Feeling like cycling Royalty - The Etape Caledonia

I seem to be collecting iconic events these days. Iconic events that push the boundaries of what I have achieved previously. The Etape Caledonia in the Scottish Highlands is one of these events and the people at ZipVit thought it would be good training for the hills of San Francisco when I escape from Alcatraz. The Etape is an 81 mile (131 km) cycle ride with a course profile that caused a few worried eye brow raises and made me perform a few quick calculations whether my bike had a small enough gear so I would not roll backwards down the hills. I had 3 weeks to prepare for this… here’s how I got on.

Bike travel fashion

I like train travel and with a bike, it is much easier – no bike box packing and disassembling of the bike. However, I had had a bit of a bad experience previously and so I had decided to protect my bike. I turned up at the train station with my little Kuota Kharma carefully cocooned in bubble wrap. I also made creative use of an old shower mat which would go over the metal rails.

The looks I attracted walking along with the wrapped up bike with the shower mat hanging over the top tube ranged from a knowing “Good call!!” to looks of bewilderment, clearly spelling out the word “NUTTER!”. Other people just looked very curious and craned their necks thinking that this must be a very expensive machine and wondering whether they should know me. Either way, I do not think I have ever turned so many heads and found it quite amusing.  

Pitlochry – Bike Central

The weather in Scotland is unreliable and while I lived there, I had adopted an attitude that if it was not raining the weather was good. For the race, I was hoping for exactly that – just no rain. When I arrived in Pitlochry on Saturday afternoon, it was a glorious day, the sun beaming from the sky – but there was also a bit of a wind blowing with quite strong gusts. I would gladly sacrifice some of the sun for a drop in wind speeds.

Pitlochry had turned into cycling central, with nearly every passing car carrying a precious two-wheeled cargo causing the pedestrian population to turn their heads and perform a quick assessment against their own set-up.

Race prep

My race number was 5262, the last number on the start list, and the last person in the last group to set off – I had put down it would take me more than 5:30 hrs. Based on the course profile and playing it safe, I figured that was realistic. However, a quick chat with some running friends and twitter followers brought about a reassessment of the situation and I went back to the registration and asked to move my start time to a faster group. I figured I could do around 5 hours. The lady was happy to change my registration, but the only group with flexibility was the “under 4:30 hrs” group – errhhh… ok, I’ll take that then.

I stopped at the ZipVit Sports stand to say Hello and have a chat about the Alcatraz prep and how the Etape would fit in, and of course to replenish my race nutrition stocks. Having never done this sort of distance before, I was massively concerned about running out of steam about half way and so had decided that I should eat a gel or a bar every 45 minutes and make sure I kept hydrated. So my bento box was filled with ZipVit energy bars, gels (with caffeine and without) and energy chews.

Pearls of wisdom over pasta

Dinner was another thorny issue, when I travelled I had not found a place for dinner yet and with 5000 people registered for the event, it was no wonder it was difficult. But it was again twitter to the rescue and I got temporarily adopted by a group of friends and work colleagues, some of whom had done the race before. So dinner was the ideal opportunity to gain some more first hand knowledge about the course – and it was rather useful. I heard about a mean little climb 7 km from the finish after a sharp left-hand turn that many people hit with the wrong gear and struggle – good to know. During dinner, I also gained a riding buddy @rapidorich (for those of you on twitter) for the race, who kindly agreed to go round with me – mainly in an effort to not get overexcited on the first bit and then pay for it later.

Race Day

After a night that was shorter than anticipated, I did not feel so hot when I looked out the window at grey skies and trees that had their branches whipped all over the place by the wind. Still I decided on knee warmers and shorts, toe covers for the shoes, a base layer, cycling top and arm-warmers and a gilet, packing a thin rain jacket just in case and fingerless gloves. The shades got the orange lenses (the world looks automatically brighter). A quick breakfast of cereal, toast and coffee, the drinks were prepared, the gels and bars stuffed in the bento box, with a few spare ones in the jersey (you never know) and off I was to the start.

