31 minute read
16
by Audax UK
take two
Outstanding ways to stand out from the crowd…
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A couple of riders who choose to ride “unconventional” vehicles are the focus of this issue’s interview. Ian Perry, 56, whose wheels of choice is the velomobile, and Jim Newmark, 66, who usually takes to the roads in a recumbent bike. Peter Davis asks the questions:
Where do you live, and how long have you been cycling? Ian Perry: Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, but originally from Heckmondwike in West Yorkshire. I’ve been cycling for 32 years. Jim Newmark: Lutterworth, near Rugby. We’ve recently moved after 40 years in Yorkshire. I’ve been cycling regularly for around 25 years.
How many bikes do you own? And which is your regular bike? Ian Perry: Four – but only my old mountain bike has two wheels… and both are flat! My regular machine is my DF Velomobile. Jim Newmark: “Bikes” have two wheels… hence the “bi” bit. I’ve got four Diamond Frames – one low-racer
recumbent
Jim Newmark on his Trice
bike and one trike. I really don’t have a regular one. The single speed is used for trips to the shops; I use the road bike most mornings; the Dawes Galaxy will be for touring; the low-racer Fujin is for edgy fun; and the Trice is for the regular 35 mile round trip to work twice weekly in Leicester. The one (DF) I use less often nowadays is the Thorne expedition bike. It is really heavy with massive tyres and waiting for the winter.
Why do you choose to ride these bikes rather than something more conventional? Ian Perry: My Velomobile is comfortable and fast, with a large carrying capacity. It’s also versatile and can be used for shopping, commuting, Audaxing and racing. I originally “went over to the dark side” after suffering a neck injury, crashing down a Scottish mountainside. Jim Newmark: The spark was lit during the 800k Thorne-EdinburghThorne years ago when all the DFs were struggling into a headwind. I remember the recumbents
effortlessly coming alongside, chatting for a while, then
taking off when we were all dead in the saddle. Not
being an extrovert, I really didn’t like the idea of
standing out, and the cost put me off, too. Then came a fractured hip coming off a DF. I persuaded the orthopaedic consultant to say in front of my wife that “one of those lying down bikes would be a good idea”. Eventually I bought a second-hand Trice, which I basically wore out. Not only is riding it hugely enjoyable, it also feels safer, with better visibility, a different silhouette so other road vehicles seem to see it easier and generally give it a wider berth, and, not as far to fall. The riding comfort is unmatchable. I cycled the towpath along the 126 miles of the LiverpoolLeeds canal last year in 18 hours with no problems at all. My reservations as to the reactions of others remained for a while as it is impossible not to be noticed, but these pretty much disappeared after I was chased down by four quad bikes in inner-city Bradford. They drew alongside and I feared the worst. But it was just “cool bike”, and they roared off. Being so obvious I am very careful to obey the rules and in my experience 99 per cent of comments are positive. I bought a Fujin low-racer about four years ago. It has a very different feel. I actually put an L-plate on the back for a month or so as initially I was all over the road. When cycling downhill, for both recumbents, and especially the Fujin, it is difficult to avoid overtaking the very best of club cyclists – acceleration to around 50mph is common. OK, they catch you very quickly when the climbing starts! The comfort of the Fujin means that it‘s a long-distance machine and has all the gadgets – GPS, lights, and Ipod, all charged with the Son dynamo. I really don’t understand why there are not more of us about.
Do you maintain the bikes yourself? Ian Perry: Yes. Everything, including the specialist velomobile parts, such as suspension. Jim Newmark: Yes. I do pretty much all of that myself, but am aware that when I take them to the people that know, they always to do a better job.
