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2017 UCI Gran Fondo World Championships Albi
It was probably only in April, after our adventures at the Tour of Malta, that the seed of an idea for a 40th birthday road trip to race in the south of France grew from being an idle daydream to being a viable holiday option.
My main objective for the season became qualifying for the Albi world championships at the Tour of Cambridgeshire in June - even though I'd scraped a qualification to last year's finals in Perth (but didn't go- too far for one days racing?), we had concerns that the standard was likely to be way higher this year, as Brits took the opportunity to target a world championships happening (relatively speaking) right on their doorstep.
Sure enough, the ToC was far harder-fought than last year; probably the most brutal race I'd been in, and there were a lot of surprise disappointments for people who would have qualified in previous years, but found the bar had been raised. Despite getting caught behind an early crash, then having to chase the bunch for 25miles before rejoining, and later snapping my bars with 10 to go, I finished 115th out of 700 in my category - time-triallist Matt Bottrill winning our category with a massive solo effort- he doesn't need a peleton!
Having qualified for Albi, I felt all pressure was off for the finals- I was quite realistic that a fairly inexperienced 3rd Cat rider wasn't going to present too much of a threat to the world's top 25% of Gran Fondo riders. At best, I might be able to hang onto the bunch until the first climbs, at worst it would be a nice day out riding in beautiful scenery in a GB shirt, probably with a few other delusional Brits who thought they could play with the big boys in the mountains after qualifying in the flattest part of Britain...
Mine and Jenny's plan (she had also qualified again at ToC) was to drive down over a couple of days to Albi, take part in the race, then drive across to a village in the Cevennes region for a week or so recuperating in the mountains, maybe with the odd light ride thrown in. What we weren't quite prepared for was the heat- stifling at around 35 degrees, with hotter being forecast for race day.
We spent a very enjoyable day at Tim's château, complete with pool and resident coypus, with a great spin around the rolling vineyards that surround Albi- a beautiful part of France. Going into town to meet friends in the evening was amazing- frighteningly lean, muscular athletes with their superbikes in every direction, but a really nice atmosphere, that distracted from the feeling of nervous anticipation. Plenty of familiar faces from all over the place- some we knew from Malta, others from the domestic racing scene (well, mainly Jenny's).
Sunday morning arrived very quickly- once we had got over the trauma of having to eat pasta at 5.30am, it was into the city for the start. Gran Fondos are organised into age categories, with youngest men starting first, working upwards to the women's categories, who were on a slightly shorter course. Penning the categories leading to the start in the medieval city was absolutely chaotic- we turned up in plenty of time, but fighting my way through the holding area to my start pen was almost impossible, and I only made it into my pen with about 10 minutes to spare - very poorly positioned at the back of a bunch of 232 racers.
The flag went, and we were off- the expected crazy pace from the start, with the first few city centre kilometres being very tight and technical before opening up onto more rural roads. Because I was so far back in such a big bunch, it was impossible to know what was going on at the front, but I gathered that the break went pretty early, and there wasn't much we could do about it. Once the race opened up, the splits started to appear- despite a pace of over 24mph, it wasn't really too manic, and I managed to chase up to the second group, and sheltered on the wheel of a massively powerful (and massive generally) Brit.
All was feeling good up to the the biggest climb of the day, that came at about 60km, and as we weaved up the mountain, we shed most of the bunch, and I found myself at the front of our group. However after the warning shot of the breakaway from the category behind us absolutely storming past us, chaos broke loose as their escort motorbikes and main bunch came through on the tight, twisty, mountain road. Till then, I'd ridden within my sustainable limits, but members of my category saw this as an opportunity to hitch a lift, and absolutely blew the race apart, forcing me into the red - I promptly went pop at the top of the climb, and watched the bunch of mixed category riders disappear over the top- no way I could recover and get back on...