I had been warned that there would be a long queue and the cyclists would cover all of the High Street, but I was a bit overwhelmed by what I saw. A sea of colourful jerseys, helmeted heads bobbing, bike wheels swirring, the clack of bike shoes clipping into the pedals left, right and centre – and the start banner a long way in the distance, just about visible.

After a while of jostling me and my bike through all of the riders, I met up with Rich and we made our way to the start. A quick bit of morning gymnastics when climbing over the barrier and we were sufficiently limbered up to join our start wave. The gun went and I was a bit emotional with all the cyclists and cheering people around me. Slowly we crept over the start line and we got off on our ride. 81 miles.

The first couple of miles flew past and I waited with dread the first steep incline that the course profile suggested. It came and went rather quickly, nothing really to be scared of… a nice warm-up to get the heart pumping and the blood flowing. We whizzed along the car-free country roads, with good surfaces – a quick look at my speedometer, it showed 18 mph. Ooops! I was aiming for 15, but I felt good, the group was good and I got pulled along. Wehee!!

The second steep incline on the course profile was much the same as the first, just a bit longer and we easily peddled up it passing loads of people who kept pushing big gears. A quick look at the watch, 45 min over. Time for food. I was determined to be religious about it. We bypassed the first feed station still speeding along at 18 mph. The terrain got a bit rolling and we turned into the wind. Time to look for some shelter behind some broad backs. But that was not so easy, mainly psychologically because I do not like riding in big groups riding close to the wheel of someone I do not know, all the while with riders from later waves zipping past. It was true what people told me, you were never alone in this race. Somewhere between 25 and 30 miles, I lost Rich when a big group came past and so I set off to tackle the rest alone.

After all, I was here to have fun, enjoy the ride and get mentally prepared for the big hills in San Francisco, finishing it was all that counted. Even on my own, I shifted the pace nicely, the wind came from the back and I had a bit of time to enjoy the peace and quiet and the spectacular scenery. I came past a “Smile zone” sign, although I did not really need extra encouragement to smile. I think throughout the race I had a big, broad smile on my face that even the occasional rain drops could not wash off.

The 40 mile sign came up and I took a look at the watch – 2:20 hrs. Uh! Zippy… nice, I was going a comfortable pace, felt strong, looked around, smiled, enjoyed… I was not in this to race it – except NOW I was! The race calculator came on in my brain. Maintain the pace, add a bit of time for Schiehallion and the other bumps in the road – uhmm… I could do this under 5 hours. Let’s go! The race was on!

King of Schiehallion

The next feed station came up and I quickly stopped to refill my water bottle. I had maintained my food intake of ZipVit gels and bars every 45 min and so things were looking good. 4 min to stop, refill, be back on the road – King of Schiehallion, here I come. I settled back into my pace and saw the sign announcing the timing start of the hill climb. I smiled. Right, this was it, let’s see! I dropped to my small chainring and the middle cog on the back and started tapping out a nice rhythm. In the steepest bit, all of a sudden the course patrol came through because someone had had an accident and the ambulance needed to get through. I have to say all riders behaved very well and the ambulance got through no problem.

And back I was climbing and tapping out that rhythm. The speedo said I was going 10-12 miles – but that was shortly before it died and kept flashing error messages at me. The end of Schiehallion was there rather quickly and I was a bit disappointed – I had just really got into this climb… oh well, all the better because I still had a good way to go and one sharp steep 20% climb waiting for me just kilometres from the finish.