Tell us something about riding this type of machine that we might not know. Ian Perry: The key to riding a velomobile is momentum – steep or long hills are difficult due to the weight. Mine, in its current set up, weighs 32kg; and only being able to utilise muscles from the hips down. Building up speed before an incline and keeping the power on is the best way to keep up a good average speed. The speed range is also wider than an ordinary bike, with maximum speeds for a downhill being typically 50 per cent higher than a rider in a tucked
Outstanding ways to stand out from the crowd…
position, but also at least 50 per cent slower on steep inclines. Going around corners requires movement of the body, so the centre of gravity moves to the inside wheel on a corner. Head or tail winds have very little effect, sometimes a head/cross wind can accelerate a velomobile due to the sailing effect. Jim Newmark: A recumbent trike has the LEJOG cycling record. Recumbents in general are banned from all major cycle races that run under UCI rules as they would embarrass the world’s best. I quietly snigger when I look at adverts for ridiculously expensive aerodynamic seat posts.
And what comments have you heard from others about this style of vehicle? Ian Perry: Various… amazement, compliments, ridicule, down to accusations of cheating. A thick skin is sometimes required. Jim Newmark: Pretty much all positive. Actually, all positive apart from one or two in the early days when I occasionally jumped red lights. I suspect that this activity is less likely to be ignored when one is so visible, and look more like a car.
How long have you been riding Audaxes, and what was your first event? Ian Perry: I started in 2013 after entering LEL and thinking that I’d better find out what Audaxing entailed. My first Audax was the lanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwll llantysiliogogogoch 400. Jim Newmark: More than 25 years. I can’t really remember my first event.
What are your Audax/cycling ambitions? Ian Perry: I’ve just completed my qualifying SR for PBP, so PBP is this year’s main goal, though I may complete a double SR. I will also undertake the Lytham St Annes-Fort William 1000. Next year I’ll probably attempt an SR, but with all rides being AAA. I would also like to undertake more racin g with The British Human Power Club on my new (to me) Ice Vortex recumbent trike. Jim Newmark: Cycling will continue until I can’t do it anymore. Audax events have become less prominent over the last few years, but there has been no obvious reason for this. I suppose I’m involved with other aspects of life, and cycling is still a major part of daily activity, so I don’t feel the need to be part of an organised event.
Jan Perry and Velomobile
Longest ride ever? Ian Perry: My longest ever non-stop events have been 600km Audaxes, including the LEL, completed in 76 hours. My longest multi-day event was on an old steel bike with panniers and camping gear when I undertook LEJOG. Actually, because of the logistics, I rode to Lands End from Salisbury, then to John O’Groats, and back to Salisbury, which was 3,228km in 17 days. Jim Newmark: The 800km ThorneEdinburgh-Thorne. In respect of multi-day events, I’ve done a Dover-Cape Wrath and a LEJOG, as well as an Ireland End-to-End, and an unsupported Rawalpindi to Khunjerab Pass along the Karakorum Highway with my brother-in-law. The Dover-Cape Wrath was on the Trice, and the Ireland End-to-End on the Fujin, both being far more comfortable than on conventional DFs.
Greatest cycling achievement? Ian Perry: I find that hard to answer. When compared to others, I’ve never been fast or tenacious, although I guess my LEJOG ride was special, doing it in three days (supported). Also, racing in my velomobile for an hour on a velodrome, averaging 54.6kpm. Jim Newmark: Both the KKH ride and the 800k live in my memory.
Favourite place to ride? Ian Perry: Without doubt, the Yorkshire Dales. Jim Newmark: It’s the distance and the physical effort/challenge that motivate me most. Anywhere will do, but heavy traffic makes me more nervous than I used to be. I really don’t have a favourite place.
Which sports aside from cycling interest you? And are you an avid supporter? Ian Perry: Rugby Union, but mainly the internationals, rallying, road motor-cycle races like the Isle of Man TT, although I’m an armchair follower not an avid supporter. Jim Newmark: We’ve followed our sons from sports centre to sports centre to support their judo for many years. It was impossible not to be enthused. But I’m not a follower of any spectator sport.
Other interests or hobbies? Ian Perry: I dabble in photography, and have a kit car that requires constant TLC. I also enjoy making odds and sods out of carbon fibre, but I haven’t the patience to create truly first rate artefacts. I’ve recently bought an old mini tractor which I intend to use to cultivate a patch of land I have when I retire next year. Jim Newmark: Oh dear. My brother and I have discussed before that we really don’t want to be typecast as cyclists alone, in terms of hobbies and interests. But actually, that’s the way it is. I’ve dabbled with slope soaring with remote controlled gliders. That’s quite fun.
