My last couple of MTB outings in public have been horrible. I tore my rear mech off last weekend, and I’m still trying to get over the awful race at Flavignac. I’ve been feeling as though all form has deserted me, like as if the fabulous form I had at the end of last year was some kind of magic thing that could never happen again. As though I’d sucumbed to eternal mediocrity destined to slog for evermore going nowhere fast. 🙁

However, this weekend at the 11th Les Copains d’Abord 40km rando things were back to normal. I was back feeling the ‘good pain’ that comes from hammering through the chemins like a nutter trying to go faster and faster just because it feels so damn good.

I teamed up with Davey, one of the young lads from the lead group last weekend. I dunno what they feed him on, but he looks bigger and stronger everytime I see him. Anyway, despite howls of derision about it not being a race we hared off. Actually Davey hared off, and I chased after him hanging on to his wheel. The trails were very wet in places but we had great fun. Once you’re wet and mucky it doesn’t seem to matter any more. Blasting through the mud and puddles hopping that they won’t be tractor axle deep.

Young Davey had me chewing on the handlebars a couple of times when he turned on the power. I repayed him by going to the front and hammering through a couple of the singletrack sections that I know really well. We laughed through gritty teeth! 🙂

First 40km riders home in just under two hours I thanked Davey for the ‘bon entrainment’ (good training). Also, I asked Davey to remember me to his parents and to tell them that he and I had arrived ‘ensemble’.

It’s been raining for days, I’m starting to exhibit signs of ‘cabin fever’, I decide that I’m gonna do the La 5ieme Rando des Trois Clochers at St Leger la Montagne whatever. Plus the fact that St Leger is where the Depertmental Champs will be in March, and I want to see what the terrain is like. Carla decides that she’s gonna do it too.

I prep’ the bikes the night before. Crud guards, mud tyres, and slime tubes in my bike, don’t want puncture problems in the wet. We get an early night, and fall asleep listening the the sound of the rain lashing the shutters.

By 7:30am we’re on our way. It’s still dark, and it’s still raining. By 8am we’re climbing up out of the Vienne valley towards Razes. It had begun to get lighter, now it was getting darker! Heavy fog and mist make the going slow. Off the main A20 towards St Leger it’s brightening a little, and we’re in a convoy of cars carrying bikes. At St Leger there are marshals waiting to direct us to the car parking. Some of them use torches.

It’s wet, but it’s not cold. We get our kit on, and dead on 9am we get a few words from the club president and we’re on our way. I’m guessing there’s about 200 of us. A tarmac climb out of the village, and off into the hills.

Considering the amount of rain we’ve had the trails are in suprisingly good condition. There’s a few deep/very deep puddles, but it’s fun. I’m in the lead group, there’s about six of us, that’s me, and five young lads who all seem to know each other. They’re skipping about, and having a laugh splashing each other. I’m breathing bloody hard hanging on. One of the lads is a real lightweight and takes great pleasure in hammering up every rise just for the sheer joy of racing his mates. I’m breathing bloody hard hanging on, just.

Past the first ravitaillment station, we don’t stop. Down a fast rocky trail, we’re almost at the farthest point of the course, and……… see that picture? First time that’s happened to me in over twenty years of mountainbiking. A stick goes through my back wheel and takes my rear mech off.

I move my bike to the side of the track and just stare at it, stare at it so long I had time to take the picture. I’m trying to work out my best plan of action. Riders stop to see if I’m OK, I wave them on “oui, se bon!”. While I’m working out what to do I hear cars below me. They don’t sound far away. I decide I’ll roll down to the road, find out the shortest way back to St Leger, and make my way home along the tarmac. See, although I’m carrying a ‘quick link’ I’m not carrying a chain splitter. I can’t ‘monovitesse’ it. Doh!

At the road there’s a couple watching the riders go through. They kindly give me a lift back to the start in their van. On the way back they proudly tell me that their two sons Davy (19yrs), and Charley (16yrs) are riding today, in the lead group!

