Iain

A short history of my bikes – part 3 (Iain)

I’m at the start line of my first ever bike sportive. I look at the other riders. They’re all using road bikes. I’m on Bike 3 – a mountain bike. Oh dear – I’m the only one using a mountain bike.

It gets worse. Everyone else is wearing skin tight lycra. I have my winter jacket (as it’s cold and wet) and a pair of baggy shorts. Everyone else has clipped-in bike shoes. I’m wearing trainers.

I’m the only person using a backpack. It contains a sandwich, a 2 litre bottle of water and a map in case I get lost. It’s quite heavy.

I turn to my friend Malcolm, who’s also doing race. “I’ll be fine,” I say, “all bikes are the same!” Andrew is also here but he’s not biking. He’s acting as support in a van.

The race starts. All the other bikes pass including Malcolm. I realise all bikes are not the same. A road bike goes significantly faster than a mountain bike.

After 35 miles I reach the big climb on the route called “Bealach Na Ba.” It’s one of the few roads in Scotland that’s similar to mountain passes in the Alps, with very tight hairpin bends that switch back and forth rising from sea level to 626 metres.

I’ve never biked more than 20 miles before and I’d certainly never gone up a hill like this. Thankfully the mountain bike gears mean I overtake some people on the hill but, from the halfway point, I struggle to turn my pedals. I get off and push.

At the top I discover a film crew waiting for me. They’re filming for BBC Two Scotland’s The Adventure Show. The reporter approaches me:

– I can’t believe you’re using a mountain bike!

– It’s my only bike

I take out my water bottle to have a swig.

– You carried that all the way up the mountain?

– Yes. I thought I’d get thirsty.

– You do know the organisers supply water and food at regular stops?

I thought I had to supply everything myself! D’OH!!

The descent of the other side is great. Six miles of downhill with treacherous corners. At one corner an ambulance is tending to a rider. I think to myself how glad I am that it’s not me.

At the bottom of the hill I reach Andrew. I decide to quit the race. There’s 40 miles to go but I’m done in! I’ve achieved my race by cycling further and higher than ever before but there is no chance I’ll complete the race before the cut-off time.

We head to the finish to wait for Malcolm…and we wait…and we wait…and we….

As it gets dark there’s no sign of Malcolm. I approach the race organisers and ask if they have seen him. They go to check their list of riders. When they come back they have bad news – Malcolm was the man I passed on the mountain who was getting tended to by the ambulance.

The news gets worse. He’s been taken to hospital.The news gets even worse! The hospital isn’t in Inverness, which is close by and on our way home but Broadfoot on the Isle of Skye which is miles away and nowhere near our route home.

We head to Skye to collect him. He’s broken his collarbone after his brakes failed on the corner. The bad news is he’ll be off work for six weeks. The good news is that it coincides with the Edinburgh fringe. He can spend six weeks partying! And he can use his other arm to drink pints!

Iain

A short history of my bikes – part 2 (Iain)

Identical twins — perhaps as many as one in five according to the unreliable internet article I read — claim to share a special psychic connection.

Do Andrew and I share a psychic bond? No – the only time I’ve felt pain the same time as Andrew, is when we’ve accidentally crashed into each other.

The first time I noticed this lack of a special bond was in Secondary School. We both had an after school job as Paper Boys. I used Bike 2 for my round. It was a mountain bike.

We’d hang the bag of newspapers from the handlebars of our bikes. The more papers we had to deliver the harder it was to balance the bags on the bar. Monday was the worst day as we had all the large Sunday papers to deliver as well as Monday’s.

From my paper boy perspective – there should be  a special place in hell reserved for anyone who asked me to deliver The Sunday Times. It was massive and caused me problems every week!

One of my deliveries was to my primary school P.E. teacher. She was a horrible woman. In a 30 minute classes she would let the girls play for 20 minutes whilst making the boys wait against a wall. She would then let the boys on for a few minutes before stopping the class. We got virtually no exercise.

She hated the Daily Record so I made sure that whenever her first choice of paper wasn’t there that’s what she would get instead.

Unfortunately during one of Andrew’s rounds his bag caught in his wheel throwing him off the bike. He ended up lying on the street, blood everywhere.

At the moment I did feel something. It was a pang…of hunger. It was late and I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Andrew went to hospital and I went home for my dinner.

 

 

Iain

A short history of my bikes – part 1 (Iain)

Some people give names to their bikes. Why? If I was going to name an inanimate object then I’d rather name something that talks to me, like my telly.

  • What are you doing tonight?
  • I’ll chill with Bill.
  • Who’s Bill?
  • Bill the telly. He’s cool. He’s got Sky Sports.

If you’re giving your bike a woman’s name just so you can say “Tonight, I’ll be riding Jill hard” then you are a nob!

If that’s the case you might as well name your oven after a woman so you can say when cooking chicken “Tonight. I’ll be putting my cock in Stephanie!”