From then it was a case of waiting for other bunches to come through, and working with similarly blown, but not dead riders to get through the next 90 or so KM to the end. It was also at this point that the heat started to increase- from a manageable 27 degrees, finally topping out at 41 degrees at the finish line. We had been assured by the organisers that there would be three feed zones where we would be handed bottles, and having been a bit anxious about the mechanics of this, I was surprised by this working remarkably smoothly at the first zone. However, after this worked so well, we assumed it would be the case at the next couple of feed zones - not so, they'd grossly underestimated the amount of water needed, and the lead groups had taken it all, leading to desperate scenes for the remaining racers. At one point, volunteers were picking up abandoned bottles and passing them out- I received one about a fifth full of what tasted like undiluted orange squash... (but I was still grateful!)
The difficult circumstances for the groupetto led to some great camaraderie and general bon homie; you can always rely on Aussies to lighten the mood, and second only to the Brits, there were plenty of them. Also, wearing club shorts (rather than blue GB shorts) led to some funny conversations. "Ashwell?! Do you know a little Italian guy, Luigi is it?" Erm, Carmelo, maybe? "Yeah, that's the one- I ride in his race every year, the one with the Italian name..."
Things got a bit grim at 120km, when dehydration was really kicking in; the riders thinned right out, and my paced had taken a dive. Just about then, though- the cavalry arrived- Matt Porter, and my old Cypriot compatriot Doros from the Tour of Malta, in a group from the category behind- it was such a relief to be in a function group (well, not quite functioning- Matt did a great job of trying to organise us into a chaingang for the final km, but some of them refused to cooperate..).
The race finished on the motor-racing circuit- I found myself on the front of our group, but on the final corner, a crippling cramp shot through from my toes to thigh, and I dropped like a stone to roll through the finish, to meet a remarkably perky looking Jenny, who had finished a little while ago.
A celebratory lunch with Jenny's parents, followed by the 3 hour drive the next morning to the mountains- at which point the dehydration and exhaustion caught up with me in the form of massive sickness for a day or so...
Result: 193rd of 232 in age category 40-45 (Mr Bottrill managed 17th)
98miles @20.1mph 5,541ft climbing.
https://www.strava.com/activities/1155472024
Photos to follow...
My main objective for the season became qualifying for the Albi world championships at the Tour of Cambridgeshire in June - even though I'd scraped a qualification to last year's finals in Perth (but didn't go- too far for one days racing?), we had concerns that the standard was likely to be way higher this year, as Brits took the opportunity to target a world championships happening (relatively speaking) right on their doorstep.
Sure enough, the ToC was far harder-fought than last year; probably the most brutal race I'd been in, and there were a lot of surprise disappointments for people who would have qualified in previous years, but found the bar had been raised. Despite getting caught behind an early crash, then having to chase the bunch for 25miles before rejoining, and later snapping my bars with 10 to go, I finished 115th out of 700 in my category - time-triallist Matt Bottrill winning our category with a massive solo effort- he doesn't need a peleton!
Having qualified for Albi, I felt all pressure was off for the finals- I was quite realistic that a fairly inexperienced 3rd Cat rider wasn't going to present too much of a threat to the world's top 25% of Gran Fondo riders. At best, I might be able to hang onto the bunch until the first climbs, at worst it would be a nice day out riding in beautiful scenery in a GB shirt, probably with a few other delusional Brits who thought they could play with the big boys in the mountains after qualifying in the flattest part of Britain...
Mine and Jenny's plan (she had also qualified again at ToC) was to drive down over a couple of days to Albi, take part in the race, then drive across to a village in the Cevennes region for a week or so recuperating in the mountains, maybe with the odd light ride thrown in. What we weren't quite prepared for was the heat- stifling at around 35 degrees, with hotter being forecast for race day.
We spent a very enjoyable day at Tim's château, complete with pool and resident coypus, with a great spin around the rolling vineyards that surround Albi- a beautiful part of France. Going into town to meet friends in the evening was amazing- frighteningly lean, muscular athletes with their superbikes in every direction, but a really nice atmosphere, that distracted from the feeling of nervous anticipation. Plenty of familiar faces from all over the place- some we knew from Malta, others from the domestic racing scene (well, mainly Jenny's).
