The obvious place to start is at the Giro where Cavendish won the first stage in traditional style, showing he’s in there to dramatically win stages, and he’s still the fastest out there. Sunday’s Team Time Trail put Sky on top as they dominated and filled the top five places in the General Classification. In payment for the work he will inevitably put in later in the race for Wiggins, Puccio was ridden into the pink jersey in his home tour.
Monday saw Wiggins ride into the race proper, finishing in the chase group 16 seconds down on the winner, another Italian, Paolini, riding for Katusha. Wiggins finished with all the main challengers, and I’d say it’s safe to say that the race is officially on (even if, at the same time he might be missing a chance to go for a second win in France). Let’s face it, it’s not all bad if we have two of the best GC riders in the world, in Britain, competing to get to win the biggest bike race in the world.
Elsewhere I was up for a bit of glorious suffering on a bike as well and I was up at 5am on Saturday to head to a Big One. By 8am, after a blitz along a quiet motorway, I was climbing out of Talgarth and heading for the 700metre height of the Black Mountains at the start of what would be a 50KM, 5 hour ride in proper hills.
There are far far worse places to be, even in the wind and hill fog and after a pushed climb up rocky, drainage channel-strewn bridleway I was smiling all over my face as the track rattled down over brilliant rocky sections and turns, high above the river in the bottom of the valley towards Grwyne Fawr Reservior. Suddenly the early start melted from my body as I remembered everything I passionately love about mountain biking. The open country, the beauty, the isolation and the rush of the track skipping below me, and I was happy. So happy I didn’t even mind as I mysteriously lost the whole pads from my front brake. Had I not fitted them back properly? I can only assume I hadn’t, still foresight had meant I had a spare set in my bag so they went on and in the enforced break I remembered I’d looped my sunglasses over the chest strap of my bag on the climb. They were no longer there, as the bouncing descent had dislodged them at some point in the previous couple of kilometres. I wasn’t going back for them so if anyone finds a pair of blue Oakley Valves somewhere between the top of Y Das and the reservoir, they’re mine!
Giving the dead pony by the dam a wide berth I rode on down to the valley, swung through the woods and missed a turning somewhere, so pounded more road than I meant to, then picked up some valley rocky lanes for a scotch egg break at Llanbedr, before heading back into the to grind up a contoring path to the top of Pen Trumau which would have been better without a solid headwind to drag my tired legs into. A technical descent to test the strength left in my arms to a gate where I managed to both burn my leg on the rear brake rotor and then smash my finger into the gate post (all in front of dog walkers so no chance to stop and feel sore) then a final kick up to Castell Dinas, a nice rolling descent and then mainly roads back to the car.
I was exhausted, damaged in places, missing an expensive set of sunglasses, wet from the heavy showers that seemed to follow me, and I’d missed a couple of turns but I was also properly happy and satisfied with a solid, tough, beautiful challenging ride.
That’s really what it’s all about. It’s ok to push on a hill when you are riding the real world, ok to stop for lunch sheltered by a sheep fold, ok to talk yourself up the hills like a crazy person, and grin like a muddy loon as you make the downhills, because it’ll all seem awesome and you’ll feel like you again.
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