Well you, son of T de F Rider...

Recovery Day One. Officially

2016-08-04T21:38:00.000+01:00

Today I did something I hadn't done for 52 days. Not like I was counting or anything, but yes, I cocked my leg over a bike and turned the pedals. I managed a massive 11kms on the turbo trainer in the back garden. About a 20 minute ride. My legs barely noticed, but my lungs felt like I had just grimped up Alpe D'Huez in the big ring.

Despite this poor performance I am hugely pleased and somewhat relieved that I managed that much without my back or ribs aching. I sat on my bike, spinning a low gear, grinning, no headphones on, no distractions, just listening intently to my body. In all honesty, waiting for something to give in, crack or fall off. Thankfully nothing did.

It was a big leap forward considering that at the beginning of July I couldn't walk more than two steps without getting out of breath. I couldn't bend over, couldn't dress myself, was generally in a terrible state living on morphine to allow me to be able to breath in deep or cough.

I finally got on the turbo trainer today because I got the nod from my personal physician/nutritionist/coach/manager/boss (my wife) to give it a try. This is after I have got the all clear from the neurologist re my spinal fractures and to lose my back brace, dropped my pain meds by over 50%, and finally got my INR (blood clotting ability) in the correct range. I am on Warfarin for at least the next 6 months so I have been Googling the effects of exercise on Warfarin absorption rate. So far I have found that it can increase or decrease it depending on the individual. So basically no help, I'll have to wait until my next test.

This is the start of the road to real recovery, i.e. being back on my bike. I'm told that the clots in my lungs will take anything from 3 to 6 months to clear and that I may be left with a reduced lung capacity. Ironically I'm the lightest I've been in 20 years and almost at my racing weight when I stopped racing in 1993 but have the least fitness ever. I'm hoping I can keep some of this weight loss as I start to find a way to some fitness again. I have also read on the t'interweb that blood thinners (warfarin) have no known affect on VO2 max, so there's no stopping me now!

I still count my lucky stars that I'm able to get to this point and appreciate that things could have gone much worse for me. Hopefully I will see you on the road in the coming months.

The Majorcan Disaster - The Clusterf*ck Continues.... aka Part 4

2016-07-05T22:41:00.000+01:00

Introduction (please imagine it being narrated by Leonard Nimoy)

Fast and Furious
The Expendables
The Bourne Series
Terminator
Transformers
Spiderman
Pirates of the Caribbean
Final Destination

What do these movie franchises have to do with Scott's tumble in the Majorcan countryside? Not much, until now.

Now, his little story can join the ranks of the above esteemed titles by going on (at least) one story too long. As much as Scott would have loved to wrap things up after the last episode where he made it home in a back brace for a slow but steady recovery.

But, oh no, that's way too easy, so, dear reader, sit back and enjoy the next thrilling episode with Scott and his dodgy descending technique.

I got home from hospital on a Friday afternoon. I had a truck load of meds and a back brace.

"Honestly love, I feel a bit tired now but another few days and I'll able to start going back into the office"

I probably even believed that too as I said it over the early part of the following week. Things are going well, I can feel my back improving. I'm not sleeping too bad, just need to wake for extra meds about 6am to put me on through the morning. Even managed to get out in the car for a coffee once or twice. Just 40 mins out of the house but a welcome change of scene.

So one week on from my release and everything is on the mend.

Then it starts.

Pain in my "good lung". How's that even possible? I did no damage to it whatsoever. But the pain is there and building nonetheless. In the space of a couple of hours it's really severe. So much so I can't get any relief from it. Nic (my wife) is really worried and decides to call an ambulance. The rapid response car is here within minutes. The ambulance follows very close behind. The paramedics do some tests and decide to take me in to A&E.

On arrival at A&E I'm straight through into triage and seen by a nurse. I'm still crying out for pain relief and eventually some is offered. I'm moved to another area of A&E and after 3 hours seen by the doctor on duty. After getting stronger pain killers the pain starts to subside so the doc thinks its just muscular damage and advises I go home as I am already booked in on Monday for a follow up appointment on the chest ward.

So we go home. But even by the time I get into bed I'm in bulk again. And its far worse than any pain I experienced after the crash. I'm climbing the walls. I've taken every pain med I'm allowed and am waiting for it to kick in.

Saturday morning. I've had 2 hours sleep but the pain is subsiding. All though the day, the pain is quite low and manageable. I even sleep ok on Saturday night. Sunday is a different story. The pain ramps up in the evening and I'm in the most excruciating pain. All night. Nic wants to phone an ambulance or take me to A&E but I can't see the sense of hanging around for hours. I tough it out to go to the clinic on the ward at 9am in the morning.

We get to the ward (38 my old favourite) and have bloods and X-rays done. I see the doctor and he decides that I need to be readmitted straight away. A bed is ready for me and I'm booked in for a CT scan.

A serious looking doctor return with the CT scan results and tells me that both lungs have multiple clots on them as well as being infected. Aha! That's why I was in pain then.

Another battle now begins, the main one being to get the pain under control. I'm now at the end of day 2 in the hospital as I write this. I just about have the pain sorted (most of the time) but I'm sure I could squeeze out one more episode down the line...?

PS I could write a book entitled "Ward Banter", with all the crazy that goes on in here. But only when my ribs have healed fully.

The British Response to a Foreign Crisis (Part 3 of The Majorcan Disaster)

2016-06-24T20:38:00.000+01:00

Following on from my last blogs about this, (read them first please if you haven't) I've made it back Blighty. I am about to be handed over to the care of the NHS from Luxembourg Air Rescue. I had also previously stated that this would be a chance for me to see first hand a direct comparison from the care I got in Majorca and here.

Before I get into that there are a couple of points I want to make.

I am and always have been very pro NHS. I do think it's a great institution but you only ever hear the negatives re waiting times or ops that have gone wrong etc. But those are the things that make headlines. Unfortunately we are quick to complain and slow to praise. After all, why should you say "well done" to anyone treating you. "They're just doing their job". Well, to some extent maybe that's true. But caring, as a profession, is so personal, there are many degrees of good and "bad" that can be distinguished by the patient, you know if someone is doing a good job or just their job.
I realise there is no straight comparison between private healthcare and what the NHS can do in terms of resources. It's just not fair. An analogy I'd like to use and which fits in with the point of writing this is: Imagine you have had two dinner party invites and have to judge which is best. The first is from a millionaire in a fantastic mansion with caterers from the finest restaurant around. The second is from a guy who lives under a railway bridge in a cardboard box who gets his food from a food bank. Yes there is no comparison in the cuisine, but the hospitality could be more welcoming in either setting. It's down to the host. Ok a bit extreme but you get my drift.

Back to the story. We were told in Majorca that the flight took so long to organise as they were organising a bed for me at Arrowe Park Hospital (APH). The ambulance backs up to the doors and flight doctor tells the person meeting us that she has the name of a doctor receiving us and the ward.

We are then told that we need to go to ITU. It takes 2 different people to guide us, that's me on a stretcher, the ambulance driver, my flight doctor and nurse and my wife. We all troop up and down corridors to the ITU. On arrival at ITU its obvious its the wrong place. Everyone in there are on ventilators and seriously unwell (not just a bit of gravel rash and bit of a bang to the back). We are then herded to another ward with the same "computer says no" answer. In the end after a mini tour of the ground floor we end up at A&E reception, like a walk in. So much for forward planning.

