role in Shaft. During his energetic speech to rouse the troops (whilst standing on the edge of the SHARK POOL)...guess what...that’s right, fish food. What a disappointment. Switched the film off shorty’ after LL Cool Javelin was pissing me off hiding in an oven from a plastic shark. Fool.
Anyway, after promising much, it failed to deliver. Spectacularly. Just like my season. Bar the shark and LL Cool Jiggler.
Balls, probably should’ve included a spoiler somewhere?
*SPOILER*.
I did achieve something at the end of the season though, I won a Criterium in Cardiff after a ~275m solo sprint (Cavendish can only manage 175m) and placed 2nd and 3rd in the other two and gained enough points to move up to a Cat 3 racing license. For those who don’t know about how the racing license works, if I get Cat 2 this year, then I get to ride the Tour of France. SaxoBank are interested in mentoring me after Dirty Bertie fluffed some meat.
Skip forward to this year, I’m back running on the treadmill and an example of what I’m doing is 5x3mins @ 16.5kph. So the distance isn’t huge...or even significant, but it’s better than nowt and it’s all pain free. Swimming has progressed a huge amount, I’m at sub 5:50 for 400m and sub 23mins for 1,500m. Cycling is taking care of itself and my knee is behaving. Unlike LL Cool Jalapeno’s pet parakeet.
I've got three events this year that I’ve already entered; Paris-Roubaix Challenge – which WILL be a bastard, Cymmer Off-Road Triathlon (where I won the Welsh Championships – BOOM! dropped the WC bomb right there...) and the Brighton Big Dog – a 6hr MTB enduro in Brighton...dressed as a dog. LL Cool Jack Russel will be there.
I’m hoping on doing a few sprint Tri’s later in the year and aim to qualify for the GB Age-group team for next year’s Off-Road Triathlon World Championships in the Hague, Holland (providing my rehab/running stays on track). LL Cool Joints.
I’ll write up another entry on the Paris-Roubaix Challenge in a few weeks. LL Cool Journal.
Right, you can pretend to work again now.
Thanks for reading,
LL Balding John.
Parakeet Wanker...
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