Extreme racing

I sit here and tap this blog not with a heavy heart as I should have but with a full-on pumping, thumping heart. The reason? Well, it's because I have just got back from my first attempt at closed circuit racing at Crystal Palace (see last post if you are not one of the hoards of regular readers). All week I had been umming and aaahing as to whether I to have a go and this morning thought f@*k it - why not? All day I have been sipping, nibbling, sipping, munching and sipping some more awaiting 'home time' whence I diluted my High Five Extreme (yep - I'm that pro that I sip Extreme drinks) and sucked the first of my 2 gels. Happily soft pedalling my way to the park I started to feel a little more confident in my abilities following my recent regime of Regents Park laps and reached the park in plenty of time to sign on before the 7.15 kick-off.

Now for the sucker punch - plenty of time before kick-off does not mean plenty of time to sign on. A queue 30 long snaked around the smug early birds and the clock was ticking. No worry, 'eat the second gel and visualise' I told myself repeatedly as I edged towards the front of the queue. Then, as I hit second from front I was promptly informed by the officious madam that '3-4's are full, if your not an Elite, 1-2 then you can't ride tonight'.

So, that, dear reader, was the end of my debut. Stood, fully prepped and preened on the grassy knoll watching forlornly as the competition swished by.

Now I have to wait for effects of the Extreme drink and gels to wear off so that I can regain a normal heart rate and sleep tonight. Mon Dieu!

(I appreciate this is post has broken the prattle rule but I simply can't control my fingers on the keyboard at the moment)

Here comes summer racing

It's not just the sunshine and warmer days (note I didn't say mornings or nights as they are both still bloody chilly for lycra lovers) or even the tapping of the woodpecker that denote the start of summer. No, for me it's the opening race of the Crystal Palace circuit races that mean blazing suns and balmy nights are upon us. For 'tis this event that last year seemed to be the only way that you could guarantee a sunny day - every Tuesday, without fail the clouds of a crappy spring and summer would part to bathe the assembled cyclists in a warm glow and leaf dappled shadows that I only seem to have experienced on Balearic jaunts. Sure enough last night saw the same sunny weather and the great, good, have-ago's and poseurs assembled on the grassy knoll before taking flight.

I'm quite tempted to have a go myself but it's not the fear of failure that stalls my attempt, it's more the fear of being clipped (or even being the clippee) and thus damaging my pride and joy without any claim for insurance - quelle horreur!

Go and see for yourself - the first 10 minutes is utter pandemonium with elites, 1's, 2's 3's, 4's and women ('Don't be bullies, gents' warned the patronising commissaire) all hurtling 'round until they fade like the sun. All good fun and well worth a look.

Final mention goes to the grey ponytailed Look 585 rider who absolutely looked the business. Alas he ran out of steam by about lap 5. Chapeau, poseur, chapeau!


Hell for leather


They call this Dead Man's Corner but the way that some of them were cutting the shrubbery with their pedals perhaps they should rename it the Topiary Turn