After a bit of haggling by the flight doc, we go through to the triage area. Notes are handed over and I'm formally booked into the NHS system. It's then an emotional farewell to Dr Schmit and Nurse Louis, as they jet off to rescue another poor displaced unfortunate.

So now I'm waiting for a bed. The time ticks on, and after being shuffled round a few times, almost 5 hours later I'm taken up to the Acute Assessment Ward. This ward is special, it has doctors on duty round the clock, so its good for new patients who haven't been tested as yet and are unknown as to their requirements.

I'm put in a bed in the corner of a bay. A quick few questions are asked then a blood pressure and temp taken. It's nearly 3am now, and a ask for a bottle to slash in as I'm busting. The care assistant gives me it and then draws the curtain round my bed. I fill the bottle but now think its too full to put down on its flat surface. I think, ok I'll hold it a minute until she comes back. As I said it's 3am and there are 4 other blokes asleep in beds in the same bay. 30 minutes go by and still no sign of anyone coming. I realise I can't reach the buzzer. (I was never told I had a buzzer or where it was) Another 20 minutes and I thinking if I fall asleep I'll get a wave of piss over me. So I risk putting it down. It's ok, just, thanks to a particularly thick meniscus.

Now I'm lying there on the Acute Assessment Ward, thinking, I'm behind a curtain, I have no monitoring on me (I was constantly monitored in Majorca) and no buzzer. I could shout, but I'm way too polite to wake anyone. I could slip off in my sleep here and no one would know. The irony of it on an assessment ward.

At 6am the ward is moving again and someone opens my curtains and it's an emotional farewell to the pint of piss I had lovingly kept by me all night.

Drugs round comes by and I get topped up with something heavy. This is quickly followed by breakfast and toast is placed just out of reach with a cup of tea. I haven't eaten for 14 hours by then so was feeling a bit empty. However, with the drug swimming in my system and the lack of sleep, it takes me a while to compute that there is food but I can't reach it. Not to worry though, the same breakfast lady comes back and I'm thinking, ah yes, she'll help me sort it now. Wrong. "Finished" (not sure whether an exclamation or question mark is more appropriate here) was her opening (and closing) gambit and off she waltzes with my untouched toast and now luke warm tea.

I lie in a state of shock (and hunger) as it sinks in what just happened. I'm now thinking I should have stayed in Majorca and had the three week wait to fly commercial. No, give her the benefit of doubt, perhaps she is just too busy to waste time with people who aren't eating, and there must be loads. After all, she probably still had to deliver a brief synopsis of last nights soaps and what her uncles friends cousins sons girlfriends sister in law did with some guy from Birko last Saturday to the other staff on the ward.

One of the main reasons I was in discomfort on this ward was that I didn't have a reclining bed. In Majorca I had a few buttons that could adjust the angle of the bed to make it easier to get up and down. Here it was fixed, so if I wanted to change position or sit upright I had to use my own diminished strength to do it. I put unnecessary strain on my fractured ribs and vertebra trying to keep comfortable. When I asked if I could swap, I was told there weren't enough of those "posh" beds to go round. Even though the guy opposite me had one, kept permanently flat as he was dressed and waiting to be discharged.

An old guy across the ward from me is in discomfort and very confused. A care assistant settles him and he asks for his dressing gown. She hands it to him and walks off. He's in pain, not very mobile and so can't manage. He's shouting again for help. The care assistant is now with another patient and says to herself (and most of the ward because I could hear 2 beds away) "Oh for gods sake not again" She back to him with a "what now?" attitude. He tries to explain he can't get it on and she helps him get one hand in then leaves. He's now stuck again and shouting again. Same retort from the care assistant and she's back to him after a few minutes. Now I don't what this care assistant has to deal with on a daily basis, but I would have thought that caring for people who can't help themselves is quite high on the list. To me, if she had really been interested in this gent's comfort she would have stayed with him and finished seeing to his requirements until he was properly comfortable. It maybe would have taken a couple of minutes longer but overall probably less time than she spent anyway. (like a "proper host") Plus the patient would have felt like she cared, which is, I think, just as important. There were a few other incidents similar to this but I'm not going to labour the point.

What I got from this experience was that this is a lot of people first experience of NHS care. Incredible, it can't be a true reflection of what really happens?

The day shift came on and I have to say, thankfully that things improved. The staff were more attentive and actually registered that I wasn't very mobile and needed a bit more help moving things within reach.

Early in the evening I'm moved up to the Lung Support Unit. It's like a different hospital. I'm settled in a nice "posh" bed and offered some dinner as I missed it on the other ward. The staff are brilliant. So attentive and caring and the ones I saw did their often difficult tasks with a happy smile and a kind, encouraging word. I'm in a bay of six beds and there are some really poorly blokes here. Such complex needs with most of them being immobile and all with breathing issues that make my injuries look like I have a paper cut.

All my levels are checked regularly and I'm asked about my pain level often to make sure they can keep me comfortable. The food is actually not bad (insert gasp here). There is a lot of choice and it gets delivered hot, which I'm sure is no mean feat in such a big operation.

Until you have sat in a ward like this you don't really appreciate how many people it takes to keep a place like this running and offer the high standard of care it does. There are so many auxiliary tasks that constantly need doing that no body thinks about. Cleaning is a massive task. I know there have been horror stories about people catching these super bugs whilst in hospital, but until you see how stretched they are, I just think they do well not to get more. With all beds full most of the time and tonnes of equipment everywhere that patients are plugged into, how can you expect to be 100% successful?

In the following three days here, I improve steadily and get my chest drain taken out on the second day. This was the real start of recovery for me. I'm now free to move about more and my body, in turn, is starting to get back to functioning more normally.

Morning on day three I am told that all respiratory tests are good and they are happy to discharge me from their service. I just need the nod from orthopaedics and I'm good to go home. I'm buzzing. My wife arrives at visiting time and helps me have a shower, a shave and get dressed. I feel like a new man. Just got to wait a bit longer. And a bit longer.

And a bit longer.

Now it's after 7pm and looking unlikely that I will get the nod to go home today. You could say that this is the sort of situation in which the NHS service lets itself down. After all it seems a simple task of getting an expert to look at the scans and either say ye or nay. That decision (and let us say for the sake of my sanity is an all clear) will then allow me to go home. I'm freeing up a bed, and that has got to be a high priority, no?

Unbelievably ANOTHER day passes, still waiting on the scans to be seen. I feel like a fraud on this ward (ooh that rhymes) as my lung problems have been resolved.

The next day (number six) see the experts deciding I need a spinal brace for the next 10 weeks. Super.

In summary, you can't compare levels of care when it's measured by monetary resource. Care is the human element, the attitude to the job. Both hospitals I visited had both showed this to be true. Overall, I am very lucky to be on the road to recovery, and very very lucky to be getting the greatest care now from my family and friends.

BREXIT Campaign's Most Dastardly Plot Uncovered (WARNING CONTAINS DISTURBING IMAGES)

2016-06-23T19:37:00.000+01:00

A most heinous and dastardly plot to swing the EU Referendum vote to "Leave" has been uncovered on the very day of the vote. The plot involves knobbling 2 votes for the price of one target.

The plot centres on a 45 year old man from Wirral, who had accepted to be a proxy voter for his daughter. His identity is being kept secret due to forthcoming investigation and possible legal proceedings. For the purpose of this report he will be referred to as Mr O.

After accepting the proxy voter request from his daughter, who returned to university a couple of days before the vote, Mr O took his wife and daughter on a small holiday to Majorca.

