I was scratched from my first attempt
at road cycling's annual Club Nationals. That was 2012, and I'd
recently returned from a solid block of riding at Cape Epic, and
thought I'd enter the road race to see if could make myself useful as
a domestique for the Port Nicholson Poneke team. A nasty spasm in my
back about a week before the event didn't ease, and I was unable to
make the start line.
This year, the buildup was very
different, and two races were on my radar. The event was again in
the Hawke's Bay, and the action for the M2 riders (men, 40-44 years
old), consisted of a 25km individual time trial just after midday on
Thursday, followed by a 105km road race early on Saturday morning.
It was a bit of a mad rush getting organised and away, highlighted by a last-minute and very short-notice visit to my main man, Oli Brooke-White for a quick check over the quiver. His attention to detail never ceases to amaze me, and while I felt a little guilty at the time his fussiness was consuming, I knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
After a quick pose, and a longer hug, it was off home to cross the next thing off the list.
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| Two mean machines. And one softy... Photo: Oli! |
ITT
Various events littered the build up to
nationals, with my excitement mainly directed towards the time trial.
The Wellingon Masters Cycling Club had an excellent mid-week series
which helped me get used to the distance (they run a 4-lap race on
the 6km Liverton Road circuit out towards the bottom of Haywards
Hill), and also build my enthusiasm for this race format.
Things at Liverton went well – I
raced four times, improving my time on each occasion, and taking
fastest time on three out of four evenings. My final ride was within
half a minute of the age-record on the cool schedule the club
maintains recording age vs time. (You end up in the list if you've
gone faster than anyone your age or younger.) These ended on 27
February though, and by the time I hit the Wellington Centre
Champs a few weeks ago, the valuable lessons I'd gained in pacing
had faded somewhat.
The centre champs had been a miserable
affair, and a pleasing result masked what had been a lousy ride. With the help of Joel Healy, I've been using a power meter to improve
my training and racing. It would seem that power is a bit like a
savings account. You line up with money in the bank, and spend your
way to the end. Finishing the race with cash leftover means you
could have gone faster, but my typical problem is spending too much
too early, and having to scrounge around for spare change in order to
get home.
So it was at centre champs. I went way
too hard off the line – my Stages crank had been playing up, and I
didn't trust the numbers I was seeing - and was forced to grovel
around the second 12.5km lap. My average power on the second half of
the course was more than 10% lower than that of the first. I'd been
David Rowlands's minute man, and he'd blasted past me with about half
a lap to go, being 1.5 minutes faster at the line.
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| Photo: thanks to Grant Perry, I think! |
On Wednesday, I made the drive up to Puketapu – not far inland from Napier – via the Wairarapa, by virtue of yet another slip-related closure of the Manawatu Gorge. For a while I was running ahead of a southerly front, but it caught up when I stopped for a coffee in Carterton, and I drove through horizontal rain on a wee tiki-tour of the (wrong) backroads of Masterton.
The rest of the drive was uneventful,
and thanks in part to Joel's SH50 tip, made good time through to
Puketapu. Joel and Dan were already set up at our crib, and we
immediately got our TT rigs organised for a look at the course.
We drove for a few minutes, parked
outside the Puketapu pub, and then got rolling.
We missed the first turn at the south
end of the course, and once the road tipped up, started to smell a
rat. We headed back, and soon had corrected our blunder. The road
was sweet, but a cold and strong southerly wind was blowing, and
given our cruisy pace, it was grabbing our front wheels more than it
might have if we had the power down. I wasn't finding it at all
pleasant, and was starting to wonder if the deep front wheel Oli had
just built up for me using my retired rear rim was going to have to
stay in the garage.
By the time we finished the 10km,
out-and-back leg of the course south of Puketapu, Angus had arrived,
and we waited for him while he suited up.
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| Dan, Joel and I. Photo: Angus Taylor |
Then, it was off along the northern
leg, 7.5km out to the turnaround, and then back the same way.
The next part of the course was a lot
more technical than what we'd already seen – a couple of hills, and
a few tightish turns in between. It didn't last too long though, and
then we were back onto a relatively straight forward road.
