GREETINGS


First time blogger here. The title may suggest I'm going to write
about cycling - which I am - but as there's no bike to be seen in the uploaded photo (& I'm afraid that is me), I may be posting on everything else under the sun, or then again I may confine my comments to bike-related issues only.

In my defence, I can say this snap (right) was taken at the 2008 Tour de France, on a rainy day in Brittany. I think it was an uneventful early stage of the Tour. We spent four hours camped under a small umbrella, hogging our vantage point on a street corner. Of course, the race whizzed past us in seconds when the army of Lycra-wearing warriors finally pedalled up the hill towards us.
Luckily we then found two seats in a nearby bar and watched the race finish a 100km or so up the road. It seems a ludicrous waste of time and effort when the riders slog away for hours, cycling huge distances, only for the race to be decided in a photo-finish, mass sprint at the end. Why not have sprint-sized races of 500m? Think of all the extra housework and family face time the riders would have, if they didn't have to slog through the French countryside before contesting the inevitable 500m sprint?
At least the mountains are a satisfyingly different proposition for rider and spectator alike.
I'll return with more to say shortly.

Bye for now...

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

WINTER KIT YOU CAN'T DO WITHOUT

Image
Call me a Lycra lout. I don’t mind in the least. Sneer the word, “cyclist” at me, in the manner of Beckett’s glorious tramp Estragon, spitting out the withering insult, “critic” to his fellow derelict, Vladimir. I don’t care. But accuse me of being a fair-weather pedaller and you’ll have found my soft underbelly. Don’t you dare! In fact, I cycle all year round, in all weather, except for deep snow (and that’s purely a logistical decision). That doesn’t mean that winter commuting by bike is easy. I’ve been spinning out in Arctic conditions for long enough to have built up a reliable system for keeping the chill at bay – even in the saddle. This can be summed up in the single word – layers. Certain products have also played their part in keeping me on the bike, come rain, sleet or icy-blue-sky. Here’s a summary of five pieces of winter kit I couldn’t do without (in no particular order). 1 – ANYTHING MADE FROM MERINO WOOL I pay homage to
Read more

TACKLING THE COBRA

Image
What’s more Spanish than British cycling superstar, Bradley Wiggins? Paella? Tapas? Possibly?   A Wiggo Tour de France bike in Tolo's Bar   But for many keen cyclists who come to the beautiful island of Mallorca to turn their pedals, catching a glimpse of Brad (Sir Brad – sorry), complete with facial hair, is a bigger draw than the Spanish weather, the majestic Serra de Tramuntana mountain range, or Palma’s imposing cathedral. The island, to coin a phrase which is hackneying even as you read it, has become a magnet (I dislike using ‘Mecca’), for the cycling fraternity. That includes professional outfits like Wiggins’s (erstwhile), Team Sky, who use Mallorca’s unclogged roads for off-season training, and amateurs, who like a bit of sunshine with their self-induced suffering. That’s how I found myself on the island in June 2014, heading for the Ponent Mar Hotel in Palmanova – just a few kilometres along the coast from Palma itself. The hotel is the base for Stephen R
Read more

TWO-THIRDS A MADMAN

Image
The streets of Avignon in mid-September are spotless - thanks, not to the zealous attentions of municipal road sweepers, but to the unbelievably violent winds which had been scouring the roads and fields clean since we'd arrived. The fabled mistral had taken hold of Provence and was shaking it heartily by the scruff of the neck. Not the best conditions in which to be preparing to cycle up and down Mont Ventoux by three different routes in the same day. But that's exactly what I was doing. My goal was to become a member of the Club des Cinglés du Mont Ventoux  (Club of the Madmen of Mont Ventoux), the same challenge I'd produced a short  film about in 2009. This time I was going to be suffering in the saddle rather than observing from the roadside. Our  gite  in the village of Mazan was almost in the shadow of the 'bald mountain'.   I could see Ventoux, looming ominously in the near distance, every morning as soon as I stepped out of the front d
Read more