Unbeknown to Mr O the email account that his request was sent from was hacked and his personal details were acquired by a blacks ops team working for the Leave Campaign.

An assignation team was sent to Majorca to take Mr O out and thus his votes. It can now be reported that the attack happened near the top of a small mountain pass in the North East of the island. Following is an extract from an official police statement from the scene:

"At approximately 17:00 CEST on Monday 13th June 2016, Mr O was descending a small mountain road close to Pollensa. After a ballistics report it has become evident that he was shot at by a sniper who was most certainly hidden in the lower branches of a tree near the bend. Mr O was shot in the shoulder and subsequently crashed off the road sustaining multiple fractures and a pneumothorax (collapsed lung). It appears that the sniper thought the job was done and fled the scene. Fortunately Mr O survived thanks to some passers by and was hospitalised.

We would like to appeal to any members of the public who saw anything on that day around the scene of the crime. We are struggling to see how such a ~~fat~~ portly man could have ridden up that climb. He must have had help and we would like the persons involved to come forward. His legs were not shaved. All information will be treated in complete confidence."

Mr O's gunshot would clearly showing the point of entry of the high velocity round.

What is more disturbing is that the plot twisted further when Mr O managed to escape the island back to the UK on a private jet.

Mr O fleeing the island aboard a private jet

It appears now that he was tracked to the hospital now caring for him and further attempts were made to prevent him voting. These included starving him for a couple of hours (at least), then feeding him the hospital food. They even tried making him sleep with the "big light" on.

All to no avail. Mr O is far more resilient than the Brexit campaign originally thought.

The final twist in this most horrific plot was to turn their attention to the people caring for Mr O, rather than Mr O himself.

The scans of Mr O's fractures were to be sent to a specialist spinal unit in Liverpool. It is thought the campaign hacked into the NHS system and distorted the images. Once this was discovered, the scans were resent via secure carrier pigeon and were received by the specialist team. However the plot darkened yet again as no radioligists were suddenly available to review the scans. One of the team commented:

"It was getting a bit close to 4pm, I needed a brew and to get home for the start of 'The Chase'. I bloody love Bradley Walsh."

The resulting delay caused the review not to take place today. The upshot is Mr O is still trapped in the hospital (for the second day running) and will miss his vote and that of his daughters.

If the vote turns out to be Leave by less than two votes, the Government is planning to launch a full investigation and appeal the result.

More probably won't follow...

A Trauma Abroad

2016-06-21T11:21:00.001+01:00

Even though I have already posted about the crash, I wanted to share my experience of having a major trauma in a foreign land and how I was treated.

I want to start from just after I hit the deck. Initially, I was lying in the ditch over some big rocks screaming like a baby. I admit I'm not brave at the best of times but this was pain like I have never felt before. (By the way read the previous post if you haven't already so it makes sense.) I shouted for the first couple on the scene to help me up. I was aware I could move my head and limbs ok so I didn't think anything can be broken.

As they pull me to my feet I realise the pain is too intense to stand up, so I lie down on the road on my side which didn't hit the wall. Other people arrive on the scene and try to offer comfort. Something soft is put under my head and I'm given shade and water. As I'm lying there I can feel it difficult to breathe and very painful if I try to take a deep breath. It's now I begin to think that I have really knackered myself. There is a big gash on my shin and a large egg is developing, but I can't feel it due to the pain in my back and lung.

Being of a theatrical temperament I started to panic about my breathing which of course worsened the effects which in turn panicked me more. I did, at one point, think this could be it, no ambulance in sight, no medical provisions to help me. It was only the calming nature of the people who had stopped to help, particularly the English couple, Dr Steph (a German holidaymaker) and a Spanish gent who talked some sense back into me that stopped me freaking out completely.

After a lifetime (90 minutes) of lying on my side on the tarmac, the ambulance arrived. By this time my arms and legs were pins and needles and I was getting sore all over. The ambulance drivers then had a debate with Dr Steph as to my injuries and how to get me up off the road. As it turned out, the "just get him up, let him scream like a girl" approach was used and I was strapped to a board and hauled into the blood wagon.

Now, the most important question you will ever get asked in situations like this was asked of me...

"Do you 'av the private insurance?"

Fortunately, I could answer "Yes". This was followed by another quick debate and then a Spanish lady, who had stopped to help, telling me "that's good, they will take you to a good hospital now".

The ride to the hospital was horribly bumpy and seemed like ages. When I did arrive at the hospital I was seen straight away. The unnerving thing is the doctors talking over you in Spanish. I did do Spanish for a year in school, but I'm limited to telling you my name, my age and where I live. Oh and ordering a hot chocolate.

A doctor then told me (and my wife and daughter who had arrived ahead of me) that a CT scan and X-rays were needed. These were done straight away, and the diagnosis of broken ribs, vertebra and punctured lung was given to us.

It was at this point that the real shock kicked in. My realisation that I'd singlehandedly ruined my wife and daughters holiday and caused untold havoc on immediate arrangements sunk in.

I cursed myself for two things straight away:

1) I'd paid an extra €20 to extend my bike hire until the Friday

2) I'd upgraded the holiday booking from b&b to half board! All those dinners to be left uneaten!

On a serious point, and probably the moral of this story, the insurance company was fantastic. My daughter (who was equally fantastic at dealing with a crisis) spoke to them and they then dealt with the hospital directly. I wouldn't need to pay up front for anything and my personal medical limit is in 7 figures. It sounds daft to worry about money after a serious accident, but it really can be a worry abroad. Even though you are covered with your E111 (in Europe (for the time being!)), private insurance makes certain that the care that you are given is the best (in my experience anyway).

I was moved to intensive care for a chest drain to be put in to re-inflate the part of my lung that had collapsed. After that was done, and I climbed back down off the ceiling into bed, I was dosed up like a 90's pro racer and slept on and off for the next 18 hours.

I was on all sorts of monitors and checked regularly by the staff. They were all very attentive and all made a good go at speaking English. After I had 15 hot chocolates lined up by my bed side they realised I was trying to say thank you.

I still think that I should have been on at least first name terms with the young nurse who gave me a thorough bed bathing on that first morning, but hey, this is what it must be like abroad, so I went with it.

So after some haggling with the insurance company they agreed to fly me home via air ambulance. The problem was that if they took my chest drain out, I couldn't fly for 3 weeks, and if its left in I can't fly commercial. But fair play to them, they sorted it out and for a bed to be awaiting me at my local hospital back home. So after 6 nights in intensive care, I got to go home.

A doctor and nurse team arrived to collect me and my wife in an ambulance to take us to the plane. They were fantastic. I got a last minute CT scan to ensure they could fly at altitude. Fortunately I was good to go. If that had not been the case they would have flown us at low level at 3 times the cost (circa £30k) and have had to stop to refuel on a much slower flight.

I got the full sirens and flashing lights treatment to the airport. We were then driven onto the private part of the airport, a few security questions then driven out to the plane.

It was small. Not sure what I expected but this was about a 10 seater. Hard to get in and out of (for a croc like me) but ok once you are seated.

As a precaution I was strapped into a stretcher for take off but as I felt no pain I moved to the "lounge area" for refreshments during the flight

We landed after 1 hr 40 in Liverpool in heavy rain. An ambulance was waiting to collect us to take us to Arrowe Park Hospital. Another blue light journey.

