Square One

It was bound to happen some day.

Today was the "O'er the Crow 'n' Doon" race, put on by GJS Cruise racing. A national B, E123 race, it'd be my first chance to play with the "big boys", including Evan Oliphant and the whole Herbalife team. Twice over the famous Crow Road climb, we would complete two 26 mile laps before finishing with a flat sprint into the wind.

These are my training roads, and I was as confident as I could possibly be on them. I had sessioned the descent, memorising every bit of rough surface, and a friend had very kindly let me borrow his £1600 lightweight Mavic SLRs, bringing the total weight of the bike down to about 7.2kg. Conditions could hardly be more ideal.

My first indication that things weren't quite right was before we even started. Having ridden out to the race at a leisurely pace, I hadn't really warmed up, and had no element of my normal pre-race sharpness as I lounged around the strip. Perhaps, knowing that I had no chance in the overall, I wasn't coming into it seriously.

The race started well enough. I positioned myself near the head of the bunch, and allowed myself to drop back as the cross-winds lined us out. Too far. I realized far too late what a sterling job the wind had done of stretching out the bunch, and without intention I found myself too far back to cover the race properly without a huge stretch of exposure.

Coming up the hill to Killearn, I clawed back some time, but we were then into a headwind, and the line grew even longer. I told myself that I would make an effort on the flats between Strathblane and Lennoxtown, with the wind behind us.

I didn't.

Whether because of fear of oncoming, or simple laziness, I put off the attack. I figured my climbing would be good enough to get me up there when the Crow came.

Here, alarm bells should have been ringing. Cattle prods should have been zapping my ankles. This is racing 101 - you need to be at the front before you get to the obstacle that might split the bunch. I wasn't.

As we climbed the first time, an oil tanker met an oncoming car where the road narrowed. It was anarchy. With barely enough room for two riders to pass at a time - one either side of the oncoming car - the bunch split, and I was left on the wrong side.

Moving up steadily past the stragglers, I was unable to put much time into the bunch, and they dangled twenty seconds or so in front of me as we entered the fast, tailwind-assisted faux plat at the top. I figured I would be able to catch such a large group on the descent.

I wasn't able to.

In fact, other riders started coming back. Admittedly, on aerodynamic bikes with deep-section wheels, but I have always maintained that they don't make that much of a difference. I couldn't understand it. Why was I having to sprint downhill to keep up with these guys?

Into the headwind at the bottom, and I was on my own. Again. After three or four miles, a pursuant group caught me and I started working with them, and for a while we stood a chance. Of the group of more than a dozen, though, only 8 of us worked at all, and frequently the hangers-on would come up alongside the last chainganger, completely disrupting the rhythm and causing big gaps to grow.

Needless to say, I didn't miss a turn unnecessarily.

We were within 5 seconds of the main bunch when we turned into the wind, and the order was destroyed. Unable to work in a standard chain-gang formation, riders would sprint up the outside and hold momentum, driving the front of the bunch faster and faster and harder and harder into the wind. With only four of us now working to claw back these final few seconds, it was becoming brutally hard work.

Gasping, grabbing, wringing my bars, I was unable to keep the pace. As I burst, I waved riders around me, but they seemed to take forever to take up the chase. Within a minute, though, I was on the back of the group. A minute of whiplashing and concertinaing later, I was off it.

Two minutes of recovery was enough, but the gap had grown out to thirty seconds. I chased hard onto the back of the service car, but couldn't get past it. The hill to Blanefield was enough to finish me off, as the cars surged and sagged up the steep incline, and there was nothing more to do but swear at myself for letting go.

Furious that I was letting everyone and everything down - not least Simon's wheels - I got my act together in the tailwind between Strathblane and Lennoxtown and pushed hard. It was far, far too late though, and on a flat section, I stood no chance at all.

Back into the Crow, I thought the bunch was in sight, but it turned out to be Sterling BC out for a Saturday ride. I span past them all, but couldn't make out the racers from the club runners.

There were only a couple of burst souls to pass on the never-say-die descent, and it was then over.

45th. My lowest ever finish in an unhindered race.

To finish so far off the back, with no mechanical or physical reason to be, is simply unacceptable. My only hope is that this will turn out to be the kick-up-the-rear-end that I so clearly need.

Next week is my target - Brenig.

Let's hope I've learned something.