Far From Perf-ect: the art of messing up the first race of the season

So, 2017 has started- and, as with basically every year, it's started badly. Yes, once again I took on the Perf's, and once again the Perf's handed my arse back to me on a plate.

The Perf's Pedal Race is one of longest running (if not the longest running) road races in the UK: it's the first National B ranked race of the season, and with a lot of bored bike racers sitting at home, it tends to attract a strong field. It's also got a reputation for horrendous weather and rough, narrow roads. It's a cocktail which leads to a brutally hard race, which in a sport as masochistic as road racing explains its popularity. The Perf's has been my season opener for the last three years, and every single time I've done awfully. In fact- and I hate to admit it- I've never actually finished it. And so, the inspiration for this blog post was born: the art of messing up the Perf's Pedal Race.

Part 1: 2015, the year of the borrowed bike
This is a particularly embarrassing one, especially for someone who was working in a bike shop at the time. A few days before the race, I'd had a bit of an accident in training: although I was fine, I'd given the bike a bit of a knock and damaged one of my gear levers- and as anyone who has damaged a Shimano STI lever will know, they only sell them in pairs, and they're really quite pricey.

"Perfect!" I thought to myself, "I might as well upgrade to an 11 speed groupset!"

As it was just my training bike, I figured the new Shimano 5800 would do the job perfectly. I logged on to the Shimano dealer website, but (horror!) they were out of stock. In fact, it was out of stock everywhere. Everywhere, that was, except for Wiggle. Now, I normally don't touch online shops with a barge pole, but on this occasion I made an exception- I needed the parts, and I figured if I was spending a fair chunk of money anyway I might as well do the job properly. So I ordered it with plenty of time to spare, safe in the knowledge that it would arrive well before the race with plenty of time to fit it. Oh how wrong I was...

A man using a barge pole: one of the many implements
I would recommend not touching online shops with.

Fast forward to the day before the race: my components hadn't turned up, my training bike was in pieces (waiting for its new parts...), and my beautiful new Bianchi was still waiting for a longer seat post before I could ride it. The result: no bike. So I sent out a desperate plea on social media for a bike to borrow- Rob, my boss at Just Pedal got in touch and offered to let me use his Canyon Endurace for the day. Perfect.

So, in the early hours of Sunday morning I was tinkering with a bike two sizes too small for me, trying to make it fit- there wasn't much chance of it working, even without Canyon's ridiculous steerer tube design meaning I couldn't change the stem. Still, I made it to the start line, albeit on what must have looked to anyone else like a very flash child's bike. However that was about as far as I made it- throwing the bike into the first corner it became incredibly apparent that bikes that small really don't handle well for me. Not wanting to end my day peeling myself off the tarmac, I turned round, got back in my car and headed home. The moral of the story? Don't trust the internet.



Part 2: 2016, the year of the solo breakaway

This is the one I'm most proud of. It was my first race with my new Bottecchia team: we had a good group of guys there, I was in good shape, I was feeling motivated. Maybe slightly too motivated. As the flag came down, I dropped the hammer and shot off the front of the bunch. You know, because I never make the first attack in a road race and regret it later. Nope, not me...

I flicked my elbow for someone to come through. Glanced back. No one there. Decent gap back to the peloton. Better crack on then...

Who needs pelotons anyway?

A few kilometers down the road, I glanced back again. Still a decent gap to the peloton, which was now headed by a train of green and black: Pedal Heaven. "Might as well keep going," I thought, "someone might bridge across to me."

A few more kilometers down the road, and nobody had bridged. And there was no more gap. Oh dear. Just as I was getting ready to slip back into the peloton, the lead car slammed on its brakes and the neutralised flag came back out. The race had been stopped to allow an ambulance to pass- as we stood in the cold for a few minutes, I could feel my legs start to freeze up, and as we started riding again I knew I was going to suffer. Then, at the end of the first lap, we were stopped again so a few people could be ejected from the race for dangerous riding. A few more minutes in the cold. This time, when we restarted I had absolutely nothing in my legs. I'd completely frozen over. As soon as the pace picked up, I was out the back.

The moral of the story this time? Don't race like an idiot.

Part 3: 2017, the year of forgetting I'm asthmatic 

This year I went training in southern Spain, staying with an ex teammate of mine who runs Siempre Ciclismo. It's a great bit of the world to ride a bike, and Gavin knows the roads like the back of his hand. Definitely recommended.

In the fortnight leading up to the Perf's I'd been clocking up some huge miles, really re-finding my road cycling legs after a lot of track and gym work through the winter. My numbers were good, I'd recovered well, and I felt strong. Basically, I was really confident, and wanted to be flying the Hoops Velo colours at the sharp end of the race. However there was one major factor I hadn't taken into account- British weather.

I've been a diagnosed asthmatic for most of my life now, and one of my pet niggles is the recent trend of armchair athletes making jokes about how we're making it up to get a performance boost. It's got noticeably worse in the wake of the Brad Wiggins TUE revelations. Anyway, asthma is one of those weird conditions where you'll function perfectly for 364 days of the year, and the 365th feels like you're about to die. The Perf's this year was one of those days.

For me, my usual asthma triggers are cold and damp conditions, and guinea pigs. Although there have been many occasions when I have put my hand out to receive a water bottle only to recoil as I realise I'm actually being offered a guinea pig, on this occasion it was the cold that got me. Having been training in Spain, I'd got perfectly used to doing huge efforts right on the limit of my lung capacity without any problems. As a result, using my inhaler before the race didn't even occur to me.

The moment the hammer went down, I knew something was wrong. My legs felt super strong, but as soon as I tried to suck the freezing air into my lungs, it felt like I was wearing a belt around my chest. I was flying backwards on a climb where normally I should be able to keep up with the riders at the front. A split appeared a few riders in front of me, but I was already right on the limit. Even following wheels I wasn't recovering- my heart rate wasn't coming down, and I simply couldn't get enough air in. I glanced at my power meter- was I really going anaerobic at 250W?

Front group. Dropped.
Second group. Dropped.
Third group: missed the time cut. Game over.

Another year, another Perf's Pedal Race gone wrong. On the upside though, it's a lesson I won't forget. Time to get the proper racing underway...

And at least after 6 years of racing I finally got the best number.



Cheers for reading!
Pete