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Cycling Shorts is your platform for news, call-outs, views and opinions on anything cycling-related. We’re keen to hear your biking tales, old or new. Drop us an email with the details. We’re looking for all types of short stories from Audax riders, with a picture of yourself too if possible. Send to: gedlennox@me.com

Truly epic Welsh ride

Pauline Porter recalls the creation of a ride which stretches the length of Wales, from Chepstow to Anglesey.

It was thrilling to discover recently that the Lonely Planet’s “Epic Bike Rides of the World” had devoted four pages to the Bryan Chapman Memorial ride. I got hooked on Audax rides in the early 1980s, and set about promoting the full series on behalf of the CTC Bristol. It wasn’t long before more members became interested in Audax rides. After a holiday visit to Tony Oliver and his family, who were living on the Isle of Anglesey at the time, I had the idea of a 600km event from Chepstow to the Menai Bridge using the Oliver’s abode as the outward control. I talked to Bryan Chapman about the idea, and he was most enthusiastic, so we drove the provisional route we’d mapped out. It soon became obvious that the route went well over 600km as Tony lived at the north end of the island, so l began searching for a convenient control point nearer the Menai Bridge and eventually we secured St Mary’s church hall. Dolgellau Youth Hostel would serve as a dual control and enable riders to sleep and be fed. Helpers at this control were always stretched to the limits, being on call for 30 hours or more. It was easier to ride the event than help out. Elizabeth Chapman drove up to the very exposed Felindre to set up a control for the riders providing a

When Rob Maslen’s friend Alan Roblou was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Rob agreed, with some reluctance, to undertake a last, long ride with him. Sadly Alan died before their planned Paris-Brest-Paris assault – so Rob rode solo, in memory of his pal.

It was in 2016 that my close friend Alan Roblou, a long time Audaxer, was diagnosed with incurable pancreatic cancer. With the clock ticking in front of him, he twisted my arm into undertaking to ride, either the Camino de Santiago or Paris-Brest-Paris in 2019. I’d never been an Audax rider, having moved from marathon running to triathlons and then cyclo-sportives since I retired. Neither am I a mountain bike rider so I opted for the PBP rather than the Camino de Santiago, knowing it was three years away, and thinking everyone would have forgotten about it by then. Alan passed away a year or so later but my commitment hung heavily on me. I rode a 200/300/400km in pre-qualifying in 2018 but found the last one, a ride through the moonless night, very hard. I duly pre-registered for the PBP, far from sure that I’d be capable of completing it. So I rode the qualifying distances in the south of France, where I have a summer place, with a group of cyclists from Montpellier. It wasn’t until we rode the Aix-en-Provence 600km, which was split into two loops with an overnight stop if desired, that I realised I’d be able to do it. I’m no fan of night riding, so I entered the 84 hour group with a 5am start, planning on riding mainly in daylight. I’d asked Alan’s widow Sue and my wife to provide moral support, so I booked Airbnbs along the route for us to stay. Day one went well and I found myself riding in a big group of French, German and Austrian cyclists averaging an easy 25kph. I’d booked lodgings at Tintiniac so called a halt at 8pm, still feeling strong. I left my group to carry on to Loudeac, a more logical overnight stop. On the following day I rode with a big group of Americans to Brest and back. There were 75 cyclists from a San Francisco club in the event. We chatted a lot and divided along Democratic and Republican lines. On day three I cycled with a group of Bulgarians, Serbs and other East Europeans. They were very friendly and kept extolling the state of the roads in their countries – unlike the pitiful state of ours, I thought. I was slowing up a bit and arrived at the control point of Villaines-La-Juhel at 11pm,

cooked breakfast and also a temporary toilet. Another convenient control in the early days was the home of Ted King’s daughter at Dilwyn in Herefordshire. The finish was held at the home of the late Nik Peregrine in Chepstow. As the event became more popular these controls became less practical and other establishments were used. I am so pleased the event is still a firm annual fixture in the Audax calendar with other organisers taking on the hosting. The route has varied over the years but still traverses the length of Wales from Chepstow through to the Menai Bridge, passing through some superb scenery.

Pauline Porter

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Left to Right Bryan Chapman, Sheila King, Pauline’s son David, Ted King, Pauline Porter, Ray Haswell, Bridget Boon, Heather King, Ian Boon – taken at Dilwyn, Herefordshire, in 1984

three hours behind my schedule. I told Sue, who was waiting for me there, that I’d prefer to rest for an hour and then pick up a train of cyclists to ride through the night. This would ensure I caught up my time and fully appreciated the PBP experience. The night was very dark and very cold, and I had only daytime summer cycling kit. I found myself riding with a big group from India and South Korea. Most of them, who had set out more than 12 hours before me, realised that they’d miss their deadline of 90 hours but I told them to carry on and enjoy it – an hour or two isn’t important in the grand scheme of things. Several of the Indians carried boom boxes playing rock music which helped to keep everyone fired up. It dropped down to three degrees as we cycled through the hilly Parc naturel régional du Perche and along the lakes. By dawn on day four I was back on track and rode the last two legs on my own, crossing the line in 81.50, two hours inside my target. So, what did I learn? Firstly that “next time” I’ll ride unassisted so that I can stop where I want. Secondly, I want to ride all the routes of Eastern Europe. To this end I’ve bought a camper van. Rob Maslen

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Guaranteed to blow your mind…