Plain or spicy – that’s the choice offered by our baking bike rider, Sarah Freeman, who espouses the benefits to longdistance cyclists of the humble lentil in this issue’s tasty offering… Baking Biker The
I made plain ones first but thought that they were a bit bland, however, on long rides a spicier snack may not be welcome. I wouldn’t recommend freezing them, so they’re best made the day before a ride. Lentil bakes for slow energy release
PASTRY ● 30g chilled butter ● 15g porridge oats or oatmeal ● 25g self-raising flour ● 10g wholemeal flour ● 30g cream cheese
PLAIN FILLING ● 25g dried red lentils ● 45ml of water ● Small chunk of celery, finely chopped ● Onion to taste, finely chopped ● 35g grated cheese (I used cheddar)
SPICY FILLING All the above less the cheese plus: ● ½ tsp chopped coriander ● ½ tsp chopped ginger ● ½ tsp chopped chilli ● 1 tsp tomato puree ● Splash of sweet chilli sauce ● 20g grated cheese ● 15g cream cheese ● Finely chopped onion and celery to taste ● Small pinch of turmeric METHOD Start by making the filling: Plain filling: Rinse the lentils and then leave to soak in the 45ml of water for about 30 minutes with the celery and onion. While the lentils are soaking, make the pastry. Spicy filling: Rinse the lentils and then leave to soak in the 45ml of water for about 30 minutes with the celery, onion, coriander, ginger and chilli, tomato puree and sweet chilli sauce and the turmeric, I use frozen herbs which saves chopping and waste. While the lentils are soaking, make the pastry. Pulse the porridge oats if you are using them in a food processor, then mix them with flour or just mix the oatmeal and flour together. You can just use 50g self-raising flour but the oats
and wholemeal gives a bit more slow release energy. Rub the flour mix with the butter until it resembles breadcrumbs, then use the cream cheese to bind the mix together. Leave to rest. Once your lentils have soaked, boil them until they have absorbed all the liquid and have gone to a thick paste (this doesn’t take long, so keep an eye on them), mix in the cheese and leave to cool. Roll the pastry out so it’s about 24cm square, spread the lentil and cheese mixture evenly over, it shouldn’t be too thick. Roll the pastry up and then chop the sausage into even pieces (I made four). Place in a preheated oven at 200 and bake for 25 – 30 minutes. Leave to cool.
SARAH FREEMAN is a keen baker and regular Audaxer. She’s completed an RRtY and SR series and is a member of Audax Club Lincolnshire. She’s also an active member of Lincoln WI… so she knows what she’s talking about – though she admits that her jam-making skills have a way to go yet.
Julia Freeman experienced the agony of defeat in last year’s Race around the Netherlands – a gruelling 1,670km test of cycling endurance. In May this year she tried again. This is her tale of malevolent winds, crazy geese, machine gun fire, dodgy sheep and meandering tourists in a flat land of killer hills.
The Race around the Netherlands is a relatively new, self-supporting bike-packing event which traces a circle around the whole country. Though Holland is famed for its flatness, the route deliberately includes the country’s few hills, including the iconic Keutenberg, which has a maximum gradient of 16 per cent. The route also follows the line of the beautiful, but constantly windswept northern coast, before winding its way through historic towns and spectacular national parks.
Second time plucky for a Dutch master class
IN MAY 2018 I sat on a bench and cried. I cried because of the physical pain, and I cried because I had to email Race Control to tell them that the only solo woman in the race was scratching after just 320 km. I’d lasted just 36 hours. But I’d learnt a lot. In my email I vowed to return next year. Back then, I’d lined up alongside 22 men to take part in the first edition of the Race around the Netherlands (RatN). It was my first go at an “ultra” race. I managed just over 20 per cent of the course before scratching due to neck pain and saddle sores. My race lasted less than 36 hours. It was a baptism of fire. One year later, wiser, fitter, and 10kg lighter, I’m on the start line again. Only this time I’m not the only woman. In total there are 11 women riding. It is a massive weight off my shoulders. The clock strikes eight… and we ride.
