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:) thank all!
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Wonderful!
thank you for sharing
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This thread is useless without pics
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would be cool to see the photo too.
Great. Thaks for that! and ^ what he said!
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Is this your site then Neil?
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Make's me want to ride my bike.
Cheers.
Or inspiration for the rollazzz??
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nice post.... you have a way with words that reminds of the occasional letter i still get in the post from my Dad.
would love to see the photo.
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About
e72
Posted by
@NeilFairbrother
Rummaging through a draw, the boys’ school reports, miscellaneous bric’a’brac, memorabilia, wedding invitations, a collection of cards (wonder where Jo the lovely Barrister is now?) and out tumbles a black and white photograph.
I didn’t sleep much that night. But then there isn’t really that much chance to sleep before a time trial as usually they start at 6am! The result of a collision between a pedestrian and a mass start road race in the early 20th century meant the authorities did the natural thing authorities do and they banned massed start bicycle racing on open roads in the UK. Duh! as we say in the 21st Century.
The result of this law was, what with human nature being what it is, that a different form of competition was formulated, that of time trials. But these had to be underground; not in the literal sense of course, but in the clandestine sense. The early morning starts meant that there was less chance of being spotted by the constabulary, or the general population, As the competition was a time trial, with riders set off at minute intervals, there would be no massed bunches of cyclists forming a danger on her (or his) Majesties’ Highways.
To further conceal this sport, riders would wear what were then innocuous sets of clothes made out of black alpaca, and all the race courses were designated secret codes. The first 25 mile time trial I road, for the Anerley Bicycle Club, was the G15/42 which I can now safely reveal was, and still is, on the Holmwood bypass on the A24, just south of Dorking.
Different courses had different attributes, despite the best efforts of what was then the RTTC to ensure a level playing field. The 10 mile time trial course on the Tonbridge bypass was known as the “Ski Slope” course, as the start was at the top of a hill that you didn’t have to subsequently climb to finish. But the mother of all courses, the one all the fastest riders wanted to ride, the one where records were set, the one most notorious and famed for its speed, was the E72.
The E72. The A12. The Colchester bypass.
It was controversially asymmetric then; the outward leg with the prevailing wind being longer than the return leg. Because it was fast, it was difficult to get on the course, but the local club held a limited number of races for us mere mortals and it was in one of those races that I had a crack at beating John’s sub-hour time.
Having slept fitfully, I rose early, collected Jackie, and pottered in the little Fiat to Colchester, which took quite some time. Warmed up, loosening legs, getting the blood and heart going. The marshals supported the bike as the time keeper counted down…5…4…3…2…1… and with an explosion of effort and energy I was away, winding up the 86inch fixed gear, muscles began to burn but I knew it would all settle down once I was up to speed.
And I rocketed along! The tail wind was good and strong, helping to increase my speed by 2, 3 maybe 4 miles an hour or more, the constant stream of traffic also helped waft me along. It wasn’t a float ride, I knew that very soon after starting, but I knew I was going quickly. But not too quickly; I had to have plenty left in the tank to get back, not because the course was hilly, but because of the wind. Helpful now, a mortal enemy in about 15 minutes, when I would turn and….
…it was like hitting a brick wall. Instead of legs spinning around with almost no resistance, I was suddenly trying to turn the one gear through treacle, whilst towing a lead weight. This was going to hurt. Doubt started to creep in. I lost my rhythm. Breathing was all over the place. A guy on a road bike blasted past, able to take advantage of his multiple gears. I tried to keep pace, but couldn’t raise my game.
It felt like I was crawling back, the black tarmac oozed past, the wind battered my face, spittle and snot and sweat were blown backwards as I pushed and pushed those pedals, trying to get on top of the gear, trying to be smooth, like Greg Lemond, one of my cycling heroes. Would this never end?
Finally a marshall! I take the slip road, up over the bridge and left own the side road and give it my all, sprinting for all I was worth, with heavy dead legs, lunging over the line. And it was all over. The pain, the effort, the wind. I slowed and Jackie came up, all excited and shouting “you’ve done it!” and held me upright with hugs and kisses as I loosened the toestraps that kept me attached to the bike.
I hadn’t beaten John. But I had got under the hour. Just. 59 mins and 54 seconds. The Anerley was founded in 1888. This was 1983. The black and white photo is of a 20 year old me, on the way to becoming the first rider in the Anerley to get under the hour on a fixed wheel bike. Funny thing is, I didn’t know that then, I only found out about 5 years ago. Wish I’d been told, all those years ago. It might have made a difference.