Sunday morning arrived very quickly- once we had got over the trauma of having to eat pasta at 5.30am, it was into the city for the start. Gran Fondos are organised into age categories, with youngest men starting first, working upwards to the women's categories, who were on a slightly shorter course. Penning the categories leading to the start in the medieval city was absolutely chaotic- we turned up in plenty of time, but fighting my way through the holding area to my start pen was almost impossible, and I only made it into my pen with about 10 minutes to spare - very poorly positioned at the back of a bunch of 232 racers.
The flag went, and we were off- the expected crazy pace from the start, with the first few city centre kilometres being very tight and technical before opening up onto more rural roads. Because I was so far back in such a big bunch, it was impossible to know what was going on at the front, but I gathered that the break went pretty early, and there wasn't much we could do about it. Once the race opened up, the splits started to appear- despite a pace of over 24mph, it wasn't really too manic, and I managed to chase up to the second group, and sheltered on the wheel of a massively powerful (and massive generally) Brit.
All was feeling good up to the the biggest climb of the day, that came at about 60km, and as we weaved up the mountain, we shed most of the bunch, and I found myself at the front of our group. However after the warning shot of the breakaway from the category behind us absolutely storming past us, chaos broke loose as their escort motorbikes and main bunch came through on the tight, twisty, mountain road. Till then, I'd ridden within my sustainable limits, but members of my category saw this as an opportunity to hitch a lift, and absolutely blew the race apart, forcing me into the red - I promptly went pop at the top of the climb, and watched the bunch of mixed category riders disappear over the top- no way I could recover and get back on...
From then it was a case of waiting for other bunches to come through, and working with similarly blown, but not dead riders to get through the next 90 or so KM to the end. It was also at this point that the heat started to increase- from a manageable 27 degrees, finally topping out at 41 degrees at the finish line. We had been assured by the organisers that there would be three feed zones where we would be handed bottles, and having been a bit anxious about the mechanics of this, I was surprised by this working remarkably smoothly at the first zone. However, after this worked so well, we assumed it would be the case at the next couple of feed zones - not so, they'd grossly underestimated the amount of water needed, and the lead groups had taken it all, leading to desperate scenes for the remaining racers. At one point, volunteers were picking up abandoned bottles and passing them out- I received one about a fifth full of what tasted like undiluted orange squash... (but I was still grateful!)
The difficult circumstances for the groupetto led to some great camaraderie and general bon homie; you can always rely on Aussies to lighten the mood, and second only to the Brits, there were plenty of them. Also, wearing club shorts (rather than blue GB shorts) led to some funny conversations. "Ashwell?! Do you know a little Italian guy, Luigi is it?" Erm, Carmelo, maybe? "Yeah, that's the one- I ride in his race every year, the one with the Italian name..."
Things got a bit grim at 120km, when dehydration was really kicking in; the riders thinned right out, and my paced had taken a dive. Just about then, though- the cavalry arrived- Matt Porter, and my old Cypriot compatriot Doros from the Tour of Malta, in a group from the category behind- it was such a relief to be in a function group (well, not quite functioning- Matt did a great job of trying to organise us into a chaingang for the final km, but some of them refused to cooperate..).
The race finished on the motor-racing circuit- I found myself on the front of our group, but on the final corner, a crippling cramp shot through from my toes to thigh, and I dropped like a stone to roll through the finish, to meet a remarkably perky looking Jenny, who had finished a little while ago.
A celebratory lunch with Jenny's parents, followed by the 3 hour drive the next morning to the mountains- at which point the dehydration and exhaustion caught up with me in the form of massive sickness for a day or so...
Result: 193rd of 232 in age category 40-45 (Mr Bottrill managed 17th)
98miles @20.1mph 5,541ft climbing.
https://www.strava.com/activities/1155472024
Photos to follow...
Comments
I managed to get one shot of you - more by luck than judgement - at the top of the climb into Castelnaud:
Alas too late we realised the shorter loop didn't pass through here, so we missed Jenny.
So many Brits in the race - not sure how we managed to get so many qualifiers!
Yes we had a good time the rest of the week thanks, so hot though. Hope you did too after you'd recovered.