It’s a relatively calm start, as we head out of the square in front of Café De Proloog in Amerongen. As we ride, the field starts to space out. Everyone passes me. At least that’s how it feels. That’s fine, I’m used to that. I’ve been “lantern rouge” in every calendar event I’ve done bar one. Within 5km, we’re all spread out, and I can’t even see who’s in front of me. Last year I rode the first 100km or so in horrible cold rain. This year it is cool, but sunny, with a wind that doesn’t seem to know which direction it wants to blow, other than it being the opposite direction to which I’m cycling. My first day is much the same as last year, aiming for a hotel in Enschede, 260km away. In the course of the first 160km I almost fall off the bike three times: once after a goose tries to dissuade me from cycling; then as a local cyclist weaves across the fietspad (cycle path), even after I ring my bell and yell “Pas op”; and the third time due to heavy weapons fire...
The route goes past an army firing range. The sound of machine gun fire while one’s cycling is rather startling, to say the least. I reach the hotel 90 minutes faster than last year.
On day two I cycle past the bench where I scratched last year, breaking my pedalling just long enough to take a photo. I’m feeling good, I’ve got all the climbing done from now until the Kopje van Bloemendaal in 700km time. I stop at Ommen for a celebratory slice of cake.
A few kilometres up the road I notice another female rider in the distance. The gap doesn’t seem to shorten and eventually I lose sight of her. It’s Aukje Kuipers. I eventually catch up with her at an ambiguous junction. We both make the same navigation error, ride along the wrong side of a road, find we can’t cross, and go back. We ride side-by- side, exchanging news for a couple of kilometres, but I can’t match her pace. A mantra goes over and over in my head: “Ride your own ride, race your own race”. I wish her good luck, as she disappears up the road.
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As the sun starts to set I notice on my tracker that Mieke Sweethorst has stopped just before the fort. I assume she’s bedding down for the night. I also notice I’ve passed Aukje Kuipers, and Wendy van Lubek. I’ve not seen them on
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the road, so I’m guessing I passed them when they stopped for food or sleep. I’m confused. When I entered the race, I expected to come last. Yet somehow I am passing riders. I get back on the bike, aiming for a hotel I’ve booked in Groningen. A few kilometres down the road I pass Susanne van Aardenne. She appears to be sleeping in the bushes. I don’t understand it. I’m third. It can’t last. It’s artificial. They’ll all overtake me when I sleep… surely?
By the time I leave the hotel the following morning, I’m back into fourth. Susanne has overtaken me. But Mieke, Aukje, and Wendy haven’t. I’m confused again , but also worried. I hope they are OK. A quick check of the tracker confirms that Jasmijn Muller is right up at the pointy end. I’m in awe of how she’s riding. I have a tail wind, and I make good speed. But soon I’m going to have to turn into the wind, and it’s like turning into a wall. It’s coming from due west, right into my face. I stop to put on warmer socks, then get back on the bike, fall on to the aero bars, and start the slog.
I’m in the province of Groningen, on a stretch of land reclaimed from the Wadensee. It’s flat, it’s open, and there is nothing to protect you from the wind. I’m struggling to maintain 13kph, and to make things worse, the wind is bringing in squalls of rain. Each one lasts only a couple of minutes, not long enough to make it worth stopping to put on a waterproof, but long enough to make you
Dutch master class
thoroughly miserable. I aim for a restaurant in Lauwersoog 200km away, hoping to get there before it stops serving. I’m cutting it fine. Only 10km away a squall blows in, bringing horizontal hail. It stings my face and makes plinking noises as it bounces off my helmet. I can see a pump house up ahead, I put my head down, and try to get to the leeward shelter as fast as I can. Screeching to a halt, I jump a small fence, and hunker down close to the wall of the building.
After about three minutes it’s blown over and I make it to Lauwersoog with 20 minutes left until the restaurant stops serving. I order a Schnitzl and slowly warm up by the radiator. The bar has closed but the staff take pity on me, letting me sit by the radiator while they clean up around me. They kindly let me have some tin foil to wrap my feet. The wind chill has been brutal, and my feet have been very cold. I take extra tin foil just in case.