Overall, a first class service and the medical team from Luxembourg Air Rescue were fantastic. I can only thank the insurance company for their superb efforts and especially Dr Raul in Majorca who ensured I was pain free whilst I was under his care.

But that's only half the story. I was now going into the care of the NHS. How would this measure up? If nothing else, I get the inside view on the direct comparison between foreign private health care and our beloved NHS. In the next blog I will give an honest opinion as to my treatment.

Majorca 2016 - Official Press Release

2016-06-15T20:35:00.001+01:00

I can now state "My season is in ruins"...

...and it was all going so well.

I'm sorry to report I've had a major "off" descending the Coll de Femenia last Monday (13th June).

I had just picked up a hire bike in Puerto de Pollensa for few hours of pedalling in the sun and mountains of Majorca this week in-between lying in the sun with a few beers and lazing in the pool.

Unfortunately all those plans have been ended by over cooking a corner a few turns down from the top of the Femenia. I had just spent, what felt like forever dragging myself up the 7.7km climb in 29 degrees heat. It had occurred to me more than once on the way up, "what the hell am I doing? I could be lying by the pool". Still, I pressed on and eventually reached the summit. Obviously I stopped to take the obligatory selfie.

A happy Scott only a few minutes before the crash

I then set off back down towards Pollensa and the sanctuary of the hotels pool/bar.

A car went passed me near the start of the descent and I think part of me was distracted watching him take the corners in front of me. Before I knew it a was into a steep bend and was going too fast. I instinctively slammed on but my braking emphasis was on the back brake rather than the front as the continental hire bike (hired on le continent) was set up for "English riders" i.e. front brake on the right. Which is great unless you are an old skool rider like yours truly who has always ridden with the front brake on the left. The result was my back wheel locking up and passing me by just before dropping into a 3 foot deep drainage ditch full of gnarly looking boulders. As I inevitably hit a large boulder (and I remember clearly seeing this happen) I was thrown over the handle bars and into a dry stone wall, which I bounced off and landed on another boulder on my back.

The resulting pain was excruciating. Up until this moment I had never broken a single bone in my body. Now, (unknown to me at this stage) I had broken six at once.

The motorists ahead (a German couple) stopped and reversed up to help me. Then 3 other cars stopped to help, an English couple, a Spanish couple and another German couple with the lady being a doctor. She was massive help. An ambulance was called for and Dr Steph got me into the recovery position on the road. I had to lay for 1 and 1/2 hours waiting for the ambulance. But all those people stayed with me offering shade, water and comfort for my head off the road. I will always be grateful for their kindness at the most painful time I have experienced. Dr Steph insisted on administering pain killers to me before she would let the ambulance leave.

Because I have travel insurance I was taken to a private hospital near where we were staying. It is most excellent. The speed and efficiency are incredible. I'd have a CT scan and several X-rays within 20 minutes of arriving.

Injuries sustained are 2 broken ribs, a punctured lung and 4 cracked vertebra. Plus a large amount of skin left on the mountainside. Of course, the MOST painful part was when the doctor CUT off by brand new @castellicafe shorts I had only received 2 days before the trip!

As I write this from my hospital bed I am feeling not too bad, but I do have lots of drugs in me. I also have a chest drain to help reinflate the 30% of my lung which collapsed. The cuts on my head are from my helmet. I didn't even feel a bump on my head but I was sure glad to be wearing a helmet.

All in all, when I replay the final moments in my head, I think it could have been a lot worse and I thank my lucky stars some of my fellow Europeans stopped to help!

I can now only apologise to my lovely wife and daughter who have now had their holiday ruined by my moment of carelessness. Thank you for being here for me xxx

Softly softly, catchy monkey

2016-05-11T14:38:00.000+01:00

April was an improvement on earlier months this year. Got out half a dozen times and a staggering distance of about 360kms. Even managed two visits to the world famous Eureka Cafe. The cake there always ensures I don't lose too many calories on these rides.

Did my longest ride for quite a while, in fact my longest recorded on Strava, 116kms. Went over the "Shelf" a famous climb out of Rhuthin in North Wales. Wasn't too bad either. Last time I went over there was 25 years and 10kgs ago. I did notice the difference! But it reminded me of what I had been missing. Despite my lack of ability, I do still like the hills of North Wales. This area of the UK is really fantastic for pedalling around.

The new kit arrived (see last post) and was fitted. Managed to get it all working, so I'm very pleased with the upgrades so far. Even managed to recoup some of the cost with a bit of spit and polish on the old kit and flogged on eBay.

Major recent purchases are a new helmet and some Oakleys. Can't believe the ones I have from 1991 aren't still in fashion. Decided on some that change with light level. As I do a lot of evening rides, the light fading will not be an issue.

Selecting a new helmet was not an easy decision. Tried on a few in various shops, even ordered, then sent back one from the t'interweb. In the end, a grabbed a bargain (I think) from Chain Reaction Cycles, a MET Stradivarius for £49.99 (same item on Wiggle was £125ish).

Majorca looms and I am getting ready to hit the hills. Still haven't booked a bike, but I know what and where now, so I have just got to measure my current velocipede so I know what size to order.

Had some fun looking at old jerseys that were stored in an old suitcase in the loft. Got them down, and with the help of my lad managed a pic of a few of them with me squeezed in. If you want a laugh check out the video below.

Hope the weather improves so I can get out a bit more consistently. I am still (am you can guess) made of chocolate (or other material that doesn't fair well in water).

Happy cycling...

Back in the saddle?

2016-03-29T13:43:00.000+01:00

So after an okish (for once) January, Feb was not great. Three (3) rides. Just three. Just over 200kms. Pretty rubbish, but I put it down to the crap weather and my penchant for not wanting to get wet or go out when its dark and cold. Well, I wasn't going to ride in the Eddie Soens Memorial race in early March so I think I can get away with it.

Then March arrived. Another ski trip followed by a bout of man flu wiped out nearly the whole month. I suppose the skiing itself was good training, but that was soon undone by a further 20 day lay off. But now we have got to Easter and I have had two rides in three day. Only short 30 kms at a time, but softly, softly catchy monkey (as they say).

Two bits of exciting and motivating news to help me going forwards though...

1) A major order made from Wiggle!! (Other online cycle component retailers are available). I decided to go "all in" and purchase a new groupset and pedals. Not a moment too soon either as the current one on my road bike is probably 14 years old. It should arrive later this week and I can then vent a series of expletives trying to assemble it. I already know I haven't got the tools (or skills probably) to sort out the bottom bracket. That aside, I am really looking forward to the injection of new life to the summer bike. Despite the plethora of 90's lycra I still insist on wearing, my bike at least with be more up to date. Just need to sort a new helmet out now. Mine is mouldy!

2) Project Majorca is on! Got a week booked in June and I want to ride up them there hills for the first time since 1992! I have started looking into bike hire and have even discovered that you can get a bike bus to the far side of the island so you can ride back on roads you couldn't get to in just one day. Officially it's not a cycling holiday, but I am aiming to get 2 or 3 days on the roads in the sunshine.

Roll on June and roll on the postman knocking on the door with my Wiggle order!

January. Done.

2016-02-01T14:10:00.002+00:00

Ok, so the cycling isn't going as great as I'd hoped. But I can blame the weather and holidays for that so I don't feel too guilty about it. Yet.

I actually skied further than I rode my bike in January. Not sure that is something to be proud of or not. I suppose it is if you are cyclist trying to be a skier. Perhaps not the other way round. But neither scenario really applies to me. I skied 289km and only rode 204km in January. Could be the making of a new winter duathlon type event... Skicling...?

