I'm on the run, no time to sleep

I have speculated and commented in this blog, many times, on the lives that professional bike riders must lead. Today I got a chance to see the riders at very close quarters, when Boots, The Captain, King of the Hill (and sidekick), Wonder Boy and I went to watch Stage 6 of the Tour of Britain. Unlike in past years, where we have watched them from a fixed position, which involves a lot of standing about, seeing them whizz by and then going home, today we got to see them in three separate places. I won't bore you with the details of their route, look it up on the ToB website if you need to know. Suffice to say they went from Taunton to Wells via the levels and the Mendips.

Of course they did break one of my rules and go over the same ground twice, as they circumnavigated Shepton Mallet a couple of times. When I was a child we used to have a family joke about Shepton Mallet, I can't remember what it was all about, but the name still makes me smile instinctively, even though it's a very nice place.

I digress. First up was Cheddar gorge. We cycled up to a place at the top of the steepest bit of the gorge, along with lots and lots of other lycra-clad cyclists and a few others. Seriously it was packed, and there was a really good atmosphere as we waited for the peloton to arrive. One chap chalked out the words "THOR" on the road, only to spoil the effect, as egged on by the really mature crowd, he added a picture that any schoolboy would be proud of. Think back to schooldays and you'll get the idea. Thor later cycled right over it too.

If you look carefully you can see three of the four stage winners so far in the race in the picture above.

After a bit longer than anticipated a small breakaway group arrived, followed by Ben Swift, followed by the main bunch, lots of team cars, and a broom waggon. Most of the spectators had arrived at the site on two wheels, and it now became a race against time to get to the top of Old Bristol Hill, outside Wells, in order to see the race again. The professionals had about 25km more to do than we did, but they are quick, and they had a head start.

It was mayhem. The rolling roadblock meant that a lot of cars were backed up at either end of the gorge, and lots more had been forced to the side of the road by the motorcycles of the National Escort Group. Throw in a few hundred cyclists, many not used to riding in groups by the look of it, and you have a recipe for all kinds of silliness. We lost the Captain, only to find him again in Wells, and the rest of us sat on wheels, behind cars, and just drifted along to the top of the next climb. There had been a plan to ride like the wind, but with so many riders going up the gorge, it was fairly easy to take a fast tow.

This time we were right at the roadside, you could almost feel the heat from the riders as they went past, including Cavendish, who  passed just close enough for me to give him my own personal good luck message, and this time the riders were all pretty strung out. Although they were going a lot faster than me when I climb that hill, some of them looked equally as tired, proving how right rule 10 is.

This was also the time I got to see the man with the mankini, and I think I wished I hadn't, some things are better in real life. This isn't one of them. And because I know you want to see it really, here's one I snapped when I shouldn't have.

As soon as the riders were passed, there was just enough time to cycle down into Wells to see the (sprint) finish. Although it was pretty packed already, and quite hard to actually find a vantage point. Still, the Captain and I watched from 100 meters before the line, enough to see Lars Boom (for sure my friendsch already) grab another stage win. And probably the race. Much as I love cycling, and the Tour of Britain, it's too easy a parcours for the top riders, meaning that once someone gets in front, they generally tend to stay in front. The climbs are not long enough, and the points bonuses too small. They should have had a stage finish at the top of Draycott Steep, that would sort them out.

Separated from the others, the Captain and I wandered about for a bit, before going to check out the team buses in the car park. Everyone was leaving pretty promptly, they have a stage starting in Bury St Edmunds tomorrow, so a long drive ahead of them. But there was just time to see a few riders still hanging about, Mark Cavendish's lovely bike and and the two washing machines in the Sky bus. I kid you not.

After that there wasn't much left to do except cycle back to Axbridge with the Captain, who was really looking forward to his weekend with the grandchildren, and then I popped into Weston to pick up my car from the garage. As we left Wells we cycled past a few of the smaller teams' cars, riders were in them as opposed to the luxurious buses of the top talent. I don't know who it was, but one of the Endura boys looked a bit like me, i.e. cooked, after I complete 90 miles. Except he goes about twice as fast as me so probably deserved to be tired, and he'll do it all again tomorrow.

So back to the question, what must it be like to be a pro cyclist? Judged on the evidence of today, I'd say pretty good. Of course they are tough, fit, phlegmatic and strong. But once the riding is out of the way, everything gets done for you, even your washing on the bus. They get great bikes, great kit, and they have all their meals prepared for them. And they are outside in the fresh air with adrenaline and endorphins coursing through them, I just hope that's all there is.

But somehow I don't quite envy them. Cycling is special for me, fun, restricted to the times I can squeeze it in to a hectic life. So I enjoy it all the more because of that. Of course the lack of talent and fast approaching the half century probably means that Sky won't come looking for my signature. Which suits us all really, don't you think?



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