It was exciting to be out on the
course, and it took all my self control on the return journey not to
open up the throttle. We talked a bit about the key parts of the
course, but before long were back at the car.
I stayed with Joel for the managers'
briefing at 5pm while Dan and Ango headed back to base. The briefing
took about twice as long as advertised, and even though we hadn't
ridden hard, we had sweated a little and as a consequence the breezy
school hall was not the most comfortable place to be. But, Joel had
an important function to perform for the PNP club, and I'd been able
to hear from the horses' mouths information about the events ahead.
Back at base, I straightaway smashed
back the delicious fish curry left-over from Tuesday night's dinner,
and then we got ready to head out for our actual dinner. The place
we settled on in Taradale had a good looking menu, but the
“side-dishes” on offer should have alerted us to the likely size
of the meals. We had mixed fortunes, but, on account of my curry
“appetiser”, I was well sated by the end of it all.
By this stage, Joel's team manager
duties were calling him back home, so after dropping him and Dan off,
Angus and I returned to Taradale to get Angus a second course from
the supermarket and some stuff for breakfast.
On Thursday, I was due to be the first
away of the four of us – at 1:13pm. That made for a leisurely
morning, or so we all thought. With the exception of Dan, fathers
all, we surfaced before 9am, not really able to shake off the usual
daily patterns despite our freedom. After porridge and coffee I was
keen to head down the event HQ to get my TT bike measured up. The
race is conducted under UCI rules, which means the bike has to meet
certain restrictions. At 1.89m, my TT bars are able to extend no
more than 80cm from the bottom bracket centre, provided my saddle-tip
is at least 5cm behind the BB. The Centre Champs jig was rudimentary
to say the least, and at home, I'd adjusted my bars forward (the
third independent attempt to hit the limit exactly!!!), and I was
keen to ensure that I hadn't over done it.
My bike passed with flying colours,
which was some relief, but Angus, behind me in the queue, had
significant problems. His bars were far too far forward, and his
saddle also had to go back. Problem was, his bars were not
adjustable... Eeek. On the upside, it was only 10:30am or so, and
he had 3 hours up his sleeve.
On the way back to the car, our minds
were all whirring at how Angus might get out of this jam. In the
end, it was a relatively straightforward task of hacksawing 5cm off
the extensions, and our temporary on-site landlord was able to
provide the critical implement of destruction. It was a stressful
business for Angus and Joel though, and I didn't envy them their
task.
That wasn't the only drama of the day,
and when Dan was bitten by the resident Staffordshire terrier, I did
wonder what ill-event was going to befall me.
Bike unchanged, and no puncture wounds
anywhere, I was relatively calm when I loaded the final bits and
pieces into the car about an hour before my scheduled start time. A
TT is relatively easy to prepare for, as you don't tend to carry
anything with you – no food or puncture repair equipment – your
body doesn't have any time to make use of the former, and the effect
of a quick 2 minute change and a 20 minute walk are equally
catastrophic for a 30-and-something-minute time trial, so one takes
the risk of the walk.
Joel and I parked in the paddock
adjacent to the finish chute, and got our bikes loaded onto our
stationary trainers. Shoes on, it was time to jump aboard and get
the legs warm. The sun was out, and the relatively light wind was
not bitterly cold like it had been the evening before. So, sitting
in the sun was a relatively pleasant affair, and I soon started to
sweat.
I got a lovely surprise when out of
nowhere appeared my Dad! I'd totally forgotten he, Mum and my
sister's man's mother were going to punctuate their road trip from
Wellington to Auckland by a bit of spectating. He wished me well,
and then went off to find a vantage point, leaving me to focus on the
task ahead.
As my start time drew ever closer, my
nervousness grew. Final prep involved downing the double-double
espresso I'd made before leaving home, and having a quick wee. I
wished Joel all the best for his race, and then went to the start.
My bike passed the measurement test
again, which was just as well, and I had only a couple of minutes'
wait for my allocated start time, during which I quickly had to fix
the rubber nose-piece that was coming off my helmet's visor, and to
then untangle the straps.
Then, I was up to the line, and with 30
seconds to go, clipped into my second pedal, now being kept upright
by the volunteer “holder”.