Back at the start I wash my bike and wait for Carla. She’s not long, and she’s had a geat ride.
I wash her bike while she gets changed. Did I tell you she’s being head-hunted by a local club who’s president wants her to be one of his girls? I will……

With no races on, but a couple of races coming up I rode the 35km rando at Isle. The plan was to ride hard for training, but also maybe get a few pictures, and not take it too seriously. As the riders set off (see picture), I spy Jean-Claude Sansonnet from the Nantiat club hammering away at the front. Now Jean-Claude will be my main rival in the Vet 2 category at the Departmental and regional Championship races next spring. Although I’ve finished ahead of him a couple of times it’s always been dry. This was my chance to take a closer look at him, and see what he’s like in the wet. I shoved my camera in my back pocket and gave chase.

The parkland start was a bit frantic, and Jean-Claude was going really hard, but I managed to scramble onto his back wheel after about 10 minutes. We fired into a tricky singletrack section. Wet leaves, roots and rocks everywhere. Just what I was hoping for. Jean-Claude had the style of an ex-motorcrosser, and seemed unphased by whatever the trail threw at him. He got cross-rutted at one point, but sorted it out with a minimum of fuss. I was right on his wheel watching every move.

Back out onto the tarmac Jean-Claude looks over his shoulder to see who’s there, “Ah Monsieur Bennett”, he says. We spoken many times before, he knows me, he’s probably sussed me as well! Anyway, we exchange greetings and ride on together.

We are joined by a young lad in green on a Cannondale Headshock bike. We turn onto a climb, and the young lad attacks. I go after him, but he’s riding away. I’m far too hot (overdressed), I can’t do it! As soon as I crest the climb and can ride no-handed I whip my lid off, remove my skull cap and chest warmer, and undo the front of my jersey a little. A quick drink of water, and I give chase. The young lad is still in sight.

On the tarmac sections I’m holding my bars in the middle and riding time-trial style mashing the biggest gear my legs will turn. In the off-road sections I’m riding very very hard. Slowly, I’m getting back to the youngster. We’re into the woods again. I can see where the young lad goes. He knows I’m after him. Using every last cyclo-cross skill I ever learned I’m racing over the wet muddy rooty terrain like a man possesed. The youngster makes a couple of slips. Now I’m right on him. He’s offline into a deep muddy puddle and comes to a stop, I shoot by on the right.

Having retaken the lead I push on hard. There’s a couple of short rooty climbs, and with sheer determination, and a little luck I make them both. I hear the yougster unclip. I’m paying so much attention to what’s behind me that I dont see the wooden bridge in front of me until it’s to late. There’s wet rocks onto it, then the wet wooden bridge. It’s too late to slow down, I line myself up and pedal. I’m across it and gone.

I continue to ride ‘au bloc’, I just love racing along the chemins and trails. I pass the ravitalment points without stopping. With an hour and a half on my watch I’m looking for the finish. Can’t be far now as I’m into some traffic from riders doing the shorter routes. Along a valley side, then up , then back along the valley side. I can see back along the trail for what must be a good few minutes. No chasers in sight. Maybe they stopped at the food stop, I dunno. I ease up, and I’m home in 1hr 40mins. There’s hot coffee, sandwiches, and cake at the finish. Just what’s needed after a hard training session.

As I pack my bike into the car and wait for Carla to arrive (she did the 35km as well), it starts to rain. I reckon we’ve had the best part of the day.

It’s in La Creuse so you know it’s gonna be tough. 90 gruelling kms with big climbs, big descents, big rocks, big ruts, mud, sun, farmyard dogs, wild goats and a couple of tractors! This was the first running of a new event, and around 150 riders turned up to take it on.

At the 8am start I spied ‘me old mates’ Spesh and ROC from the sharp end of the Mandragore, so I can guess what’s coming. The start will be a bit frantic, then it’ll settle down with technical sections taken at full tilt, and easier sections or tarmac taken at leisure.

