Stage 4 and the final stage of the Tour of Malta was over on the west coast, on a triangular open road course around Saint Martin. It is by racing standards, an outstanding loop. For us Masters, 6 laps of rocketing smooth new road downhill silliness, outrageous 25mph headwind flat stuff, and then a near vertical, terrifying, switchback laden, 1.5 miles climb up Saint Martin hill.
No heatwave for us. It's very windy and overcast. Good news for me: not too hot at all. But it's totally dry and safe. We are all tired now. Anyone who says not - is lying. As daft and irrelevant as this race is, we all have been carrying the mental stress and strain that started before we boarded planes. Our days have been used up by prepping for each stage, fettling and studying the courses. There's none of the carnival atmosphere we seemed to have at the other stages at the start. It's all a bit tense and quiet on top of the hill start/finish. I guess people know that this is it and get it wrong - and it could spoil all the hard earned efforts so far. Some can see the cups and medals on the table.
Me n' Dave line up near the front again and some mayor waves the flag for the off. It goes off quickly and we find ourselves zipping down the new road at Strava top ten speeds. It's all open road except the climb, but the police motorbikes and race motos are out in force - getting the coaches and cars out of the way very efficiently. I've been very impressed by the police throughout.
We are all together as we hit the headwind flat section. I'm amazed as I assumed the bunch would go blunt shaped. But the front 9 riders give it welly and we are officially going for it until the turn for the big hill. I wondered beforehand how the riders would approach this and decided I would match the gear ratio of the Red Jersey, our slim Greek Loukas, who it turns out won that UCI World Gran Fondo in his age category in Australia last year. We hit the first switchback and we quickly click through to our granny rings. I've never raced like this before: slow, quiet, painful. This climb is very pretty, through colourful spring farmland, but a right test. Sometimes it lessens, then it turns up. It's a relentless mash-up of our two club hill climbs at Coombe Hill and Weston. The Strava KOM is a paltry 16.8mph. One for Mitchy to scalp methinks one day. I make an old WW2 pill box my target as I know the worse is over by then. I see Dave by my side and am encouraged. We crest the top to applause and to see my improvised lap counter of duct tape strips on our car when the top riders pounce while everyone is yearning for a breather. We all go for it: into the red. It's a race to the headwind flat where moving up and down the bunch will be hard.
I'm just the wrong side of the split again, and again opt not to push too hard into the top 9-10 riders who achieve the break, fearing I'd get toasted in there. Better to be a bigger fish in the second bunch that settles into 10-15 riders. Some riders cheekily riding on the wheel of a solo Elite rider who passes us. Much to a rollicking of one of the several Yorkshire racers. Unfortunately it splinters further behind us and Dave is in a smaller bunch behind to fight for his overall GC.
We more or less work together as a second bunch. I do my bit on the front happily before the turn uphill as I know I'm OK going up, relatively. I get a pat on the back from the rider who will go on to take 1st place in the Maltese Masters GC. I pass Jenny on the hill and she kindly motivates me through her own breathlessness.
Mercifully, the duct tape lap counter whittles down soon enough. There's black humour on the climb with bickering Yorkshire men creating a good diversion from the effort, 'Me gears have gone Brian!'... 'I thought it wer yer kness'... 'What's he doooing off the front? Get back lad! Slowio downio!'... 'What yoo dooin' talkin'?' etc.
And so, it's the final moments of the Tour and one final climb. I'd realised overnight that British Cycling points go down to 15th place for GC. I figured the front 9-10 riders were all the strong guys. Anyone behind me in my current 13th place GC would soon be found out. So I was bound to be among my GC contenders. All I had to do was cross the line within the bunch at the top. 14th place was 5 seconds behind me.
I put in all my effort. By now: this isn't much. A few riders I'd not seen all race who were hiding all the way now play their cards. Fair enough. But the climb is too vicious for them to make any big headway. A rider stares over his shoulder at me. But my mirrored glasses keep my poker face and I assume like I'm in control when in fact in bits. I approach one final bend and cousin Stephen is there to motivate me for the last few hundred metres. He tries to give me a helping push! But we are going too fast despite the angle. We turn to see the finish line. A few riders have now begun to get a few bike lengths but I figured it's only a few seconds. Ten metres to go and I sprint to take a rider on the line and hope it looked good for the TV news camera and grab 17th place. 32 miles, 2,700ft @ 20.0mph.
At the top I sound like a knackered diesel engine. But my first thought, after saving my ride on Strava... is to get to the computer screen results. They don't show GC, but show I'd lost just three seconds on the front of my bunch.
Dave comes in soon after, and we cheer on the magnificent Jenny as she buries herself in TT mode. Eventually, she crosses the line among a steady stream of ones and twos. The hill has split everything apart. Thank goodness for transponders. We marvel that we've all done well and survived. We've put CCA on the map and got much respect: we were one of the few non-teams. Most clubs here have several riders to team together and be very tactical. No cups for us, but much praise - which is all very kind and appreciated.
We get back to the hotel, and resolve to meet in one of the pubs with a great view of the sea to await the GC results. As we watch Paris-Roubaix on the telly, Dave sees the results come in on his phone. I'm amazed to hear I keep my 13th place: three BC points, and my first as a 3rd Cat rider. I never thought it possible. Dave is delighted too, climbing to 25th in GC, and Jenny fights to 19th in the ultra strong and competitive Elite Ladies GC. Amazing achievements all around. We celebrate in style into the night.
We fly home later today, bags full of sweaty kit and tools, energy powders and gels, dirty socks, little souvenirs and lots of great memories. Think about giving it a go in 2018. It's a brilliant, genuine Tour. I might write a few notes to encourage those thinking about it. Or feel free to get in touch for details. Thanks for all the motivating comments - we've loved all the messages. Time for a big fat breakfast. Cheers.
