samuri.co.uk

Bike:Velodrome
Distance: 25 miles

The distance is a guess. It’s probably still under but since I was there for two hours and the coach wasn’t keen on people sitting around resting, we pretty much rode for most of the two hours, and I’m assuming an average speed of 20mph, so probably more than 25. We did about 8 miles in the last 20 minutes, I know that because he set the counter at 40 laps and on the blue line that’s about 350m a lap.

Anyway, got there, rode a lot. Got a little bored I must admit. When there’s 40 on the track you spend an awful lot of time cruising along in a line and once the novelty of doing 20-25mph, 12 inches from the bike in front wears off and you can do it without too much effort, it starts to get a tad tedious. I was thinking, as I rode round, that maybe I should go for the ‘A’ sessions, I assume they work you properly there.

There was clearly some very quick chaps there, we did some sprinting in 4′s and 5′s and while I almost always seemed to end up with the old guys or the girls, once or twice I’d drop down to the black line with a guy in a skinsuit in front of me with calves carved from solid granite and he would take me on a very fast couple of laps. So I couldn;t understand why these lads were happy meandering round with the duffers (and the B sessions are definately filled with old blokes).

Come the last twenty minutes the coach pops up with a stopwatch.
“40 laps, try and keep up with the whistle, I’ll knock a tenth off each lap. If you can’t keep up then drop out. Start fast”

Sweet, at last. We wind up the pace and are soon shooting a long, a bit quicker than the whistle. By the time I get to the front we’re way ahead so I ease off a little bit, way too much it seems because by the time we get to the counter we’re behind the whistle. ooops The pace gets faster and faster and people start dropping out, all in front of me it seems giving me a whole lot of work to do each time to catch up to the next guy. By the the time we get to the last 5 laps the chaff is gone and there’s a hardcore of ten riders who can all take the pace. I’m the only guy on a hired bike, read: only guy on a bike with low gearing.

The chap in front of me is turning the cranks like once to every two of my turns. I am spinning away like crazy, the drive chain is humming like mad. I can hear people around me breathing hard, very hard, I am too. We fly round, gravity pummelling us into the bikes on the corners. The other riders, high and low become blurs. We are a bullet. The counter snicks down, the whistle blows, someone shouts go for it! We forget the whistle and just pedal as fast as we can. This is a thesis in pain. I focus on the guys arse in front of me. You know when you’re following an expert because nothing moves but his legs, even at these speeds. My front wheel is 2 inches from his back wheel. Nothing else exists apart from his arse, my pain, the wind.

Suddenly three sharp whistle blows indicate the task is complete. I peel up the track and we all sit up looking around, glazed looks being shaken from our eyes,  the red mist is hard to shake as a couple of guys, oblivious to the end cannon round for a couple more laps.

That was fecking great! pity the whole session can’t be like that.