Stage 14 of the this year’s Tour de France takes in a wee hill called the Col d’Izoard. Here’s an extra from The Breakaway on the day that very climb very nearly claimed us: Continue reading “Cooked on the Casse Déserte”
I was delighted to have been offered my first taste of Majorcan cycling, courtesy of the good people at Jet2 Cycling Holidays. My only concern was that, in the two days of riding they had planned for me, would there be any mountains?
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| Mixed group pre-mountain |
I was to be riding in a mixed group, some in good shape, others less so, and would any share my daft keenness for riding uphill? Surely not. Pre-trip, I had decided that if neither day’s itinerary met my hopes then I would form a splinter group and head off solo in search of altitude.
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| Me on the Stelvio’s ‘easy’ side. |
For me, stage 16 is where this year’s Giro properly begins (assuming the weather holds), and where many of the competitors will be sorely wishing it properly ended: the mountains — the really, really big mountains. Continue reading “£0.00004 Per Metre”
“I’d always wondered where this road went,” I say as we turn out of Peebles and onto a stretch of single-track.
I’m pedalling alongside my guide for the day, Neil Dalgleish, director of TweedLove, the Tweed Valley festival of all things cycling that runs from the 24thof May to the 8th of June.
We’re on a cracking valley climb. The sun is out, the sky blue; fluffy white sheep pepper the verdant hillsides. Biking bliss.
I’m previewing the Skinny, a 45-mile sportive that’s new to TweedLove. The £15 entry fee gets riders a free feed station and official timing along the marked and marshalled course.
On February 15th 2004 my friend Drew and I rolled out on a solemn bike ride. We were sporting black armbands, strips of cotton cut from an old t-shirt — a shabby yet honest tribute. Our conversation came in fits and starts, interspersed by long moments of silent gloom. We were in shock, saddened and more than a little angry: the man of our shared sporting inspiration had died the previous day of a cocaine overdose.
In the weeks and months after returning home from my Breakaway travels I exuded an air of ascender’s arrogance. In a couple of weeks I’d climbed almost three times the height of Everest. I’d taken on and (just about) survived many of cycling’s biggest names: Ventoux, Galibier, Izoard, Stelvio … .
None of the climbs that Scotland had to offer could perturb me. “Think this is bad?” I’d shout at my legs, “this is nothing compared to the [insert famous-name climb] and you survived that!”
I’d been there, done that — or so I thought.
With every grand tour comes a clutch of climbs, some big names, some I’d never heard of, whose tarmac my tyres have yet to touch. The routes of 2014’s big three prove no exception.
Back in June last year I wrote this short blog about ‘meeting’ the polka dot jersey won and worn by one of my cycling heroes, Robert Millar, at the 1984 Tour de France.
I’d encountered it after stumbling into Billy Bilsland Cycles on the way home from an afternoon watching the British Road Race Championships at Glasgow Green.
Well it seems as if another trip west (surely a pilgrimage?) is on the cards. Billy Bilsland Cycles have this week unveiled an addition to their Millar tribute. Alongside the signed and framed spotty jersey you can now see the actual Peugeot bike upon which Millar rode to that famous victory.
Apparently the bike hadn’t been seen in public for 30 years, having been in the ownership of a private collector. Well now (but unlike it’s ilusive original owner) the bike is very much back in the public eye — and in one of Scotland’s best bike shops too. Definitely worth a trip to Glasgow, if only to marvel at the size of the inner chainring — what, no compact?!
There’s more info and a full gallery at Billy Bilsland’s Facebook page.
(Still reckon retro Peugeots look better in fluro pink, like my old steed.)
My mind wanders during car journeys. On a recent drive to visit family in the north of Scotland I
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| Old faithful |
imagined what would it be like to hop back aboard the steel-framed Peugeot that was my teenage years’ pride and joy? Would the current, approaching-forty me cope without his lightweight, carbon-fibre steed; would my ageing legs cope without a compact?
There was only one way to find out, so I clambered into the dustiest corner of my mother’s garage and returned dragging a relic. It needed new tyres, a pair of pedals would be useful, but otherwise it looked perfectly serviceable.
PERFECT FOR ANYONE — EVEN WEIRDOES
The Breakaway would make the perfect gift for any cyclist — especially those who can read — and non-cyclists (weirdoes that they are) would love it too.
Well I would say that, wouldn’t I? Continue reading “Not Just For Christmas”
Rolf Rae-Hansen 