I ride into the night. I ride into the wind. The next part of the route goes along the landward side of the big dyke that keeps the Wadensee from flooding the land. This dyke is covered in sheep. Lots of sheep. Every few hundred metres there’s a gate and a cattle grid. Stop, open gate, push bike through, cycle around sheep, repeat… for 50km. One rider had to scratch after hitting a sheep. The wind is still in my face, the squalls keep blowing in. Progress is pitiful.
Eventually I have to stop. I’m too exhausted. I’ve managed just 146km. I try to bed down in the lee of a pump house. I crawl into my sleeping bag, wrap myself in a space blanket and try to sleep. After 90 minutes I wake, shivering badly. I’ve got hypothermia, and I can’t stay here. My sleeping bag clearly isn’t enough for the 2C temperature. This is going to have a big
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impact on my race. I’d planned to bivouac two nights in every three. But if it’s this cold, I’m going to need hotels, and because of the timing, I’m going to need hotels with a 24 hour check-in. These are few and far between… and expensive. I arrive in Harlingen as a hotel is opening for breakfast. Overnight the wind has changed to be more from the northwest. In theory I should have a tail wind now. At least until I get to the end of Flevopolder. And in theory I do. I have to shelter a couple of times as squalls blow in bringing epic cloud bursts that would soak you in seconds. But the wind is erratic and I don’t get as much of a tailwind boost as I’d like. After stopping for lunch in Lemmer, I join the cycle path along the edge of the Ijsselmeer. I finally get a tail wind, and the 26km to Flevopolder goes by in what feels like the blink of an eye. It’s the fastest I’ll ride all race. I cross Flevopolder with a wind that is trying to be more cross wind, than tail wind, but it’s not in my face, and I try to make the most of it. I’ve had 90 minutes of poor quality sleep, and I’ve not eaten more than a couple of cheese toasties since 10pm the night before. I stop for a snack in Lelystad, and check the tracker. Suzanne has taken the bus across the Afsluitdijk. It’s shorter by 220km, but she gets a 24 hour penalty for it.
Just Jasmijn and Sheila, ahead of me on the long route. Aujke and Wendy seem to be making slow progress. Mieke has scratched. I’m in third, and I’m still confused.
I’ve booked a hotel 40km up the coast in Hoorn. The racer in me wants to get four hours sleep and get moving; the realist in me knows I need to get a bit longer to make up for last night. I set the alarm for seven hours.
The next morning I wake to news that Jasmijn has scratched. I’m worried. All I can see is the cross through her dot on the tracker. I check twitter, but there’s nothing there. I hope she’s OK. I hope she hasn’t been hit by a car or anything. This means just Sheila is ahead of me. It means I’m in second place. I don’t understand how this is possible.
In Enkhuizen, I’m navigating the tourists (like sheep, but less sense of direction), when I hear my name. I’ve got my headphones on, listening to a podcast, I’m concentrating on not killing tourists. I hear my name again. A cyclist pulls alongside me. He says hello. It takes me a couple of seconds then it dawns on me. He’s a “dot-watcher” (someone who digitally follows the progress of a race).
I’ve heard talk of dot-watchers going out to cheer on riders, but I’d never experienced it. We ride side-by-side, and he asks me how I’m doing. After a kilometre he turns back and I’m on my own again. Just me and the wind. The next 70km to Den Helder I’ll experience the strongest wind of the race…gusts of up to 50kph. The wind is coming from the direction I’m heading. It’s right in my face. I’m on the aerobars, grinding away, struggling to keep my speed above 13kph. I know that if I can just get to Den Helder, the wind will then be behind me and I can zoom down the coast.
In the time I’ve stopped to eat, the wind has gone from a north westerly, to a westerly. The promised tail wind down the coast has not come. I have a cross wind, and 100km to get to my hotel. Just before the ferry across the Noordsee Kanal, the route goes through some construction works. There are metal plates on the ground but they aren’t positioned well, and I drop between two. The front wheel strikes the plate, and boom… pinch flat. I swear loudly before pushing the bike past the construction work, and swapping the tube.