The promoting club have put a bunch of youths on the front, for photo purposes, amazingly enough they seem more interested in being photographed than racing, and they do a good job of blocking until we get out of sight. With no one to see, there’s a somewhat rough removal of the youths, and it’s ‘game on’. The pace becomes frantic.

“If I can just weather the storm, just hang on until they settle, I’ll be OK”, I tell myself. But I’m struggling and I feel like shit. This is hard. After a while, a group of around 8 riders is established at the front, and I’m there, but only just……and who’s turning the screws? You guessed it, Spesh and ROC. Why do they climb so fast to then not push on over the top? I dunno, I just suffer.

By the first ravitalment we are down to 5. The tower above St Goussard looms in the distance high above us. There’s a lot of climbing to do. By the second ravitalment high in the hills at 60kms we are down to 4, with me dangling off the back by 10 seconds. I force feed myself as fast as I can to make sure I don’t get left behind. I fill my bottle, my pockets, and lube my chain.

As we ride away my legs complain. I spin a low gear trying to be kind. There’s a rider in green on a Specialized Epic he takes the lead on the descents that follow. Dropping like a stone, riding like a nutter, he blows his front tyre out. I’m relieved! Spesh and ROC are no slouches on the descents, but I can just about stay with them. Over the next kilometers I’m dropped on the climbs, gapped on the descents, but manage to claw my way back on in between.

I just can’t go any faster, but I have so much base fitness that I’m sure I won’t slow down. I’m hoping Spesh and ROC will. With three and a half hours gone I notice that they don’t seem to be moving away so fast on the climbs, and just like at the Mandragore I notice that ROC gets frustrated at steep technical climbs. I don’t see it as a glimmer of hope, I’m just thankful that it slows his pace.

At the final ravitalment with 15kms to go. I know that if I stop, I’ll struggle to get going again. Spesh seems to be having trouble deciding where to lean his bike, he looks rough. I just fill my bottle and go. I’m thinking I can ride a little easier on my own, and they’ll catch me anyway.

Riding at my own pace, I eat a little, drink, and I start to feel OK. I start to push on. Now, the course marking isn’t the best I’ve seen, and I don’t want to miss any turns. A couple of times it crosses my mind that I could move markers so that I won’t be caught. That’s baaaaaaad, and I don’t. I make a couple of little mistakes, but nothing that costs me more than a few seconds, and I reckon Spesh and ROC will do the same anyway.

Over four hours on the clock, I aint bin caught, and now I have aspirations of being first rider home. It can’t be much further, and on every crest I’m scanning the skyline for La Souterraine. I climb into a small village, there’s no arrows, i’ve gone wrong! Merde! As I look back down the valley I can see a lone rider heading my way. I turn back in the hope that I’ll find the arrows before he does, but I don’t. It’s ROC, we back track together.

Back on track with a couple of minutes wasted I notice another rider approaching. It’s the Epic rider who blew his front tyre out. My hopes of being first rider home are dashed. We’re on the outskirts of La Souterraine, and sensing the finish Epic pushes on hard, ROC goes after him, I’m hanging on the back. A stroke of luck, the run in to the finish is the same one as was used for the Grand Traverse Limousin in May. I half remember it, it’s very fast, with a nasty bend somewhere. Epic is descending like a total nutter again, were going damn fast. Debris flys up from Epic’s wheels as he brakes hard and turns right, ROC can’t make it and crashes off the trail. Yep, nasty bend that, nearly crashed there myself in earlier in the year! 😉

Down to just the two of us, I’m right on him. We come to a road crossing. No marshals. Epic jumps across the road between a car and a van. Bloody mad! The van driver is furious. A safe gap in the traffic I take up the chase. Epic has a few bike lengths on me now. As we ride around the edge of the lake to the finish he thinks it’s in the bag. I put my head down and sprint. Epic spots me at the last minute. We cross the line together! First riders home. It wasn’t a ‘race’ anyway was it. 🙂

A shower in the ‘stade’ then repas. The food is laid out in such a way that I’m confused as to where to start. I ask. “First”, says the nice madame, “would you like a beer?”……. what an angel. The cold beer is like nectar….