To my surprise, I rode the downhill fairly well. I am a chicken and what I gain on the up-hill, I lose on the way down. But I hung in there enjoying the wind around my nose and thinking “Boy, am I glad, I’m wearing the knee warmers and toe covers”. I passed the feed station and kept pushing on along a long rolling stretch with really good roads. So I put my head down and pushed the pace. Looking at the signs for all the sights to see in the area… there was a sign for an outdoor activity centre in the village of Dull, someone’s not really thought through the marketing strategy there. I flew past the last feed station all the while waving and smiling at people lining the streets: families cheering, and children holding up signs they had made saying “Go! Go! Go!”. I felt a bit like on the Tour de France and just enjoyed it. The 65 miles sign disappeared in the distance and I had a little tear in my eye. This was further than I had ever gone before, every single mile pushed the distance boundary that bit further – and I was still going strong.

I’m having what she’s having

From 70 miles onwards, I got a bit nervous waiting anxiously for that last climb. I started mentally rehearsing how I would go up the hill, prepared for the gear shifting, and just seeing myself go up with confidence – after chickening out of the 25% climb in the New Forest, the mental rehearsal and encouragement was needed. Every mile I kept looking for the cheer point with the sharp left-hand turn, that immediately turned into the steep gradient… 75 miles… still nothing…and then in the distance I heard the cheers. The sign announced a left hand turn to Dunfallandy – this was it!

I shifted down, swung wide on the turn, sat back and kept the pedals turning. Lots of riders were not prepared and had got the gear wrong, stuck in a high gear desperately grinding up the hill. In contrast, I was dancing on the pedals, easily going past people winding left and right. To keep up the pace, I started talking to myself. “Come on girlie!” – I don’t like to be called girly, and I don’t like anything that is pink (whoever had the idea that if it said “woman” on something it needed to be pink?!). I’m sure the guy that I passed, thinking I was cheering him on, wasn’t entirely pleased about hearing “come on girlie”, as a disgruntled grumble suggested. I was still in the saddle easily turning the pedals, still having gears left and when I got near the top, I giggled to myself and said “Yes, yes, yes!” – again receiving a few confused looks and I was just waiting for someone to say: “I’m having what she’s having!”. I managed the hill and it was easy – San Francisco could come!

Once at the top, I did not hang around much… it was only about 7 km to go to the finish. RACE ON! I shifted back to the big chain ring and started time trialling it to the finish, remembering those sessions from Shepperton with 20 mph winds blowing in my face. Yes, I could do this and it was fun! There were a few bumps in the road that were a bit more severe than I expected, but nothing I could not handle. I flew over the bridge, turned into the main street, pushed it up the little hill, the last few hundred meters cheered on by people lining the streets in 4-5 deep rows. Shame there wasn’t really a Flamme Rouge on the course… but the support from the crowd was just amazing!

Beep – beep! I crossed the timing mat – that was it. It was over. I had done it! I could not quite believe it – and the watch showed 4:43 hrs and that included the water stop. After recovering a little bit, having a chat about the race, drinking and eating a bit, I walked back to the B&B contemplating the race, smiling – the heavy medal flopping against my chest with every step. After a nice hot shower, my legs started to recover and switched to achey mode, my lower back complained, but it was all washed over by joy. My friend Louise fed me the largest pile of pasta imaginable for dinner to refuel and I told my race story over and over…

Now I’m travelling on the train, back to London and just got word that the official results were posted. Since I’ve only got my own watch time and no idea about my King of the Mountain time, I was curious…. I analysed the spreadsheet to death:

-         1904th overall out of 4074 who finished

-         95^th woman out of 515

-         20^th in my age group out of 90ish

-         877^th in the King of the Mountain overall

-         27^th woman in the King of the Mountain

-         6th in my age group

Onwards and upwards

The rather big smile returned to my face. I am terribly pleased with myself. It was such a great ride: the weather was perfect, the people on the road came out in troves (some had even put water and jelly babies out). It had made me feel a bit like royalty, zipping through the car-free streets and country lanes waving at the crowds from my carbon steed with a big smile.

Mentally, the ride achieved its goal: I feel now better prepared for Alcatraz and certainly physically, I’m strong enough. Now I just need to recover, get through this week of training and then next weekend – then I’m off to the Palace, the Crystal Palace Sprint Triathlon.