Too cold for snow-Dartmoor Classic Sportif 2010

Has anyone ever told you it was "too cold for snow"? Mad as it seems, there is some meteorological truth in this, apparently something to do with less water vapour in the air at very low temperatures. But it is just a myth. Likewise it is NEVER too hot for cycling, and it was that thought going through my head as I drove down to Devon on Saturday afternoon.

I love Devon. I lived there for seven years as a child, I mean I was a child when I lived there, rather than acting out the role of a child in some weird psychological experiment. That's a whole other blog. July 1972, while we were waiting to move into our house in Torbay, we even stayed in a cottage outside Bovey Tracy for 6 weeks. I own some trees nearby now, part of a woodland trust reserve. I just hope my trees are mighty oaks or beech and not ash. The only thing I hate more than bad driving are self-seeded ash trees.

Right, sorry, Devon. Yes left in 1979, and when people ask me where I'm from, until recently, Devon was one of the options. It was until recently, pretty much the longest I had lived in any anywhere. Now I say the Mendips, "where?" is the usual response.

So the chance to do one of the best Sportives in the country was one not to be missed. It is, or was, my last big ride before the Raid Pyrenean in September, and the 10K plus feet of climbing in a day would be a good test of my fitness. The organisers, Mid Devon cycling club, advertise it as "Not the biggest, but certainly the best" (no, it's too obvious) and judging by the "Event village" I would have to agree. Of course the jazz band helped to set a mellow atmosphere, the abundance of marquees selling cycling-related paraphernalia, the healthy pasta meal I had pre-booked, CTC, a folk band, free bananas, all helped. Even the incongruous Falconry centre helped give the children present something to think about-well keeps them from running off I guess, every parent should have one.

For those of you who followed Miss Cumming of the Mid Devon cycling club on the Cheddar sportive, well, I didn't see her, but I mentally thanked her for inspiring Bunny's performance that day, and my polka dot sock choices thereafter.

Just to round things off, there was loads of racks for all the bikes in the morning, plenty of "facilities" and lots of shade from the blazing heat. As I was chatting to a man from the local bike shop I asked if it got a bit cooler up on the moors during the day. "Oh no" he said, "much hotter, it's so exposed see, and there's no shade in most parts neither". I couldn't wait for the morning.

I decided an early start was preferable, get as much done as I could before the temperature took its toll. So after leaving my travel inn at some ungodly hour, there I was back at the village at 7AM. Over 2000 people had entered one or other of the two rides, 100 miles and 62.5 miles, oh all right, 100km. The start was impeccably organised, with riders released in batches of about 100, through holding pens. It was 7.15 and already the temperature was pushing 20 degrees. I normally err on the side of caution and take a pack away rain jacket of sorts, but for once I figured like Phil Collins and gave it a miss.

The impeccable organisation was a deciding feature of this ride. On just about every junction, and certainly all junctions on main roads or difficult corners, there were two or three marshalls with red flags stopping the traffic and telling riders when it was clear, all of which helped with the safety, but also with momentum. Short of closed roads it is the closest I will get to professional riding.

Right from the start it was solo cycling or very small groups, as everyone found a natural rhythm. Of all the cycling I have done in this country I can not think of any more beautiful rides than this one. Early Sunday morning there was hardly any noise,except for that wonderful sound of gears changing, and those wheels that click, and as we slowly climbed out of Bovey Tracy towards Manaton, I looked down at the folds in the contours of the land, light mist in the valleys, and marvelled about how special this moment was. Looking up too, at the lycra-clad snake of riders wending around the hill, I could think of few more wondrous sights to behold. I was doing OK too, not speedy, but not many were going past me on the climbs, and on the flat I was fine.

Up and up we went until we reached the top of the Moor, near Hound Tor, some say an inspiration for Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes tale. Even better is the story of the ice-cream van that parks nearby: The Hound of the Basket meals. We used to go up to the moors a lot when I was a child, and Hound Tor was one of our favourite places to visit. So it was a trip down memory lane for me, and a lot harder on a bike I can tell you. Also nearby is Jay's grave, and i tipped my hat to her, just in case:

http://www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk/kitty_Jay.htm

Eventually the climbing stopped, to be followed by a breakneck descent all the way to the Dart valley, just north of Ashburton. From there the road would its way along the sides of the valley, before the steepest, but not toughest climb of the day outside Holne.

By now the temperatures were starting to sizzle, just like the campfires at the campsites we passed near Hexworthy. A very nasty 25% descent down in the village saw me nearly take out one young would-be Contador, darting on my inside with no warning. I later saw him do the same to a car in Tavistock, followed by a sight of him walking, his bike sadly broken.

After Hexworthy it was onto the open moor and a slow gradual ascent to Princeton, feedstop and prison. I chose just the former, and was quickly on my way, down the fantastically open road off the moor, about 1000 feet in three miles, it was here I must have reached my top speed of the day. There was time for one hill before Tavistock, and then onto the road that Bunny and I had missed last year. This proved a tough section of the route, two or three grinding 5-6% hills and sharp descents, round the back of Lydford gorge, then past Brentor church, where i took advantage of the emergency water stop.

And very glad of it too. For now came the hardest part of the day, at around midday we were faced with a long climb back up to Princeton, in the open sun, pushing 30 degrees. Well I was using the water to pour on my head, down my top, I was hotter than an overheated oven in Timbuktu. Eventually I made it, and after a further re-fuelling, including a gel or two for extra caffeine, I was on the home straight. It was straight too, about 10 miles up and down, with each down carrying me over the next up, until a descent to Mortonhampstead. Buses and grockles notwithstanding, there was time for one last steep hill, before a flat run in back to the finish.

I had eaten just a couple of energy bars, a few jelly babies and a flapjack, but had drunk four bottles of electrolyte and taken a few gels, it was too hot for solid food. A couple of people had finished their days in an ambulance with heatstroke, but I was amazed it wasn't more. I suspect that those people, a few hundred I heard, who suffered a similar fate at Glastonbury, brought it on by imbibing a bit more than an energy gel. After all, how can you overheat standing around in a field?

I had vague notions that I might finish within the 7 hrs 5 minutes required for a silver medal, but I ruled that out after doing just 13 miles in the first hour. In fact it was only a very quick last 35 miles that brought me in 7 hours 44 for a bronze, not real bronze, but an actual bronze-coloured medal, to go with the lump of Dartmoor granite that all finishers got. A great goody bag too, and a very warm welcome from some terrific hosts.

When you look at the speed profile, you get more of a sense of the ups and down, reflected in the spikes and troughs. The total distance was 106 miles, and given the conditions an average of just over 14 mph is pleasing to say the least. A stone kicked up by another bike contrived to hit the magnet on my front wheel, and despite my fettling, the Cateye computer remained temperamental for most of the day, until packing up completely after 79.8 miles. Charlie was OK for most of the day, except I forgot to switch him back on after the first feedstop, so although the map is OK, he's missed about 3 miles of distance and speed.

So yes, the best sportive I have done i think, just faultless organisation, great scenery, apart from one idiot, some great company, friendly folk, and it was in Devon. What Moor could you want?

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/38363340