So, I don’t name my bikes. I refer to them boringly as Bike 1, Bike 2, Bike 3 etc

Once upon a bike in a far away land there was…

Bike 1 – my first love. It was a racer (which is what I called a road bike when I was at school). We were inseparable until we quite literally separated.  It snapped in two! Which was annoying as I was riding it at the time.

That sounds very dramatic but I was biking uphill and travelling so slowly that I was able to stop and get off.

I sold the bike to a school friend. His dad owned a garage so was able to weld it back together.

My friend lived at the top of a big hill. He took the bike out and rode down the hill. The bike snapped and he hit a car. He ended up in hospital with a broken leg. In my defence, he did know what he was buying…

And then there was Bike 2….

To be continued.

Andrew

Welcome to my PAIN CAVE!!!! (Andrew)

Do you know what I love? Pain!

First thing in the morning, I just can’t wait to get me some of that old pain. At breakfast, I have pain with my cornflakes, pain with my toast, and, sometime, I even have pain with my yogurt – or youHURT as I call it.

At lunch, more pain. Go for a run. Bring my shorts, my shoes, bring my fruit based music device  but, most of all, bring the pain!

Then, when I go home, I like nothing better than putting my feet up with a nice relaxing mug of PAIN!

Pain, I love it.

Of course not. This is silly. No one likes pain. It’s, well, painful. And it hurts. And it’s sore. And do you know what I really, really love – not being in pain, that’s what I love.

Yet, as triathletes and cyclists you hear people calling their turbo set-ups their “Pain cave”.  Just going to “pain cave”, they’ll say. “Big session in the pain cave” last night.

(Twats)

I, on the other hand, don’t want to retreat to my pain cave, instead I want to give it a name that will make me want to go back on the Turbo again and again. That’s why I’d like to introduce you to my cuddle closet. It’s a small room, it has a computer, a desk, a bookcase, and a bike set up on a turbo. It’s where I go when I want to feel warm and happy like a cuddle. It’s my cuddle closet and it’s definitely not my pain cave.

If cuddle closet doesn’t suit you, other names are available. May I also suggest:

  • Fungeon aka fun dungeon;
  • The Ghetto Way For An Hour;
  • The Happy Place;
  • The Sweat Suite;
  • Or, if you really must bring the pain, the I’m Pushing Myself But This Is Just Mild Discomfort Cave.
Iain

Triathlons are really boring to watch (Iain)

This weekend is Ironman Kona – the triathlon equivalent of the world Cup final. The winner can call themselves the Ironman World Champion. At the event are the best athletes in the sport – but no UK TV channel will show it.

Why? Simple – triathlons are really boring to watch!

What’s more boring than swimming for an hour? Watching someone else swim for an hour!

What’s more boring than biking on a motorway for five hours? Watching someone else bike on a motorway for five hours!

What’s more boring than running for three hours? You get the idea…

In fact I  can’t think of anything worse than watching a Triathlon.

[Checks TV guide. I spot Sky Sports are showing Scotland versus Lithuania]

Actually…does anyone know where I can watch Kona? 🙂

Iain

Breaking my radial head bone is as easy as falling off a bike! (Iain)

“You dropped your spoon.” A girl hands me a spoon.

I’m lying on the ground. My mountain bike is on top of me. 10 seconds previously I’d been upright.

“Thanks,” I reach my hand out. AAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHH! I get a shooting pain in my arm. I’m not a doctor but I’ve watched Casualty. I diagnose my arm isn’t supposed to be this sore.

She leaves. She doesn’t ask how I am or why I’m lying on the floor with a bike on top of me.

The day had started badly. It’s raining. It’s too miserable a day to bike to work but… I check the forecast, the weather is  due to clear up later in the day so I decide to bike. I go to get my bike but it has a puncture. Should I take the car? No! Nothing will stop me biking in.

The commute was wet but enjoyable. I listened to a podcast about the Aberdeen v Rangers game. I tell myself what a great decision it was to bike in. I wouldn’t be happy in the car, although I would have been drier. Oh no! As I get to the end of my trip there’s some wooden walls near the entrance to my work. Instead of a wide open path to the front door I’m funnelled through the walls. I think – shall I get off and walk the last bit? It means I won’t get in anyone’s way. NO! I’m going to bike all the way! Nothing will stop me!!!

I’ve been stopped.

The front wheel of my bike slips on a smooth paving stone and I fall off. I put my right hand out to break the fall. It breaks the fall and it breaks my radial bone! A spoon, which was in a pocket of my bag, falls onto the ground.

I should have taken the car!

My right arm is now in a sling. Which is annoying as I’m right handed. Have you ever tried using a spoon with your wrong hand? Its f**king impossible!!

Oh well, I have 3-6 weeks to learn how.

Andrew, Race Report

Trossachs 10K (Andrew)

Processed with Snapseed.
Processed with Snapseed.

