My final trip to the North this weekend saw a monsterously long journey up the A1 to the monsterously beautiful North Yorkshire Moors.
The Richmond Grand Prix is the final race in the season long Premier Calendar series. With the big 3 teams away in Ireland, a 120 rider field took to the start, I suspect at least half the field believed they could win! As a result, the race was equally as hard if not harder than had the big 3 been there to control the proceedings. The parcours for this is probably the hardest of all the Prems. At only 130km, you could be lulled into a false sense of security, but a quick look at the profile soon put you in your place. An 80km en ligne section lead to the bottom of the climb of the Butter Tubs, this is a 2 mile long mountain that averages over 10%. Coming at only 32km into the race fresh legs should help, right? A steep, fast, bumpy, wet, sh!t scary descent follows. After another 25km of flat, fast valley road past the stunning Bolton Castle, the second climb of the day reared its ugly head. Not anything major by comparison to Butter Tubs, but the legs should be in enough pain to ensure the passage over this will not be easy. Another 25km of ridgetop windswept pain brings you to the 16km finish circuit, to be negotiated 3 times, including a dead straight mile long climb back up onto the moors into a block headwind, fun fun. After that, a 5km fast, mainly downhill run back into Richmond, which is by the way a beautiful Northern market town, well worth a visit if your up that way. The final 500m uphill, into the cobbled market square, just to make sure your finished off good and proper, 'like!
The flag was dropped... and nothing happened! The absence of the big 3 meant no one was quite sure what to do, well, for a brief second anyway. Inevitably a move of about 10 went almost straight away. The bunch behind was rolling along, at between 35 and 55kmh, which was far more unpleasant than a constant 50kmh as what normally occurs when the big 3 are present. The nervous peloton filed its way through a stunning valley towards the infamous Butter Tubs pass. It didn't take long to get there, and when we did there was hardly a slowing down. I gritted my teeth and got almost straight into the 25! I actually felt good, I was passing quite a few big names, but all the same, I could't quite live with the first main bunch as we neared the summit. I was in no mans land. There was a group of about 10 just behind me, so I slowed a bit for them as the descent began. OH MY WORD, the descent was the scariest 3km of my entire cycling life so far. It had been drizzling, so the road was wet, but not soaking, just greasy, you know? Added to this, it was very windy, very bumpy, very steep, and we were taking major risks to get back on before the valley. One moment will live with me for a long time:
About half way down, one rider lost his nerve on an 80kmh right hand bend, I had to get past. Do I go left or right? Right and I might slide out, left and he might push me into the dry stone wall! I went left, brushed shoulders, came inches from the wall, then had to negotiate an immeadiate left hand bend while on the completely wrong line. I made it, but by the skin of my teeth, if I were a cat, that was definately a life lost.
I made it off the hill in one piece, only to have a frantic chase back onto the bunch for a couple of miles. I got on, but I knew I had given a lot to get there, the legs were crammed full of lactic acid. I was the only one from my team to survive that climb, the bunch was halfed going over that climb, it was quite a selection for only 20 miles of racing! I settled into the bunch as best I could and rammed some food and drink down, through the feed and a bidon of coke was just the ticket. The next climb was fast approaching. I began to ride past people again, and got to the summit just off the back of the bunch. Which didn't bother me to begin with, as just behind me were some big powerhouse riders capable of chasing back. As it was, when we formed a chase group it was all we could do to hold the bunch at 100m, we just couldn't close it. So close but yet so far, and I reckon I probably could have just about stayed on the bunch had I pushed a little harder, though hind sight is a wonderful thing.
Onto the finish circuit and my groups collective head dropped, on the second lap myself and 4 others pushed clear on the climb and were the last group to make the time cut for the final lap, meaning we were the last people to finish! We tapped out a steady pace to the finish and rode into Richmond together, no sprint, there was a feeling of camaraderie amongst the last surviors, enough for us to respect eachother enough not to rip eachothers legs off for the sake of it! This resulted in 49th place for myself, just 53 riders made the full distance.
So there you go, this Prem lark ain't so bad, you just gotta know how and when to ride. If I could do what I can do now, back in May, the Lincoln would not have been such a disaster! Pleased as I am to finish, the lingering doubt over this weekend will be the pivotal moment on the second climb where maybe I could have just gone that bit harder... As good as it was to finish, there were still 48 people that went faster than me, and thats not good enough... However, serious respect to Alex Dowsett who ripped the race apart at the front and won solo by almost 3 minutes. Expect to see him on the Sky team.