A big digital panel showed the time,
and in addition the starter counted down the final five seconds. I
hit the Start button on my GPS with a couple of seconds to go, took a
deep breath and then was off.
The first 10 minutes or so should feel
easy, and boy do they. I did a much better job of toning it down
than I had at centre champs, but I was still a bit high on the power
front. I felt really comfortable, and sat just above the target
power Joel had suggested, hoping that it wouldn't come back to bite
me.
My minute man was the top-seeded M3
rider (45-49 years old), and I'd eaten into his “lead” a bit by
the time I turned at the 5km mark. Everything seemed to be going
well, and I focussed on riding smoothly, and NOT TOO HARD (not too
hard... not too hard...)!
The start/finish area came quickly, and
I could vaguely hear mum cheering me on over the wind in my ears.
The first short rise felt good, and
then it was down through the only technical part of the course. It
was tight in this direction, but much faster in the other. I was
careful not to overcook the first tight, dropping right hander, and
again took care through another sweeping right bend that dropped into
a gully and had a nasty snap to it when the road tipped up again.
Those successfully negotiated, it was
now time to focus on issues in the engine room. Everything was
pointing towards the fact that I'd overspent...
I tried to break what remained into
chunks. I was heading out to the second turn, then had a long drag
back to the hilly section, and then home. The first of these was
proving one hell of a struggle, and I had grave fears for the other
two.
I tried not to think about how much
better my guts would feel if I sat upright – something I'd done on
occasion at Liverton Road - but did accept that ignoring the target
was essential. Numbers which had been easy in the first 15 minutes
were unattainable at the moment.
After the turn, which seemed to take an
eternity to arrive, I began to get my legs back a bit, but I was
still struggling to keep the power up. Psychologically though, life
was better – I was now heading back towards the finish, and I'm
sure this helped immensely.
I almost came a cropper at the right
turn off the main road – the cone on the centre line had been the
focus of my gaze, and I hadn't noticed the shape of the road beyond
it. Luckily I was up off the bar extensions so was able to grab the
brake, which peeled off enough speed for me to avoid the looming
kerb. Speed which I then had to fight to get back, but que sera
sera.
Whether it was
because I was rooted and going slower or because the shape of the
course made the speeds slightly more manageable, in any case, the run
to the base of the final pinch climb was fine.
The climb itself,
less-so. What had been a piece of cake the evening before, and had
elicited images of smashing up there at “full gas”, became a
low-cadence grovel, with the ignominy of needing to drop down to the
39-tooth chainring not far away. I avoided it, but might not have
done my final time any good doing so.
At least the end
was nigh, and I accelerated the bike as best I could, helped more by
gravity than most in the field. I didn't finish the way I'd
imagined, but it might have been a lot worse, and at least I was able
to accelerate right through to the line.
I felt sick to my
stomach, and that didn't ease for quite a while. I was shepherded
away from the finish chute, and found somewhere to lean. Aside from
a great deal of physical distress, I'd been emotionally smashed
around too. I actually felt like I wanted to cry, but that would
have required energy I didn't have.
While I didn't feel
like I'd totally fucked the pacing, I also knew I hadn't nailed it.
Of course it's the same as not having the grunt when I needed it, and
of course you don't know exactly what the perfect power target is on
any given day, but knowledge that if I'd gone slower at the start
then I would have gone faster at the end was enough to upset me,
regardless of whether or not that would have made for a faster time
overall (which it almost certainly would have).
After composing
myself, I headed back to the car to warm down a bit. I was soon
visited by Mark Donald, who I'd beaten at centre champs by about 30
seconds. I soon knew that he'd returned the favour on this occasion
– I was pleased for him, and despite knowing that he has an
excellent TT pedigree, and that there was absolutely no shame in
being beaten by him, I was also disappointed as the wider
implications of my performance started to become apparent.
Unlike
a road race, when you know the finish order the moment you cross the
line, it took a while for the full results to filter through. I soon
learned that Aaron Strong had lived up to his name and totally
smashed us, and based on my approximate time, was a full two minutes
faster than I'd gone. Peter Murphy reported being a minute and a
half slower than Aaron, and I knew then that I was out of the medals.