It doesn’t take me long, but it’s cold, and my body is cooling. I’ve put my gloves in my jersey to keep them warm while I work, a trick I picked up from a winter of RRtY rides. I get the tube swapped, and am on my way again. I make a point of using alcohol gel on my hands. Another rider has scratched due to getting an infection from fixing a flat in Friesland, after riding through the sheep poo. I don’t
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want to risk it, so have upped my hand hygiene.
As the ferry comes in, I notice a small electric vehicle, like an overgrown mobility scooter driving off. The driver opens the window and says hello. Another dot-watcher.
I wake after five hours sleep and hit the road. While I slept the wind has moved again. It’s dropped down to be more westerly. Another headwind, at least as far as Hoek van Holland. In Schreveningen I stop for a snack, and as I do Aukje rides past, I shout her name, and she stops. She’s also picked up a dotwatcher. We catch up on race news. Wendy isn’t doing too well, and Gus has hit a sheep. We get back on the bikes, but again Aujke is moving faster than me and she disappears up the road.
Crossing the Erasmus Bridge, I turn right, and back into the wind. It’s a full on westerly now. For another 40km I grind into the wind. I can see from the weather forecast it’s supposed to move to be a northerly soon and drop in strength. I just need to get to the where the route turns south again.
Turning left I head down the coast, the wind is behind me. But it’s dropped to next to nothing. No tail wind, but it’s not a headwind so I make the most of it. I’ve ridden through Zeeland before. On a 200km Audax last November I ground
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into a 30kph headwind for 110km. Riding the same route now without that wind, I get to admire the beauty of the place. I eventually make it to my hotel, the only hotel in Vlissingen with 24 hour check-in. It’s expensive, but I don’t have any other choice. From arriving at the hotel, to being in bed, takes under 30 minutes, including washing my shorts, and lubing my chain.
My hotel includes breakfast, and I’m actually there when they serve it, so I take the opportunity to eat a couple of bacon sandwiches before hitting the road. I wheel the bike out the hotel, get on to pedal, and realise something isn’t right. My rear tyre is flat. I take out the spare tube, fit it, and when I go to inflate it, discover the valve is too short. Argh. How have I made such a rookie mistake? I check Google for a bike shop – 450 metres away. I buy two tubes, install one, and use their compressor to put air in the tyres. It’s designed for Dutch city bikes and doesn’t go as high as I’d like, but it’ll do. Twenty kilometres down the road I
find another bike shop and use their track pump to get the pressure up.
I battle the cross winds out of Zeeland into the relative shelter of the mainland. I’ve made a late start, but I want to get to Limburg tonight. I book a hotel 280km down the road, and push on. I ride through the night. As the sun starts to rise, I’m battling exhaustion, and the rain showers that have begun. The hotel is only a few kilometres away. Two kilometres from the hotel a bridge is being replaced and I have to follow a diversion. I’m not impressed. I eventually get to the hotel, after 287km. It’s taken me 22 hours.
I collapse into bed, hoping this is my last night, so I don’t even bother to wash a pair of shorts, I’ve got a clean pair for when I wake in three hours’ time. I plug my devices in to charge, and am in bed within 15 minutes of arriving.
Waking up, I pick up my Wahoo, turn it on – nothing happens. I curse. Adapt! The backup is my phone with OSMand, bungeed to the handlebars. I realise after
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24 a couple of kilometres that this isn’t going to work. The first bike shop I find doesn’t sell Wahoo, or Garmin. They suggest I try a shop up the road. There I ask if they have a Wahoo Elemnt computer. No, but they suggest I try Jos, in Klein Haasdal. I do a quick Google, then call him. He has a Bolt. I say I’ll be there in an hour.
The Netherlands is a predominantly flat country, except for Limburg. The next 20km involved short, sharp, punchy climbs of 11 per cent. My knees are shot, and I have no choice but to get off and push the bike up the hills. I’m overtaken by the postman cycling up one hill.