I do love skiing though. I had a fantastic week in Les Arcs, weather and snow were amazing. In fact it was too warm. Only got to wear my Darth Vader ski mask a couple of times as it was just not needed (except at the very top as shown above).

I just hope the weather picks up here now as I want to get out on my bike again. Large quantities of food and red wine offset any calories spend on the piste (with quite a bit to spare). I may have to resort to mechanical doping, as this seems to be the in thing at the moment.

Happy New Year

2016-01-01T22:39:00.000+00:00

Of course I am starting a blog on Jan 1st. Like all good resolutions it's a new year and a new beginning.

One resolution I want to make and stick to is to ride my bike regularly for the entire year. I haven't done that since 1992. I picked my bike up again last July and have ridden at least once every week (except for holidays) since then. I'm not much fitter than from when I started somehow, or at least that's how it feels when I am out with the club (especially in the hills). I have more hope that I will manage riding more because I bought a winter bike and joined a club, two big steps in the right direction.

So, what I want to do this year is:

Ride more miles
Lose more weight

Simple...

Insanity Workout. It's well titled (part one)

2013-11-07T16:57:00.001+00:00

Insanity... for the insane (part one)

This is the tale of how a slightly overweight, middle aged coach potato (but former elite athlete (sort of)) took on the Insanity Challenge.

For those of you who don't know, Insanity, is a work out program owned by a company called Beachbody based in the US. The program was put together by a guy called Shaun T (apparently that's his last name, but I cannot deny or confirm that he is Mr T's son).

The name "Insanity" I think comes from the fact that the routine is a series of physical exercises done at an absolutely mental pace. The program guarantees significant results in terms of body shaping and weight loss in 60 days and I can immediately see why. You dedicate 45 mins per day to the workouts. It's a series of high intensity exercises going at full tilt with very short rest periods.

Day one - Fitness test

The fitness test consists of 8 separate exercises that you do for a minute each. The idea is that you count and record the reps you do for each exercise. You then repeat the fitness test at various intervals to measure your improvement. A good way to measure your progress and I didn't do too bad compared with the "machines" in the DVD who are doing it.

Day two - Plyometric Cardio Circuit

Just a fancy name for a bit of circuit training. It's tough though. Of course, I'm starting in bulk from day one's affects. It's really hard on your thighs as Shaun T likes doing loads of squats.

Day three - Cardio Power and Resistance

This is really difficult now as the accumulative effect of the first 2 days is really taking its toll. I actually can't walk without either mincing or looking like I have shat myself. I can't do stairs at all. I actually did use the lift to get to my first floor office for the first time ever. I begin to question my own sanity.

Day four - Cardio Recovery

Recovery, now there's a word I want to hear. At this stage I am not sure how much more punishment I can take. It turned out that the workout wasn't easy, but the affects of doing it did help a lot. Maybe it's not so bad afterall...

Day five - Pure Cardio

Now here is 38 minutes of a new level of pain and torture I previously couldn't imagine. Obviously, like all these exercises, it's as hard as you make them. But trying to keep up is tough! But, do you know what, I'm starting to get the hang of it. I'm less sore (still knackered) but beginning to be able to "hurt" myself without fear of "hurting" myself if you know what I mean.

Day six - Plyometric Cardio Circuit

Back to this again and I notice I real difference in the amount I can do of each exercise. It helps that I'm not in bulk to start with, but I do find the warm up more tiring than the rest of the workout!

Day seven - ...and rest....

Never have I enjoyed a Sunday evening so much! The unbelievable relief that there is no guilt in sitting and enjoying relaxing in front of the box because I'm not meant to be doing anything else. Sweet.

Week Two

Second week is more of the same. Different order but the same routines.

Until Saturday.

Then some sick bar steward came up with the cunning plan that it would be a great idea to do TWO workouts one straight after another. Ingenious. Pure Cardio PLUS a new thing called Cardio Abs. Sounds painful and is. I have to be honest here and say that my abs are so well covered by my protective layer of fat at this stage that they really don't have the strength to do a quarter of what's asked for in the Cardio Abs workout. It's super tough, especially as I've just given my all in Pure Cardio.

Despite this I give it everything and yet still manage to get out of bed on Sunday.

Week Three

This starts with another fitness test. Same drill as week one day one. Incredibly I managed to more than double the initial fitness test results. Something is working! It's a real boost knowing that it may not be all in vain. I do some measurements and I have lost an inch from my waist and gain a half inch on my thighs and biceps. Pretty chuffed. The rest of the week goes well with more of the same as the first two weeks.

Week Four

I'm halfway through week four, feeling like it's making a difference. But then disaster strikes. I'm hit hard by the dreaded man flu. I stop the work outs and try to recover fast. The cold drags on and it's 10 days before I feel well enough to carry on.

So I decide to go back to the beginning of week four instead of trying to start week 6. This is going to push back my schedule to dangerously close to Christmas. But, as they say, it's tough at the top. Stay tuned for further updates to come...

The Science of Selecting Your Seat on the Bus

2013-08-09T10:20:00.001+01:00

You would probably guess that most people would say that they don't think about where they sit on a bus. But a recent study using 4 years worth of data* suggests otherwise.

This applies mainly to the frequent bus user in particular as they use previous experiences of bus rides to influence their decision. Infrequent bus passengers are initially distracted by the novelty factor to make any sort of calculated choice.

This research is based on frequent commuter passengers typically spending over 20 minutes on each journey.

First of all, the bus type plays a big part in seating tactics. For example the back seats on a single decker bus are viewed very differently to the back downstairs seats on a double decker or indeed the upstairs back seats. Here's a break down of the areas and my advice on where to sit to achieve the ultimate goal for a sole traveller...

A double seat to yourself...

Lets face it. First aim is to sit by yourself. Secondary to that is to sit by someone pleasant. I.e. someone who doesn't smell, hack his/her lungs up on a regular basis, play loud annoying drum and bass through cheap earphones or some old gribbly who wants to know your life history (and for you to know theirs).

Single Decker Buses

These are mentally made up of 4 main areas:

1) The front seating area. This is where the gribblies, wheelchair users and pram pushers sit. On a packed bus this is the last place you want to sit. Chances are you will have to give your seat to a more deserving*** person. You are likely to get stared down by a two year old or spoken to constantly by an 80 year old man. Add also into the mix that you often get the drunks in this area.

2) The mid section. The is the only real safe(ish) haven on this type of bus. It where the average work commuter would choose by default. 65.4%** of the time they would even sit next to someone and leave a free double seat in the "gribbly zone".

3) The back section. This is where you get the youths aiming for in order to swear, laugh loudly and eat McDonalds fast food. They often enjoy loud conversations on every topic from last nights conquests to the last car they "boosted". Also the place to catch up on the current "popular music" by listening to it being played at full volume by some greasy mentalist through his cheap earphones. Choose this section at your peril especially if you are travelling alone.

4) The standing section when a double seat is out of the question. This can be a gamble. Most people would prefer a seat but if it's a straight choice between sitting in the last free seat next to an unwashed inbred or standing, well.... If the bus is at capacity then standing may be the only option. No one wants to be forced down the aisle to stand as it feels awkward looming over everyone else who is sitting. However, it's a great place to be if you want to know what people are texting to their loved ones, what book they have on their Kindle or perhaps overhear a conversation between two people discussing what happened last night etc. You are though, best placed to get the next free seat when someone alights. This particularly hacks off your fellow commuters if you have only just got on the bus and have pushed passed lots of others who have been standing for a while. The added excitement to the standing section when its really busy is the sport that the driver partakes in. Not many drivers can resist the lure of breaking and accelerating extra hard when there are lots of people stood up and hanging on just to see what carnage they can cause.