Soon
the full results were up, and I learned that I'd been oh so close –
Mark had taken a fine second place, taking 17 seconds less than I had
(my time was 35:04). Peter was a mere three seconds ahead
of me in third place! I was fourth, seven seconds ahead of Heath
Lett in fifth, with sixth almost a full minute behind him. Only 24
seconds separated 2nd
from 5th,
tight “racing” indeed, though of course we were all oblivious to
it while out on our bikes.
At that moment, it
was hard not to focus on what could have been, and over the next few
hours various metrics came to mind – one second per leg, or,
roughly 36 metres, equivalent to about one metre per minute of
riding... Awesome...
I sought Joel out,
and told him the news. As he's reminded me in the past, the purpose
of any good coach is “not to blow smoke up your arse”, but to
identify weaknesses, and to think about how to address them. Today
though, Joel's reaction was kind, and he congratulated me on what was
a solid ride. He pointed out the calibre of the riders ahead of me,
and the fact that this had been my first race at this level. It made
a big difference to my state of mind, and I appreciated it immensely,
telling him so.
I made a point of
heading over to watch the medal ceremony, before returning to the car
to pack up.
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| M2 TT podium: Aaron Strong (c), Mark Donald (L), Peter Murphy (R). Well done, men - Aaron and Peter - I'll see you in M3 in a few years time! |
Back
at the house, the debrief began in earnest. Joel's ride had been
disrupted by a truck, and he'd had an off day to boot. Angus had
ridden well, but had felt understandably out-of-sorts, basically
riding a completely unfamiliar bike for the first time. Dan's hip,
due for surgery in a few week's time, had prevented him riding the
way he wanted to, but he'd still cracked out an amazing 5th
place in the elite field, behind Gordon Macaulay in 4th,
and three guys that ride professionally in Australia.
However, most of
the focus was on my three seconds.
We calculated the
distance, and discussed kit upgrades that might have wiped that off
the board. I started taking notes, mentioning how blank my birthday
and Christmas lists typically are. While a TT bike can be a
money-pit, a few logical upgrades came up: a Kask helmet – without
a tail, it is way faster when looking down, and not much slower when
looking straight ahead; an aero front brake caliper; ceramic bottom
bracket bearings; a TT-specific front tyre and latex tube - all
things that combined should give a fair bit of change from $1000. A
new handlebar and extensions might not, but is another potential
source of “free” speed.
Financially
costless, but not without opportunity cost, will be a training
programme focussed on the 2016 Club Nationals TT. No Karapoti, no
Easter Tour, plenty of TTing, and almost certainly more power come
race day in a year's time. What I didn't know before, but know now,
is that at least I'm in the ball-park.
We headed into
Napier for dinner, and occupied ourselves while waiting for our meals
at Lone Star - guaranteed not to have the same size issues as the
night before, and not disappointing – by debating the function and
operation of the PNP Club.
Given the weak cell
and internet reception at our digs, it was also nice to get online,
and David Rowlands's classic comment on Facebook: “bet you wished
you'd gone a bit harder now!” made us all laugh. Insensitive
maybe, but perfectly correct.
My final task
before getting back into the car was to upload my power file onto the
Cycling Analytics website that Joel and I use. This was much more
insightful than we imagined it would be, and identified a flaw in our
preparation.
It wasn't the power
data that were surprising – they simply reinforced what I'd already
described, to Joel, and as above. What fascinated us was the
elevation profile of the course. In fact, it had climbed more from
the end of the technical section to the top turn than it had through
the technical section itself. My power had been down on the part of
the course that I could least afford this to happen. We agreed that
we should have been better prepared, and the folly of me forgetting
my GPS for the shake down ride (not a big deal, eh?) was apparent.
Had I remembered it, we might have been regretting not making a point
of uploading the data, I suppose.
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| It doesn't take a time series analyst to notice the power fade in the third quarter! |
As Dan had said
that afternoon, “there's either winning, or learning.” I'd
notched up a good learning experience, and I'm already looking
forward to learning from different, and hopefully much less
significant, mistakes next time, at the very least.
A couple of hours
later, which had been punctuated occasionally by an outburst
“FARK!!!!”, eliciting laughter from my cobbers, it was time for
bed, and an opportunity to stop thinking about the ride for a while.
