Cycling is full of hyperbole and cliche. Epic, hell, brutal. It’s rarely any of these. And then you see the images of the first Paris-Roubaix race after World War 1. A ride through hell. This is the origin of Paris-Roubaix’s nickname as the ‘Hell of the North’.Read More Hell of the north: Paris – Roubaix, 1919
Cycling imitates life. Structured cycle training plans provide a framework, a tiered progression. Base miles, strength training, VO2 max intervals, rest days. Agile training is a flexible alternative. A loose, free form plan. Adapt as you go. Be free.Read More Unstructured structure – Agile training plans
Life, I decided, is more important than cycling. Blasphemy. Treason! Hang him! Lovers who’ve come to terms with their love for one another and other people. We’re not exactly on a break, no. We’re just open to seeing other people. And you know what, I’m enjoying it.Read More The inevitable guilt complex
Age creeps up on us, say some. Not the cyclist. For every day we’re fighting it, raging against the dying light. Life passes quickly. Like a mountain descent, we cling on, releasing the brakes for as long we dare, bracing ourselves for the next bend, for the end.Read More Getting older and cycling, still
I don’t race, I ride. Yet I’m training. For what I’m training for, I cannot say. There’s no medals to point to. There’s the small number of hill climb races I enter. Or the bravado of leading out the peloton or the fear of being dropped on a club ride. There’s local hills and personal bests. Yet I’m not really training for any of these.Read More What am I training for? [The meaning of life]
Yeah, I’m niche. Not really something to boast about yet we humans like to feel as if we’re forging our own paths, that we are remarkable in some small way, atypical, one of a few. We follow not crowds, only our own will, for yes I’m smart, in control, not one of them, all those […]Read More Obsessions only cyclists have
Hello old friend. It’s been a while. What? Yes, it’s that time of year again. I know, I know. Brrr. Her? The mistress? That was a mere summer fling, showing off in front of others, a lightweight frolic beneath the sun. Nothing compares to you, ever dependable winter bike, bike number 1 once and forever. […]Read More Hello winter bike. Please forgive me.
A strange addiction. Climbing to the skies, slow motion, pain, body revolting, hour after hour of mental questions. Why am I climbing this mountain? We’re a strange bunch us cyclists. Speeding along dressed in tights, bottoms padded, riding great distances much to the bemusement of non-cyclists. To them it’s unfathomable that riding up a mountain, […]Read More Why do cyclists climb mountains?
Ride, roll, spin. Gasp. As if to live I must fight for air. Hunched, knees unnaturally near jaw Not the poise of one who flies. Gloves fingerless So nails can enjoy the view. Drink suckled from teat Nothing odd with that.Read More Today we ride
I used to be a contender. I could have taken that KOM. I was quicker goddammit and now look at me. Pathetic. Slow with a tailwind, the merest incline induces a series of huffing and puffing and effing and blinding. Strava automatically marks my rides as private as a sign of a respect to my […]Read More The melancholy of losing form and fitness