Cycle to Cannes

Guest blogger - Earle Arney, C2C newbie and Global Director, Woods Bagot

Done!  That's how I felt as I kicked up the last hill of the 1500km from London to Cannes.
 
There are three or four conspiracies in the Cycle to Cannes (C2C).  There is a conspiracy in terms of never letting you know that the kit costs as much as the bike.  There is a conspiracy of never letting you know that you should be wearing two pairs of shorts until the night before the last ride when you mercilessly complain about your butt being in agony. There is a conspiracy of never letting you know that there is a technique of using your butt muscles to climb a hill until after it is done and you have a beer in the hand. And there is a conspiracy in the C2C of never letting you know that the last day is by far the most gruelling. There I was drawn into a false sense of security that I nearly had this thing conquered while day-dreaming of the laconic lapping of the gentle surf along the Croisette and mind the mesmerizing Mediterranean in all its sun soaked sparkle; it took a chunk out of me.
 
I have delayed in logging this Blog as MIPIM (the worlds' largest property conference) backs onto the C2C...and quite frankly...I needed a cold beer.  However, I could have easily delayed sending this on account of sheer fatigue on a few levels. There is no describing how much I wanted to get off my bike on Day 6.
 
On my last day I came face to face with the honesty of knowing that it does not matter how fit you are...it is all about 'time in the saddle'. I had heard this expression from the seasoned riders time and time again before setting off last week just ahead of the snow storm that currently shrouds England. However, being hard-wired to challenge everything, I believed that I could rely on my general level of fitness, stamina and colonial doggedness to get me through. Get me through it did, but I can't say it was much fun.

Guest blogger - Earle Arney, C2C newbie and Global Director, Woods Bagot

I have never been faster on less than an inch of rubber.  Last night we descended an altitude of 500 metres from Hauterives into Valence at a blistering pace.  As we crested the first and only mountain of the stage, the previously distant thunder and lightening was among us and the heavens opened. 

We had strict instructions not to overtake.  Naturally, such rules were an affront to my Aussie convict background and were dispensed with when a group of us speed racer wannabes encountered slower riders ahead not fully immersing themselves in the realization that if we were to 'come off' it would likely to be just as physically and psychologically damaging if we just went for it.  And went for it is what we did (in the comfort that we had good medical and dental plans). We immediately got hooked on the rush of travelling at speed in the inky blackness of the mountainous countryside with no street lights, completely unaware of the road conditions and being pelted with wind driven rain. We were wet to the bone.  We placed our faith in the unseen roads and passing drivers whose headlights illuminated the rain washing over our riding glasses. In hindsight, given the speed of our descent, had any of us traversed one of the innumerable manholes or holes in the Tarmac that we have encountered on this ride, it would not have been pretty or possibly 'curtains' given how the landform steeply fell away from the road.

The gentle but consistent decline of the remaining 40 km of last night's ride was similarly awesome.  We bunched back up and rode consistently at speed through villages that surround Valence.  For any non-cyclist, this will not sound like a big deal, but negotiating those dimly lit village roundabouts while in a tight paired-up peloton and winding the cranks at speed was exhilarating. 
After two hours passed fleetingly as if we were time travelling, the blue lights of the distant Novotel lit the black sky still pregnant with rain. The lure of a lot shower and cold beer was too much and the pace quickened to lead us to warmth.

This morning's ride delivered similar gifts to last night...in similar but unexpected ways.  We enjoyed a descent of similar altitude but with no riding restrictions...fastest rider down.  We clocked speeds faster than last night and some well over 70km without incident. However, on the steep 17km climb to reach the summit, the Gods were with us.  At one stage the peloton slowed unexpectedly, unable to brake in time my wheel overlapped the one in front and I was on the deck.  The rider behind tried to avoid the carpeting but in steering to the middle of the road he also lost it.  As I lay along the bitumen with my down fellow rider, we and the passing peloton, were stunned to see that an approaching car had managed to stop with its front wheel only a meter or two from my mates head...nearly curtains.  There is a god and he owns a bike!

Guest blogger - Earle Arney, C2C newbie and Global Director, Woods Bagot

Day four has been a day of two halves.  I woke completely shattered in the full realization that the 113 kilometres I clocked on day one is more tarmac than I had ever pushed over in a single go.  During training when I got to just three quarters of that distance, I would treat myself to what I thought was a well-deserved kip.
Not surprising really that after three back-to-back days of over 100kms my body is tired....very tired.
 
In part it is the distance but it is also the complete lack of sleep.  We wake at 4:45 am every morning and wheels are rolling by 6am. As the last rider makes it to the hotel by 8:30pm it makes for a late dinner of subdued conversation through a delirium of exhaustion.
 
Now for you seasoned cyclists I must explain: I'm a runner not a rider.  I bought my bike eight weeks ahead of the Cycle to Cannes which is almost (well not really) enough time to commence training if you are an established rider.  The last time I got on a bike, 1982, was an added impediment as was being on an overseas business trip in five different time zones for two of those eight weeks of 'training'.
 
However, a change in attitude (aided in no unsubstantial way by regularly tossing back Nurofen and periodic physio sessions by our support team, together with taped figures to aid extended tendons) has brought me back from the precipice of pain.  I like to think that my enjoyment of today's ride was more than just drug-induced.  But who knows?   The sun was out for the first time and the sky was blue (or was that just me?) It looked remarkably like the promotional material so divorced from any connection to the previous days.  Anyway, we were absolutely blasting along country roads this afternoon and wheeling at 40 kilometres through French towns and villages in a tight peloton. It was exhilarating (with or without the Nurofen). So much so I decided to do an additional stage not allotted to me. My reasoning was that it was only a lazy 50km and I only had another 100km allotted to me today so why not?
 