In the morning it would be time to switch focus to the next day's
road race.
Despite a
relatively short effort during the day, sleep still came easily.
RR
Friday dawned fine,
and after a relatively leisurely start, Joel, Angus and I headed out for a recce lap
of the road race course. Our abode was directly on the course, and
about 4km into the lap. As a result, our legs weren't particularly
warm when we hit the first steep pitch less than 2km into our ride, and that might have
contributed to it looking more like a wall than it actually is.
Once again my
Stages crank was on the blink – it was completely dead, and I was getting
no reading from it at all. While frustrating, at least it hadn't
happened 35 minutes of riding earlier – I would have been bloody
pissed off if I'd been without it for the TT, which was pretty much
the point of buying it.
Various people had
reported a hilly course, and while this was proving true, the
gradients were, for the most part, benign.
It was the descent
that worried me though – while we accumulated elevation slowly over
about 10km, we peeled it off very quickly, and there were a few
relatively tight corners to negotiate.
The loop completed,
Joel and I headed into Napier to do some shopping: a guitar and
some ukelele strings for Joel (his kids, actually), and yet another
CR2032 battery for me. It was also a good opportunity to catch up on
some work email – it was a Friday afterall, and while I was on
annual leave, most of my colleagues and students were hard at work.
Home was relatively
busy that evening, with quite a few PNP members dropping by to
collect their race numbers and transponders. Dan once again had the
fire CRANKING, and I was reduced to rolling up my trouser legs and
ditching my shirt.
We were due to
start at 9am in the morning, which necessitated a relatively early
start to get some food onboard.
The weather
forecast for the morning hadn't been good, but the rain didn't actually start
until after 8am, prolonging the hope that the forecast was wrong. Unfortunately it wasn't, and by the time we rolled out it was pretty wet. On
account of that and the cold air, I was rocking a Castelli Gabba
under my PNP jersey.
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| The PNP M2 team, minus Brendan McGrath (there'll be an important photo of him later): Joel Healy, Ben Storey, and myself. Photo: Ango |
Angus wasn't away
until after lunch, and Dan was done for the weekend, but Joel and I
were joined by Rivet mate Ben Storey for the ride down to the start.
I hate road riding in the wet, and while my body tends to go OK
(earning me the moniker “Water Ox” after a good result one day in
Wainui), drafting isn't much fun when it comes with a faceful of
spray off the rear wheel in front.
The warm up few
kilometres reinforced my clothing choice, and final race prep was a
simple matter of signing in, and stashing the raincoat I'd worn over
the top of everything else in Ben's bag.
As has so often
been the case this season, the team talk was pretty brief, so we
started without a clear overall picture of how we might collectively
ensure PNP ended up with someone on the podium.
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| Coach Healy and I ready to roll out. Photo: thanks to Gayl Marryatt Photography |
The first climb was fine, and any “attacks” were the slow and silent type – more like strangulation than a stabbing. I'd lost track of Joel, but was aware of Ben slipping back and crested the hill for the first time at the back of a large bunch.
True to form, I was too conservative on the descent, and had a hard chase at the bottom to pull myself back into the bunch. I had one guy for company, but he seemed content to sit on my wheel, and I wanted to get across and didn't want to lose impetus, so left him there.
I was impressed when Ben arrived – his chase had been at least five minutes longer than mine, and he'd had to come from further back. We sheltered as much as possible, one lap down and three to go.
When we hit the bottom of the climb for the second time, I was still well back in the bunch, and concentrating on the wheel immediately ahead. Bad move. Five or six bikes ahead, someone dropped the wheel, and by the time the gradient eased, there was a sizeable gap which only grew by the top of the hill.
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| Bunch 2. Photo: thanks to Gayl Marryatt Photography |
I rode at the front
of the group on the descent, still nervous on the wet roads, but glad
to be able to control the pace a bit. Once down in the valley, we
worked relatively well together, and by the time we were staring at
the “wall” for the third time, the leaders were within sight.
Once the steep
section was over, I spent some time on the front, but was
disappointed that there wasn't much help coming from behind. I
didn't think we could afford to dawdle, and so when the road
steepened, I cranked it up a bit.