Comments
No heatwave for us. It's very windy and overcast. Good news for me: not too hot at all. But it's totally dry and safe. We are all tired now. Anyone who says not - is lying. As daft and irrelevant as this race is, we all have been carrying the mental stress and strain that started before we boarded planes. Our days have been used up by prepping for each stage, fettling and studying the courses. There's none of the carnival atmosphere we seemed to have at the other stages at the start. It's all a bit tense and quiet on top of the hill start/finish. I guess people know that this is it and get it wrong - and it could spoil all the hard earned efforts so far. Some can see the cups and medals on the table.
Me n' Dave line up near the front again and some mayor waves the flag for the off. It goes off quickly and we find ourselves zipping down the new road at Strava top ten speeds. It's all open road except the climb, but the police motorbikes and race motos are out in force - getting the coaches and cars out of the way very efficiently. I've been very impressed by the police throughout.
We are all together as we hit the headwind flat section. I'm amazed as I assumed the bunch would go blunt shaped. But the front 9 riders give it welly and we are officially going for it until the turn for the big hill. I wondered beforehand how the riders would approach this and decided I would match the gear ratio of the Red Jersey, our slim Greek Loukas, who it turns out won that UCI World Gran Fondo in his age category in Australia last year. We hit the first switchback and we quickly click through to our granny rings. I've never raced like this before: slow, quiet, painful. This climb is very pretty, through colourful spring farmland, but a right test. Sometimes it lessens, then it turns up. It's a relentless mash-up of our two club hill climbs at Coombe Hill and Weston. The Strava KOM is a paltry 16.8mph. One for Mitchy to scalp methinks one day. I make an old WW2 pill box my target as I know the worse is over by then. I see Dave by my side and am encouraged. We crest the top to applause and to see my improvised lap counter of duct tape strips on our car when the top riders pounce while everyone is yearning for a breather. We all go for it: into the red. It's a race to the headwind flat where moving up and down the bunch will be hard.
I'm just the wrong side of the split again, and again opt not to push too hard into the top 9-10 riders who achieve the break, fearing I'd get toasted in there. Better to be a bigger fish in the second bunch that settles into 10-15 riders. Some riders cheekily riding on the wheel of a solo Elite rider who passes us. Much to a rollicking of one of the several Yorkshire racers. Unfortunately it splinters further behind us and Dave is in a smaller bunch behind to fight for his overall GC.
We more or less work together as a second bunch. I do my bit on the front happily before the turn uphill as I know I'm OK going up, relatively. I get a pat on the back from the rider who will go on to take 1st place in the Maltese Masters GC. I pass Jenny on the hill and she kindly motivates me through her own breathlessness.
Mercifully, the duct tape lap counter whittles down soon enough. There's black humour on the climb with bickering Yorkshire men creating a good diversion from the effort, 'Me gears have gone Brian!'... 'I thought it wer yer kness'... 'What's he doooing off the front? Get back lad! Slowio downio!'... 'What yoo dooin' talkin'?' etc.
And so, it's the final moments of the Tour and one final climb. I'd realised overnight that British Cycling points go down to 15th place for GC. I figured the front 9-10 riders were all the strong guys. Anyone behind me in my current 13th place GC would soon be found out. So I was bound to be among my GC contenders. All I had to do was cross the line within the bunch at the top. 14th place was 5 seconds behind me.
I put in all my effort. By now: this isn't much. A few riders I'd not seen all race who were hiding all the way now play their cards. Fair enough. But the climb is too vicious for them to make any big headway. A rider stares over his shoulder at me. But my mirrored glasses keep my poker face and I assume like I'm in control when in fact in bits. I approach one final bend and cousin Stephen is there to motivate me for the last few hundred metres. He tries to give me a helping push! But we are going too fast despite the angle. We turn to see the finish line. A few riders have now begun to get a few bike lengths but I figured it's only a few seconds. Ten metres to go and I sprint to take a rider on the line and hope it looked good for the TV news camera and grab 17th place. 32 miles, 2,700ft @ 20.0mph.
At the top I sound like a knackered diesel engine. But my first thought, after saving my ride on Strava... is to get to the computer screen results. They don't show GC, but show I'd lost just three seconds on the front of my bunch.
Dave comes in soon after, and we cheer on the magnificent Jenny as she buries herself in TT mode. Eventually, she crosses the line among a steady stream of ones and twos. The hill has split everything apart. Thank goodness for transponders. We marvel that we've all done well and survived. We've put CCA on the map and got much respect: we were one of the few non-teams. Most clubs here have several riders to team together and be very tactical. No cups for us, but much praise - which is all very kind and appreciated.
We get back to the hotel, and resolve to meet in one of the pubs with a great view of the sea to await the GC results. As we watch Paris-Roubaix on the telly, Dave sees the results come in on his phone. I'm amazed to hear I keep my 13th place: three BC points, and my first as a 3rd Cat rider. I never thought it possible. Dave is delighted too, climbing to 25th in GC, and Jenny fights to 19th in the ultra strong and competitive Elite Ladies GC. Amazing achievements all around. We celebrate in style into the night.
We fly home later today, bags full of sweaty kit and tools, energy powders and gels, dirty socks, little souvenirs and lots of great memories. Think about giving it a go in 2018. It's a brilliant, genuine Tour. I might write a few notes to encourage those thinking about it. Or feel free to get in touch for details. Thanks for all the motivating comments - we've loved all the messages. Time for a big fat breakfast. Cheers.
Awesome efforts by three very intrepid cyclists!
You will have to do it next year though, just so we can all enjoy the writeups