I soon became acutely aware that the additional stage was a major balls-up.  After a relatively short 15 km I was not so much puffing as bellowing on every hill (and there were plenty).  As well as rapidly becoming over heated and unable to fill my lungs quick enough, I mentally wondered whether my proud fact that I am attempting this on an eight-week (well six really) training regime was a case of Aussie bravado unravelling - was I doing a Greg Norman, almost there but invariably choking?  My condition worsened through until a comfort stop at the 25 kilometre mark.  I stripped off all my base layers, drenched myself in water given the 22-degree heat (that's sweltering for anyone who has just wintered in London).  However, mental and physical respite washed over me as I discovered that my rear brakes were unaligned and rubbing on my rims...essentially my brakes were always on!!  I was keeping pace with the speed of the rolling and interchanging peloton while braking! So much so, I wore down half of one of my brake blocks.  It was hard work...my brakes are pretty effective.
 
I shared the above epiphany with another rider and I claimed it must have been a school boy error on my part for not checking my bike between stages.  He rebuffed me and advised that Lance Armstrong wrote about a similar situation of pushing on the pegs for an intermittent time with little effect before discovering his brakes were 'on'.  Reflecting on this anecdote, I fear many more parallels with Lance.  After purchase I discovered my Trek bike is the model popularized by Lance.  I also wonder if he started this sport with a cavalier attitude as I did with my training and started on Nurofen to get him through.  Ummm.

Guest blogger - Earle Arney, C2C newbie and Global Director, Woods Bagot

Day three and the first word that comes to mind...beautiful!  It is absolutely beautiful!  I saw the sun and it was amazing. After two days of driving rain, fog, hail and dark skies; the sun highlighted the underside of the clouds with a yellow, pink and magenta colour, bursting through a gap in the gun metal clouds. It was probably there for no more than 70 seconds, but it seemed like an eternity... and it was enough to lift the spirits...and they needed lifting.

The pre-dawn ride that commenced at 6 am was in actual fact incredibly uplifting.  We started in pitch darkness with only our cycle lights for illumination.  Thankfully we had now entered wine country, out of the agricultural lands of the previous day so the roads were less shitty...literally (that's certainly a good thing for my clothing and involuntary diet of tyre spray)! The rolling plains of Champagne were gradually revealed as the sun rose.  The cascade of French villages along the tourist route were stunning.  I only hope that the residents of these quaint enclaves forgive us. They had an early morning wake-up call, 60 riders shouting instructions back and forth along the peloton and a dozen of support motorcycles, complete with PA systems (that periodically explode with static and comms), bursting through their villages with scant regard for the time of day. Sacre-blue! But it was a blast.

The plains of Champagne are ringed by mountains that we invariably had to climb.  Once over the top, we entered a landscape of vineyards and forests, ensconced by fog.  Cycling past the rows and rows of winter vines, the defined formations providing a parallax of corridors to view deep into the landscape, until being consumed by the shroud of fog was a sight to behold. This, together with the brief but mystical beam of sunlight upon us, is all I need from this cycling experience.  Beautiful!

Guest blogger - Earle Arney, C2C newbie and Global Director, Woods Bagot

Day two has been full of new experiences.   I have, at the best of times, a really healthy appetite but I can honestly claim that I don't think I have ever eaten quite so much (or quite so quickly) ever before in my life than breakfast this morning.  And I was not alone...we were all like a swarm of locusts descending on the breakfast bar at 5am after our 4:45 am wake up call.  I feel sorry for the kitchen staff who worked to replenish the muesli, bacon and eggs, baguettes, cold meat, fruit, yogurt and anything else we could consume. It is amazing the energy you burn up and the impact on your hunger levels.  As Stuart the seasoned cyclists at Pearson Performance advised me...just keep eating food or else your body will essentially eat you. There's fat chance (excuse the pun) of that happening.  After breakfast I stashed three meat and cheese baguettes and two croissants into my bag. By 11.30am, after riding a good paced 50km this morning, they were all gone. 

The morning was veiled in deep fog with visibility to only a few metres.  The swarm at breakfast was shortly followed by a convergence of cyclists who were starting the trip today.  As they lined up in the fog, shapes were barely distinguishable but the high energy of people focused on riding over 200km today was palpable.  It was as if I stepped into a frame of 'Gorillas in the Mist'...all except for the colourful Lycra.

Today we rode from Calais to Reims.  It was quite an experience with the French agricultural towns emerging out of the fog as we rode through them.  With the reduction in visibility one relies more on your other senses so the smells of the countryside, the animals and their by-products, is at times, intense.  It also seems that they must drive a lot of livestock along the roads according to the vast amounts of manure we encounter, which is regretfully unavoidable when riding at pace in a peloton. I thought we were filthy yesterday but the mud-splattered clothes from London have changed to be a receiver of a smattering of other materials as well. A few of us have applied our understanding of physics to realize that the centrifugal force of the wheels rotation means that water and mud is projected from the spinning types and being lighter in weight results in it spraying your legs and thighs....no big deal.  However, the - let's just say - heavier material'...reaches a greater exit velocity from the tyre and accordingly is projected more vertically towards ones face and mouth areas.  Noticeably the salt water taste I experienced on the streets of London (as you invariable taste the road water sprayed at you) has changed in both taste and 'clumpyness'.  It is now of a much more 'agrarian' flavour...if that makes sense.

Well, I am up for my afternoon stage, which is 60km from Morcourt to Monthenault.  Not a bad thing as the coach is beginning to smell distinctly like a locker room so some good agricultural air and generous spraying of road manure should do me wonders.  Glad I've had lunch!