There was a shout
from behind to slow down, and I looked over my shoulder to see a 15
metre gap. Hoping to be joined by some if not all of them, I
didn't slow down.
Perhaps I should've
slowed down then, but I definitely should've slowed down when Dan was
passing me a bottle from the roadside. I knocked it out of his hand,
but kept going. I knew I'd see him again, and sure enough, a car
pulled alongside a few minutes later, this time successfully
completing the transfer.
I was still on my
own at the top of the hill, and at the bottom, and at the end of the
third lap. I was well and truly in no-man's land by this stage. I'd
come within sight of the guys ahead, but had not got to within 500m
of them. I probably should have sat up at that stage, and waited for
the cavalry, but stubbornly pressed on.
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| Enjoying a bit of time in no man's land. Photo: Jason McCarty |
I was on my own for
a whole lap, and was caught at about the same point that I'd eased
off the front. Catching me had been the goal though, and once I was
back in the fold, the pace dropped, and so my initial fear of being
unable to hand on to these guys was unrealised.
My bike was not
completely happy with the conditions, and my rear shifting had become
increasingly poor. Once the climb was over for the final time, I was
able to diagnose the effect if not the cause – it seemed I'd lost
the bottom half of the cassette.
I worried that I'd
be unable to keep up on the descent, but managed OK. I figured there
were at least a dozen riders up ahead, so we'd be sprinting for 13th
place or so. Despite my gearing being fine on the fastest part of
the course, for some reason I figured I'd be unable to compete with
these guys on the run to the line.
I made a couple of
attempts to get away, but was running out of steam, and was no match
for the six guys behind (plus Ben, who was getting a free ride by
virtue of us wearing the same jersey). Ben said to me he'd attack on
the pinch 1km from the finish, so I kept the pace high until then.
Unfortunately, his line into the corner wasn't great, and he had to
peel off speed to safely negotiate the turn, losing all impetus.
As the pace
ratcheted up, I was done. Rather than battle, I was content to sit
up, and cruise in to the finish.
I was disappointed
with how my race had turned out, but not in the same way as after the
TT. As is usually the case with road racing, I was just glad to be
upright and in one piece. I realised I hadn't ridden aggressively
enough when it mattered, and riding near the back at the start of the
race ensured that I'd be riding near the back at the end, and so it
was. On the other hand, it had been a good learning experience, and
in particular, a good reminder that I'm strong enough to be
competitive in a master's field, recent TT in the legs or not.
I soon caught up
with fantastic news – Brendan had won! I knew this race was a
major focus for him, and was very pleased for him. Despite the win,
I was annoyed at myself for not lifting a finger to help him. It was
great that he had the talent, and nous, to win on his own, but as a
club-mate, it would have been nice to make his job ever so slightly
easier, if I could have.
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| Hearty congratulations to the M2 winners: Brendan (centre), Glen Carabine (L), Aaron Strong (R) |
(Incidentally, that photo caption is not the first time I've written Glen Carabine's name on this blog. He was the stoker on the other tandem at Taupo, when Simon and I squabbled our way to a place in the record books - 4:09, which still stands.)
It was a good few minutes for PNP, and I was very stoked to watch Oli Ferry receive his gold medal for the M4 race soon after Brendan got his. I'd raced a lot against Oli over the recent months, notably in the Liverton road TTs, and it was awesome to see all his hard work pay off in this way.
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| M4 podium: Oli Ferry (c), Jim McMurray (L) and |
Unfortunately there
was no time to celebrate. I had to get back to Wellington, and after
a quick packing mission back at base, was on the road within an hour
of finishing, and chowing down on 45 cent roti canai in Kuala Lumpur
48 hours later!
Eating amazing
cheap food, and looking at aero gear on the internet...
For a first club nationals, it was a pretty good learning experience, and I'm looking forward to getting back amongst it in the coming years. The event had a cool vibe, and I'm stoked for all those who met their goals, and commiserate with all those that didn't.
Finally, thanks heaps to Joel Healy for his coaching, to my family, Sarah, Khulan and Kaitlyn for all their patience towards Joel and his demands, and to Oli for responding to all my bike-related whims! I'm very lucky to have all five of you in my corner, not to mention all the others who've encouraged me along the way.