Double Decker Buses
You would think that this type of bus would present a more difficult decision. However research* shows that 79.2%** of regular commuters automatically dismiss one of the decks instantly through familiarity and habit.

Upper Deck

1) The front section. In particular the front seats. In particular the right hand front seats. This for many, including myself, is the i ching of bus travel. Here you can pretend to drive. On older models you can look down the periscope thingy and freak out the driver. You get the best view on the bus. Just one word of caution though. It is the last place you would want to sit in the hot summer months. If its hot and the sun is out, then its like sitting in a microwave oven (probably). An often overlooked space is the second row from the front immediately to the right of the stairs. 92.7%** of passengers overlook this potential seat as their attention is drawn to the back of the bus if the very front seats are occupied

2)The mid section. Again a safe bet, but how near the back you go can determine the possible seat companion if you have to share. Towards the back you get the youths who have missed out on a very back row seat. Nearer the front you get the more "normal" regular commuters who are savvy enough to know that there is no future going to sit near the back of the bus.

3) The back section. As on a single decker, the youths gravitate towards the back. This is especially true on buses that have rear facing seats as the second to last row. This set up allows the typical scruffy unemployable, unwashed, hands down his "trackie bottoms" knob head to put his feet on the seats opposite him. After all he would have been up early to watch Jezza Kyle then back to bed until 3pm. And now is having to get a bus so that he can "go to me mates to have a bevvy and a few bifters"

Lower Deck

1) Mid section (no real front section downstairs for seating(unless you are the driver)) This is where the gribblies congregate. They see who gets on and off from this position and are able to walk at an incredibly slow pace to the bus doors to alight at their stop, thus maximising the delay to the regular work commuters.

2) Back section. Surprisingly this is often occupied by normo commuters. There is an element who will always favour the downstairs, typically if their journey is less than 8 minutes 35 seconds**. However, if the bus is of the type where there are inward facing bench seats on the all sides at the back you can only safely sit there if you have something to occupy you. Eg a kindle, an actual paper book (?), headphones or Candy Crush. Otherwise the chances of breaking the number one cardinal sin of bus travel are too high. Eye contact. NEVER, EVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANYONE ON THE BUS. EVER.

Thank you for reading this. If you actually made it this far I congratulate you. Research* shows that 98.9%** of readers will have given up after paragraph one. So I applaud you. If you have read it and have enjoyed it, even slightly, then you should probably seek medical attention. But before you do that please spread the word, share this and follow me and #busbanter on Twitter. I love feedback even if it's shit. I can take it.

Happy travelling...

Scotty
(@scottyob1obrien)

*Research: this consists of me using the bus to go to work and back for the last 4 years. Ok not the most scientific analysis but in between Candy Crush games I noticed a bit.

**All figures are, of course, made up. And why not? "It's my bloggy and I'll lie if I want to" as Lesley Gore probably actually said in 1963.

***Deserving. Hmm difficult this one. But it has happened. Go figure.

Etape Cymru training, sort of.

2012-06-26T09:37:00.000+01:00

I do love riding my riding my bike.*

*Now I need to put a slight caveat in here, as those close to me will say I'm not doing it very much for someone who loves it. I think this comes from being obsessed with bikes my entire childhood. Then by my senior years reality of how much training is required bites. I always loved the racing, I would've raced 5 times a week if I could (and often did) but the training was too much of a chore. That said, I should really say I love riding my bike, when I'm in the mood for it.

And last night was a prime example of that. The sun was out, there was no wind and it was a pleasant temperature. I cruised round for an hour and loved it. Even managed a few PBs (yeah thanks for that obsession Strava).

One thing I enjoy about riding my bike is the way you can let your mind wander. I don't need to think of anything whilst on my bike (maybe just the pain in my legs on every climb). That leads me on to why I wanted to write down my wacky thought for the day, yesterday.

I was riding along and I realised that I had odd arm warmers on. It then struck me that I actually only have these 2 old arm warmers left. One Assos one (of course with no label remaining) and one other slightly shorter one. Ok so they are both black and not obviously odd. So I got to thinking, I wonder if loads of cyclists have one odd something in the bottom of their wardrobe? Could be anything. An arm warmer, leg warmer, glove, track mitt, overshoe even. What if we gathered all those odd things together? We would surely have loads of complete pairs that could be given away to under privileged cyclist in the third world, or Rhyl or something. Well it may not be the greatest idea ever, and in many (or all) ways be impractical. I just thought I would write down my crazy thoughts for once, it feels a bit like therapy.

Anyway, back to the training. It's not going that well, and I have a mountain to climb to get fit for the Etape Cymru (pardon the pun). I was thinking that getting into this Strava lark would give me more motivation, but in reality I am going to end up doing interval training along the various "segments" to try and get a KOM.

The Tour starts next week, and I love watching that. Maybe it will have the same affect on me as Wimbledon does to the kids playing in the road who trade in their footballs for tennis rackets for 2 weeks a year.

And whilst I am on about the Tour, COME ON WIGGO, CAV and Team Sky!!

Etape Cymru - first published on www.etape-cymru.co.uk

2012-03-27T09:23:00.001+01:00

People who know me well, will know that it only takes me to have a sleep and I will have forgotten what happened the day before. However, there is one event en grained into my memory from last October which is hard to forget. The 2011 Etape Cymru.

I was sort of goaded into riding last year by a former colleague of mine, but sneakily he only challenged me with 7 weeks notice of the event. I went into a panicked training frenzy to ensure I could at least get round. The event itself was eventful. This is why I can still remember the experience so vividly. After a good start, I went off course, crashed and punctured, all before the famous Horse Shoe Pass. Despite all that, the feeling of accomplishment was worth it. There is no denying, the course is brutal, but the scenery is fantastic and to ride that far on closed roads is such a rare experience.

Even though I have hardly looked at my bike since that day last October, I feel drawn to attempt the ride again this year. Under new management and a month earlier in the year, it promises to be a great day's riding. The course itself is a big attraction to me. The roads it covers are much of the same ones I trained over for 15 years as a racing cyclist in the 80's and 90's. This year though, I will prepare better and for longer. I have given myself 6 months to get fit, and I am still lighter than when I rode it last year.

My preparation is sort of two fold. Currently I am running regularly to lose some more weight and also get my legs in shape for the family ski trip at Easter. Once that is out of the way, I will get back on the bike and start the process of finding the strength and stamina needed to get round the 90 miles of roads and 3000ft of climbing. Hopefully I will ride the Liverpool - Chester - Liverpool event in July as a warm up.

I intend to do the bulk of my training at the weekends early in the mornings. Having a family, means that weekends and spare time are usually already accounted for, so fitting in the extra time to train for a 5 to 6 hour ride is not always easy. Last year, I did all my training on my own which, although less enjoyable than riding in a group, brought my fitness on quicker as I pushed myself constantly and was always very aware of my average speed for each ride. This time though, I hope to get the odd ride in with a group, it's a good measure on how your fitness is and I always enjoyed the more social aspect of a "club run". I will probably throw in a good few turbo sessions and maybe even some spinning at my local gym (it all helps when you are as unfit as me).