The irrepressible Midland dynamo, Glyn Marston, is famous far beyond his home town of Willenhall, near Walsall. His achievements in the world of ultra-distance running, despite suffering from epilepsy from an early age, have won him many accolades. A devastating knee injury meant a withdrawal from running, but Audax cycling drew his interest – and the result is a memoir of a remarkable continental ride to visit a statue of the singer Freddie Mercury on the shores of Lake Geneva – Finding Freddie: The (Alternative) Paris-Brest-Paris Story, published this spring. The book tells the tale of his gruelling, and ultimately failed attempt to qualify for the Paris-Brest-Paris bike ride – and his subsequent decision to ride to Switzerland instead. “My application for PBP was cancelled,” he says. “So I chose instead to cycle to Montreux and visit the statue of my all-time hero, Freddie Mercury which overlooks Lake Geneva. “The book is a light-hearted story of challenging the distance and the mountains on two wheels with two friends as support, taking full advantage of being let loose across France without their wives to keep them in check.” All Glyn’s Audax qualifiers are featured in the book, as well as the highs and lows of cycling through wet and windy nights, and sleeping in Audax hotels – otherwise known as bus shelters. Glyn is also the author of The Rise and Fall of an Ultra-Distance Runner, telling of his rise to fame in that tough world. He’s also written of his early teenage years coming to terms with a diagnosis of a debilitating condition in My First Year of Epilepsy. Both books are available through Austin Macauley Publishers.

CYCLING PALS

Seventy year old Rob Maslen lives in Richmond, south-west London, and was 68 when he rode the Paris-Brest-Paris. He’d been friends with fellow cycling enthusiast Alan Roblou since they met when Alan and his wife Sue stayed at the house of a mutual friend in the south of France ten years ago. Alan, who died at the age of 72, was a keen cyclist, and a life member of Audax UK. He’d cycled LeJoG, and completed many long and hilly rides through Europe, ticking them off in a big coffee table book, which he left to Rob. Rob says: “His strong cycling days were behind him by the time we met, so he rode vicariously through me, and followed my efforts on WhatsApp with great enthusiasm. After Sue’s retirement they cycled together on a tandem. “When the grim reaper appeared on the horizon, he bought a convertible Mazda MX-5 and drove many of the grand routes. The last time we rode together was in 2012 when we popped down to Kingston to watch Bradley Wiggins in the Olympic time trial.”

Being in the scene, man

Paul Harrison on an iconic book from a bygone age – Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig.

Why talk about a book like this in a cycling magazine? Bear with me and you’ll see. It’s about a motorcycle trip; a personal and philosophical odyssey into fundamental questions of how to live. Published in 1974, it was then the biggest-selling philosophy book ever. Stephen Hawking joked that his book A Brief History of Time was the least-read, most-purchased book in history. Maybe he wasn’t aware of the Zen book. Here are two of the topics which chimed with me as a cyclist and I trust you’ll find they resonate with you too. The descriptions of the roads and countryside and the experience they create. Pirsig says: “You see things differently on a motorcycle. In a car you’re always in a compartment, and because you’re used to it you don’t realise that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You’re a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame. On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it…” Cyclists will realise that “frame is gone” experience is even more apparent on a bicycle. Pirsig goes on to say that the concrete whizzing beneath your feet is so blurred you can’t focus on it. This takes me back to my time-trialling youth, but, like the wind in my hair, speed-blurred roads are memories. The author’s plans were more to travel than to arrive. He wanted to make good time, but with the emphasis on good rather than time. He found twisting hilly roads with little traffic more enjoyable – “…Roads where meadows, orchards and lawns come almost to the shoulder, where kids wave to you when you ride by. Where when you stop to ask directions the answer tends to be longer than you want rather than short, where people ask where you’re from and how long you’ve been riding.” He learned how to spot the good roads on a map – “If the line wiggles, that’s good. If it appears to be the main route from a town to a city, that’s bad. The best ones always connect nowhere with nowhere and have an alternate that gets you there quicker.” Also – “The main skill is to keep from getting lost. Since the roads are used only by local people who know them, nobody complains if the junctions aren’t signposted. From time to time you find your road ends in a pasture, or else it takes you into some farmer’s backyard. We travel for miles on these roads without seeing another vehicle, then cross a federal highway with cars strung bumper to bumper to the horizon. Scowling faces inside. Kids crying in the back seat. I keep wishing there were some way to tell them something but they scowl and appear to be in a hurry, and there isn’t any way to tell them.” The second aspect of the book that relates well to the cyclist concerns the separate worlds of classical and romantic understanding. This gets quite philosophical. Read this and realise which world you inhabit, and which world your club mates inhabit. The book says: “A boring task is cleaning the machine. It seems like such a waste of time. It just gets dirty again the first time you ride it. Some people always keep their bikes spic and span. If the mechanical bits run fine, but the bike looks dingy on the surface, then that’s the classical mind at work.” I recognise myself here. By contrast, cyclists who have the romantic approach to life don’t learn how to maintain their bike. Pirsig says: “They simply hope for the best and when problems do occur they are forced to rely on professional mechanics to repair it.” My observation is that romantics’ bikes are sometimes kept shiny, even if not having underlying good maintenance. And of course there are some superior beings that straddle both worlds, having bikes that are both gleaming and well maintained. I know a few of these too. Here are two quotes relating to maintenance and repairs: “What I’m trying to come up with, I guess, is shortcuts to living right. The real cycle you’re working on is a cycle called yourself. The machine that appears to be ‘out there’ and the person that appears to be ‘in here’ are not two separate things.” And: “You should remember that it’s peace of mind you’re after and not just a fixed machine.” I thought this potted version would appeal to Arrivée readers, but to get the full Zen story, you’ll just have to read the book yourself!.