Every race needs a starter. If you don’t have a starter then you don’t have a race, you just have a lot people in lyrca standing politely and looking at each other to see if anyone else is going to move first. That’s not a race, that’s a queue.

You need a starter. Someone to fire the pistol, sound the horn, drop the flag, or fire a smoke cannon and let off a hundred fireworks (Long Course Weekend, I’m looking at you and your extravagant start!).

The Trossachs 10K however did things a litle different. It was started by a local chef from the Forth Inn.

“Good luck,” he said, dressed in chef’s whites and still wearing his apron like he’d just wandered out of his kitchen, which he had, because the kitchen was only 20 metres from the start line.

“Why is the chef starting the race?” I asked Iain.

We couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t mention a running club, so we assume he wasn’t one of the organisers, he didn’t mention a charity, so he wasn’t one of the beneficiaries, and he didn’t plug his restaurant, so he wasn’t even looking for publicity.

We can only assume that there was a misunderstanding. Someone must have said they needed a starter and someone else thought they’d best get a chef because, if there’s one thing chefs know, then it’s starters…

It’s apt that the race was started by a chef as the only reason we were racing the Trossachs 10K was that there was a cracking butchers in town and we fancied a run then lunch from the butchers (sausage roll and a macaroni pie for me, delicious).

The race itself is run through the Queen Elizabeth forest and is mostly on trail paths. It’s a great route with some ups and downs through the forest. It was raining but not too heavily to make it uncomfortable to be out running.

I ran round with Iain, we weren’t competing against each other or looking for a time, but, at the end, I felt comfortable and sprinted the final few hundred metres. Sadly, the chef wasn’t at the finish, but, you know, no one finishes with a starter.

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Iain

Am I a National hero? (Iain)

“An exhausted Jonny Brownlee was helped over the finish line by his brother Alistair who gives up the chance to win the race in a dramatic end to the World Triathlon Series in Cozumel, Mexico, on Sunday.”

Would I give up a chance to win to help Andrew?

Yes!

Would Andrew?

Hmmm. Maybe…

Let’s look at the evidence.

Evidence A:

During the bike leg of Challenge Henley we were cycling towards a feed stop. As we approached, Andrew was slightly behind me. As I braked to collect a water bottle Andrew continued and made contact with my back wheel.

Suddenly he was flying over the top of his bike onto the feed table before sliding along it into a wall! Like the national hero that I am, I stopped and waited for him to get back up thus losing my chance to win the race.

Although it is debatable whether I was going to win and by debatable I meant there is absolutely no debate: I wasn’t going to win unless everyone else in the race conked out too.

Luckily, he was unhurt but a bit shaken. After a quick check that all his bits were still attached to him, he got back on and continued racing.

Slightly further up the road I experienced a puncture. I shouted at Andrew that I needed to stop. He kept going…

Evidence B:

During the bike leg of Iron Man UK we were cycling towards a feed stop. As we approached Andrew was slightly behind me. As I braked to collect a water bottle Andrew slowed down and a man rode into the back of his bike!

Like the national hero that I am, I stopped and waited for him to sort out his bike as the back wheel was slightly buckled. I lost my chance to win the race (again).

Luckily, he was unhurt but a bit shaken. He got back on and continued racing.

Slightly further up the road I got a bit tired and needed to drop the pace. I shouted at Andrew to slow down. He kept going…

Now, some might say, that both incidents were caused by me braking without warning an d that would be a scurrilous accusation and I’ll see you in court if you make it!

Some might also say that in both cases Andrew had a good reason to ride away and it made no difference as he waited at the run stop for me.

Again. I reiterate the threat of court action to anyone who claims that.

Now where can I get a T-shirt printed for myself that says “National hero?”

Andrew

Triathlon’s biggest challenge(Andrew)

You can’t believe you’ve got to do this. It’s too much. You’ve been putting it off for ages but you know it’s time. You need to do this. Now.

But you hesitate. You don’t know if you can do this. Even the thought of it makes you wish you could just sit in your favourite chair with your feet up and the telly on. Instead you’ve got to prepare. There’s shoes, socks, cycling shorts, tops, both cycling and running, various towels, some used, some not, a wet suit, and gels. It’s too much. Why couldn’t you do something simpler instead? Something that didn’t involve more items than an Argos catalogue.

You’ve got no choice though. You’ve already signed up. You set this challenge and now you need to face it. The hardest point of all. Not the swim. Not the cycle. Not the run. Not the many, many hours battling the elements, your body, your mind. This is worse. This is the moment you always dread. The point when you just want to give up and never do another race again.

This is reaching into your bag once you get home and sorting out your kit for washing…

This is the real challenge of triathlon….

“Why is my wetsuit covered in reeds? We were in a swimming pool?!?!?”

“Ugh…. this sock is… solid???!?!?!?”

“Don’t open the bag of half eaten bananas! No!!!!! Aaargggh! The smell! We’re all going to die!!!!!!”