Le Grand Depart
| Sunday 18 March, 2007 |
 My legs were numb |
Not much has changed in SE21 since the summer season ended back in September. No state of the art track, no luxurious locker rooms to replace the porter cabins and not a lot of females around to be honest. This has probably been the case each Spring since the track first opened in 1891.
At least it IS OPEN, and all praise VCL for this.
I cycled from Sunny Stockwell on Mr Fixie, and then had to wave goodbye to the old friend as he is deemed 'too technical' for the track. Mr Fixie has ONE break and this is frowned as being too fancy for track racing.
I signed up, leaving someone else other than the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger as my emergency contact details - she ain't getting her filthy hands on my filthy lucre should I cop it on the track.
And then it was time for the warm up.
My legs were numb after ten laps at a steady 'finding your feet' pace. I had found my feet and then lost them, and all of this before the first race was underway.
192 km you say?
Shit.
Track cycling is all about hunting in packs. I picked up the pace and for forty five minutes in an obscure corner of suburban South London, I was transported to cycling heaven (nope, I didn't cop it.) I kept pace with the fifty or so other riders on the pelaton, and then my team of four fellow cyclists attacked the front, hit the banks, and let another group lead the way. Yes, it was all staged to pace your stamina, but with 49 or so other cyclists powering through only a matter of inches away from your back wheel, this is one way to get enough adrenalin to last you through the working week.
With five laps to go, it became a free for all with individual riders attacking at all angles. I was lost. I slipped out of the pelaton and trailed home half a lap behind the winner. But I had lasted the race, and even managed to stage a few decent assaults.
Four months more of this Saturday morning punishment should stand me in good shape for l'Etape in July. I left Herne Hill on Mr Fixie and felt the circulation returning to my limbs once again.
The velodrome is truly a wonderful facility for South London. The midmorning fitness session is a struggle, but there's also a beginner's hour each Saturday from 9 o' clock. You'll be hard pressed to find more fun at the start of weekend than being in the company of with fifty or so other blokes all wearing lycra shorts waving their arses in the air.
Chapeau!