A lot of miles ahead of me, but I am looking forward to enjoying a summer of getting fit and trying to find my climbing physique which, I have kept carefully preserved in thick coating of fat for many years now.

So if anyone fancies giving an old hasbeen a back wheel once in a while get in touch, I will need all the help I can get.

To enter the Etape Cymru go to their website for details www.etape-cymru.co.uk

Legends of Birkenhead Park Bike Racing

2012-03-06T21:09:00.000+00:00

I discovered from Twitter, I think, that racing is returning to Birkenhead Park this year. This prompted me to writing a little blog on my experiences through the 80's and early 90's of my all time favourite course. I actually raced around the park on 44 separate occasions and won there 6 times.

Before I get into the story of my times racing round the park, I will give a little background history, on the park itself. (Oh blimey, I'm almost writing an informative blog!)

For the uncultured of you reading this, Birkenhead Park was opened in 1847 and was the first park built with public money, after the town of Birkenhead asked Parliament for the powers to use the money to build a municipal park. More famously though, the designer of New York's Central Park Freddy Olmsted visited Birkenhead Park and used some of the features from it in his design for Central Park.

Birkenhead Park has recently been the subject of an £11.5 million renovation, funded jointly by the Heritage Lottery Fund, Wirral Waterfront SRB, Wirral Council, and the European Union via the Objective One programme. (thanks Wikipedia)

If you are not familiar with the park's layout it consists basically of a big loop which is cut in half by a main road. This allows for either or both halves to be used to race around. Back in the day the shorter North side of the park was used and ridden in a clockwise direction. For me, this was the best side and made the best circuit. In the early 90's the road layout was changed and the right hand turn onto the main road out of the park became too tight to use, so only the whole circuit was deemed safe enough for racing on.

Image from Google Maps

Going back to my experiences riding Birkenhead Park, I first rode in 1983 as a schoolboy. These were always either Tuesday or Thursday night events held in the mid summer months. Occasionally there was a weekend event, but my fondest memories are from the mid week races that were always held on the north circuit.

There was quite a challenge for the race organisers to prevent some of the locals participating in their own "sport" of trying to knock a rider off with sticks, stones, bottles or house bricks. I admired the marshalls around the circuit who sometimes had to stand up to some very unsavoury characters in the park. One week a bunch of scallies set fire to the bales of hay which were placed in front of the park gates to prevent any riders hitting them. Nice.

For me, the best racing on this circuit was when I was riding as a junior. The race would be a handicap (staggered start) with all riders allowed from 16 years old right up to professional and through to veterans into their 50's and beyond. The field was limited to 120 riders for safety reasons and most weeks had reserve riders waiting to see if someone didn't sign on for the start so they could get a ride.

Junior riders were started first, followed by 3rd category and women riders, then 2nd cats, then 1st's and pros. Of course, being an over enthusiastic 16 year old, I had sussed out that if the juniors went flat out from the start, we could almost catch the back of the 1st's and pros group as they started. In fact, I tried this every time I rode.

Even if the junior's didn't catch the bunch, the race was often in a series of 3 over 3 weeks with points awarded for the first 4 over the line every lap. There would be a jersey awarded each week for the points leader and then an overall winner at the end of the 3 races. Being a junior and starting at the front meant that I was well placed to take as many points as I could before the senior riders caught up. Even 3 or 4 laps out in front was ofter enough to get up there on the overall points league.

My most memorable race performance though, was one night when the whole race came together fairly quickly and I mixed it up with the pros and seniors for the straight win, rather than on points. It was 1987, I was 16 years old. I managed to get myself into a four man break which rode well clear of the main peleton. The break consisted of me, my brother Dave (a 1st cat rider), Steve Fleetwood and Phil Thomas, both who were professionals riding for the Raleigh Banana sponsored team. Even though my brother and I were in different club teams then, we had decided to help each other out in a situation where two pros were trying to work us over. It seemed impossible as Phil Thomas was an exceptional sprinter and had won lots of races as an amateur and professional (including the National road race champs).

We decided that Dave would mark Steve Fleetwood and I would do my best to hang onto Phil Thomas. The two pros must have had similar tactics as they took it in turns to attack us. Eventually the elastic snapped and Phil and I were separated from Dave and Steve. With two laps to go, Phil kept trying to jump away from me, every time I went to the front, but I always managed to ride back up to him. I decided with half a lap to go that I would "sit in" (stay on his wheel and not go past until the final 200m) for the sprint.

Phil tried to convince me to take the lead again, saying "Listen sonny, you're going to lose anyway, so you might as well go through and lead the sprint out."

I was more than a little put out by this so retorted "If that's the case then you can lead as you are going to win." I don't think he was overly impressed by my response, but reluctantly he took up the lead and through to the last 200m.

Now, if this was a proper story, I would have come round him and taken victory, a 16 year old beating a professional.... the stuff of David and Goliath. However, in the end Phil pinned me near the gutter and beat me by half a wheel. I have never been as happy to come second! Steve beat Dave for third, but we both had fought well. My mum was nearly hoarse from shouting for me and then Dave in that final sprint. I think Phil was a little hacked off that he had no room to put his hands up for the victory as I had pressed him all the way to the line. Steve Fleetwood, however, was the first over to me to congratulate me on a terrific race.

All in all, it was a race that has stuck in my memory and I always enjoyed racing in "the park". See below for my personal history of "park" crit performances.

The next race I know of in Birkenhead park in on Sunday July 22nd. It's open to all categories and is organised by the Birkenhead North End CC. For more details see their website. Maybe see you there?

Date	My Position	Winner
24/05/1983	18th	P. Clark
27/05/1983	7th	P. Clark
31/05/1983	25th	J .Moss
03/06/1983	5th	G. Sword
07/06/1983	25th	G. Sword
10/06/1983	10th	N. Soens
05/06/1984	3rd	A. Thompson
31/07/1984	4th	B. Smith
04/06/1985	1st	Me
02/07/1985	last	T. Warriner
09/07/1985	last	T. Warriner
16/07/1985	2nd	T. Warriner
17/06/1986	1st	Me
08/07/1986	1st	Me
15/07/1986	1st	Me
19/05/1987	4th	F. Kelly
09/06/1987	bunch	A. Mills
16/06/1987	2nd	P. Thomas
23/06/1987	bunch	G. Sword
30/06/1987	3rd	D. Williams
11/08/1987	bunch	M. Bell
28/06/1988	bunch	N. Simpson
19/07/1988	6th	N. Simpson
26/07/1988	5th	N. Hughes
07/05/1989	5th	B. Luckwell
30/05/1989	7th	N. Smith
11/07/1989	20th	N. Hughes
20/07/1989	10th	M. Gornall
10/08/1989	bunch	S. McVitty
22/05/1990	1st	Me
29/05/1990	bunch	G. Sword
05/06/1990	10th	C. Boardman
28/06/1990	bunch	M. Gornall
03/07/1990	2nd	S. Lillistone
10/07/1990	bunch	P. Jennings
19/07/1990	dnf	M. Bell
21/05/1991	4th	D. Williams
28/05/1991	3rd	D. Williams
04/06/1991	7th	S. McVitty
02/07/1991	dnf	S. McVitty
18/07/1991	bunch	T. Hall
18/08/1991	1st	Me
12/05/1992	3rd	M. Bell
19/05/1992	bunch	D. Williams

How cycling began for me

2012-02-24T13:56:00.000+00:00

The story of how I found cycling...