The route gives us a greatest hits of Limberg’s climbs. The Keutenberg is especially brutal – a 22 per cent gradient comes with a cloud burst so heavy that the road becomes a stream. I shelter under a tree until the worst blows over. I walk my bike up every single hill. I’m utterly soaked. I’m wearing all my clothes. My waterproof jacket isn’t big enough to go over my fleece jacket, so I’m wearing it under the fleece. It’s keeping the worst out, but enough gets through to make me thoroughly miserable.
The end of the Camerig marks the highest point of the route. I’ve had three hours sleep since 9am the previous day. I’m soaked and cold, and I have about 24 hours and 230km left to finish the race. I make the decision to get a hotel in
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Heerlen to get some sleep, dry out, as best I can, then push on for the finish.
The hotel room has a radiator. I spread the fleece across it, and whack the valve up to maximum, grab all the towels from the bathroom, wrap my fully clothed self in them, set the alarm for three hours, and fall into bed. Amazingly I wake to find myself mostly dry. Everything apart from my bra. And my shoes.
I check out and hit the road again. As the sun rises, I find a cafe. I order a toastie, lean my head against the wall, and sleep. Nine minutes later I am woken by the waiter bringing me my breakfast. I eat it in what feels like seconds. I down the last of the Coke, and get moving again. I was asleep for only minutes, but it’s made all the difference.
In the warmth of the early morning, with a light breeze at my back, I start to make good speed. In Broekhuizen I see a velomobile coming towards me, I go past, and notice them slow, then turn. They pull alongside. My final dot-watcher.
On a bridge over the Meuse, I stop and take off my leg warmers. For the first time all race, I ride in shorts. It’s a good feeling. The silicone grip strip of the leg warmers has made a mess of the skin on my thighs, big open wounds, struggling to scab over.
Just before Mook, and the final climb of the race. My rear wheel goes flat. I curse. I’m really running up against the time limit. I don’t have time for mechanicals. I do a rapid tube swap, I find the tiny flint that’s gone through the tyre. I walk the bike up the final hill, and then it’s the mad dash. I’m running on fumes. I have a quick meal in a snack bar in Nijmegen, and get pedalling. My knees are agony, but they are nothing compared to my left Achilles tendon. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever had on a bike. I try experimenting with different positions on the pedal, trying to find the least painful position.
I cross the Waal, still battling the pain in my knees and Achilles. Mercifully the wind is at my back, and staying there. I run the maths in my head. If I can finish before 4pm, I’ll finish in under 200 hours. And as long as I finish, I’m second. I just have to finish.
With 10km to go, I cross the Nederrijn. I’m on the home straight. It’s just gone 3.25pm. It’s rush hour and the route is full of Muggles. My bell does nothing. I’m giving it everything – muscles burning with lactate, knees on fire. I give up on the bell and take to shouting. They scatter as I approach. The final kilometre to the finish has a slight incline; it’s only two per cent but it feels like 20. I’m hunting for reserves I didn’t know I had. It’s only a couple of hundred metres now. I fly round the corner, full tilt, round the corner into the market square… on market day. I hammer the brakes, call out a warning, and plough through, up to the door of Cafe de Prologue. The finish. I dismount from the bike, wheel her in, lean her against the bar. And collapse in a heap.
Everything hurts, but my left Achilles hurts most of all. I dread to think what damage I’ve done. I pull off my shoes and socks, and ask for ice. After a few minutes my heart rate starts to drop, some of the pains dissipate, and I’m left with my Achilles, screaming in agony. I get some ice and sit with my foot raised. I’ve done it. 1,897km, 199 hours, 50 minutes. I’ve ridden in wind, rain, hail, and for a brief period, sunshine. I’ve experienced temperatures down to 1C, have frost injuries to toes and had hypothermia. But I’d done it.
Sitting drinking a beer. I chat to Sheila. She made it to the finish over 13 hours ahead of me. She’s the first solo woman to complete the Race around the Netherlands. In total three of the seven solo women who started, finished.
Reflecting on what I did, I still can’t quite believe it.