In the beginning... I never knew my dad had been a semi professional racing cyclist. He rode for Viking in the late 50's, early 60's as an "Independant" (a paid amateur who kept a "real" job as well). I think my parents kept it hidden so my brothers and I wouldn't feel pressured into doing it and following in our father's footsteps.

They needn't have worried. My brothers and I discovered the joys of cycling by chance one summer whilst staying at our grandad's. Our parents had selfishly won a holiday to Ibiza and jetted off for 2 weeks in the sun leaving me, and my two older brothers, Dave and Mark, up to our own devices in the warm August of 1978. I was seven years old.

Pre computers, games consoles and Channel 4 it was to the outdoors that most excitement was to be had and after a route in grandad's loft and discovery of an old bike, Dave had the cunning plan of fixing it up for me so we could all go for a ride. We already all had bikes but mine, being some chopperesque contraption, was not suitable for the road ride Dave was planning for us. So this old one which had big wheels and a few gears seemed a better option.

Dave took a trip to Longworths bike shop in Wallasey Village to buy a few bits for repairs and more importantly a 1970's equivalent of a cycle computer, a mechanical mileometer to record our epic journey.

Armed with a couple of quid and a bottle of water we set off from Wallasey on the Wirral one sunny morning to ride to Parkgate on the coast beside the River Dee. Wearing our best "bombers" (old jeans cut into long shorts, usually because the knees have put through too many times to rescue them), a tee shirt and trainers we were ready for anything. The ride itself was fairly uneventful. I can vaguely remember stopping a couple of times for a swig of water and to catch my breath. I was rewarded on arrival at Parkgate with a home made ice cream from Nicholls (still there today) and a sit for 20 minutes on the prom wall. Even getting back wasn't too bad despite there being several Hors category climbs on the way home. Total mileage for the day 24 miles.

I didn't think too much about what we had done, but my mum felt more than panicked about the whole episode when she got home and Dave confessed to our little adventure. After mum's protests to Dave about the risks of taking a 7 year old out for a 24 mile first ride, he calmly replied "Calm down mum, it's fine. We gave him an ice cream at Parkgate and he was happy"

Soon after this dad 'fessed up to his own exploits in cycling. He even went in the loft and dug out all his medals to show us and a jersey he used in the 1961 Tour de France. How awesome this was didn't dawn on me until I really immersed myself in the world of bike racing. Before long we all, that's my mum, dad, 2 brothers and me, were getting out on the bikes every weekend. It didn't take many rides for me to be smitten with riding a bike, and in less than 6 months I was looking for a cycling club to join and further improve my cycling ability.

My first "racer" was a green Raleigh Olympus. I made my dad remove the "lazy brakes" brake levers as they weren't what the pros had. My first "proper" bike was a hand built 19" metallic silver Andy Wilde made with Reynolds 531 tubing. I got it for Christmas 1980. The genius idea my dad had was to use 26" wheels with mudguards in the winter and then swap to standard 27" sprints for racing without the mudguards. I loved that bike and was sad the day it became too small.

I think it's fair to say that at the this point, I had turned away from being "normal". Riding my bike and everything to do with cycling became the number one thing to occupy my time. It wasn't that long after I started riding seriously that I packed in going to cubs on a Thursday night so I could ride the "chaingang". I didn't play out in the road with the other kids anymore I went out and did some interval training.

I was so well supported by my family, that I couldn't help but be successful in those early days. I wasn't aware then, but looking back, my parents gave so much time and money to get me to races with decent kit to give me a fair chance to prove myself. I didn't ride for a sponsored club and get additional financial support until senior level and up to then they had provided everything for me. This was particularly true in the latter stages of being a schoolboy and my junior years,(1985 to 1988) when I did have some good results.

Looking back at the early 1980's I marvel at how keen I must have been. Before I was 12 I could only race in ESCA (English Schools Cycling Association) events which were a regional and then a national championship event once a year in each discipline. That meant that the rest of the racing season I was taken to watch the rest of the family compete in a variety of events around the country. I think always the low point for me must have been getting up at 4.30am on a Sunday morning and driving out to a 25 mile time trial at Broxton to watch my mum, 2 brothers and dad all trying to get to close to or under the hour. Usually it would be freezing cold that time of day and I would sit in the car and eat the picnic lunch before 9am! The only positive was being allowed to ride home from the event (about 30 miles) and getting the half wheel on my dad or brothers as they would be shattered from the race.

This image was taken from the Cycling Weekly of the ESCA National Hill Climb Champs in October 1982. I was riding my mum's bike as I had out grown my own road bike.

Of course the other big draw of riding a bike in those days were the winter club runs. I absolutely loved the Sunday rides in the winter time with the lads and lasses of the North Wirral Velo. Even at 10 or 11 years of age I loved to mix it up with the senior lads in the club. I lived for the climbs in North Wales and soon found that being half the weight of some of the other lads in the club was a significant advantage when the gradient went up.

Each week the rides seemed to be more competitive. Eventually, we had a yellow jersey to award to the first one back to the "Mills" (the Eureka cafe at Two Mills @Eureka_Cafe, probably the best and most famous cyclist's cafe in the country and the first centre of the cyclist's universe. The second centre was Rhuthin in North Wales). It was a long sleeved jersey and was massive (I think a 44" chest). We had the words "Sponsored by Yangs Chippy and Woodbines" printed onto it, thought up by some comedian in the club.

As you can imagine, this became my new goal, to earn the right to wear it. And one week in November 1981, I achieved it by attacking at the bottom of the Ewloe hill in Queensferry with one other lad (a third cat rider) on way the back from an 80 mile club run to Rhuthin. I managed to get him to lead out and then jumped him in the sprint. Arms aloft, the greatest victory an eleven year old could wish to experience! My mum kindly pinned 4 inches in on each side of the jersey so I could wear it the following Sunday, which I did, with pride.

I have lots of great memories of the early 80's and always thought that it was riding with the senior lads all the time that made me successful as a schoolboy. But looking back, a lot of the lads I rode with in the schoolboy (under 16's) races must have had similar experiences.

To Blog or Not...

2012-02-15T16:56:00.000+00:00

Today, I got asked to be a "guest blogger" for a cycling event happening in September.

As yet, I'm undecided as to whether I will ride it, never mind blog about it...or blog about anything!

In light of the invitation, I decided to see if I could run and maintain a blog of my own, as it's something I have thought about but never done (those who know me will know that's what I'm expert in (thinking, not doing)).

Well now, I rode this event last year with 7 weeks notice and no miles in my legs before then. In those 7 weeks I got up to riding 100 hilly miles at a time, lost just over 1 stone in weight and even organised some sponsored jerseys from my employer. This time I have 7 months(ish) to prepare, still haven't regained said lost stone and am reasonably fit from running and my annual ski trip(s) preparation exercises. All in all, I have a more of a chance than last year to get round without the excruciating pain I suffered last time (anyway that tale is for a future blog, I must stay on task!)

Ok, so I see loads of people on Twitter posting blogs and think, is that easy or once you start, do you put loads of pressure on yourself to write another?? I have so many questions about it, like how long is a good blog? Is there such a thing as a good or bad blog? Is the blog's beauty in the eye of the author? But I'm probably over thinking it. (something I do to stop me from actually doing anything) I'm struggling to end this now as I feel like the reader will want more value for money as it were, but then again if it's short and to the point will it be more easily digested?? Argghh!

Only time will tell if this will be the first and last blog from me.