Year: 2013

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Music: Met Marc & Mogwai

It was a breath of fresh air. Something very different, and very special to light up the middle of a working week.

My friend Richard, a friend since the age of about 4, with whom I have been in a band on and off since I was 18, is a Studio Manager at the BBC. Richard had mentioned a few months ago that I would be welcome to come along and watch one of the sessions on BBC 6music whenever he was on his shift for Marc Riley‘s program.  Last night, Mogwai were playing, and this presented a great opportunity to see Richard at work as well as a fascinating band who I’ve admired for a long time.

It was a truly enthralling evening from start to finish. I arrived at the Media city studios at about six and the sound checking that just about finished. I walked in to the studio to be very warmly greeted by Mogwai and Marc, which was strangely familiar for some reason. Meeting at DJ Is an unnerving experience because their voice is simply very familiar to you. When you say hello in the flesh, they seem like they are already part of your network. Marc presented something extra here, probably very predictably, by being incredibly warm and genuine. There was no pretension, not even the slightest hint of celebrity or any of that nonsense. Just a simple, warm chap (who just happened to once play bass in The Fall).   The “music” day was blighted by the death of Kevin Ayers at 68, which is the type of thing make anyone feel humble anyway.

For people who know anything about a band like Mogwai, the feeling was similarly remarkable in its ‘down to earth’ factor. Five people who play instruments. No pretension, no divas, just very nice to see people at work making such fascinating and polished tunes.  Their album out on Saturday is a soundtrack to Les Revenants – a French film, and they lovingly played three tracks from it.

Richard Aside from all that, seeing Richard at work was pretty enthralling for me. I’ve had an interest in sound engineering, and the qualities of the audio experience since I got my first computer and started to make music that way.  Seeing somebody handle a live band playing in a small room in front of a large national audience with such calmness and serenity was wonderful.  It certainly took a lot of qualities that I do not possess. Multitasking is a large understatement. But very calm. Incredibly, scarily calm.

And so, inevitably, after tidying away a few leads and mic stands, we went to the pub and had a couple of pints.  It’s really should have been more, but it was -2°C outside, and I had to cycle home 17 miles. I’m glad I didn’t have the third point. But it was really great to see Richard. An evening of live music, cycling and beer, then.  Pinching myself.   Thanks Rich.

Photos here on Flickr

 

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Hit the North 4: Field of Dispair

The “Field of Despair” is a melodramatic, semi nonsense term, applied to about 150 metres – if that – of almost unnoticeable uphill grass on Hit the North.  Hit the North, a low-key, well attended, high fun race, is good at bigging things up.  The numbers we get given say “Purveyors of Awesomeness Since 2008”. The course deliberately features laughably un-ride-able bits. The chief marshal was walking the course with a sign saying, “Pedal harder, you bastards”. Calling a field the “Field of despair” is a very Hit the North thing.  Bigging up the stoicism.

Except, when you’re taking part, that is just what it is.  Utter despair.

The course has lots of things.  Some new singletrack, whoopy jumps and berms that make any bike feel awesome, some tricky, nadgery descents, slow rocky bits… only just ride-able river crossing, but the Field of Despair is the horse meat in the Hit the North burger. It’s the bit that you don’t like to think of when you say how nice it is.  It’s shocking, distasteful, and borderline immoral.

Taking approximately two minutes to cover each 20 minute lap, it plays mind games on you.  It’s only just about jogging.  About keeping moving.  The muddy bike on your muddy, weary back is a weight-augmenter.  It drives each foot step deeper into the soaked bog. It’s only ankle-deep. Each 40cm step you take. Squelch. Squelch. You look about you.  You carry your cyclocross bike. You sink deeper. Who is moving marginally faster 15 metres to your left? Should you take that line?  It’s faster.  Way faster.  We’re talking 3.5 miles per hour. Best.

Then there’s a hill.  Just a short hill.  With the acronym ‘MTFU’ sprayed on it. By someone who is more of a M than me, obviously. It’s 25 to 30 strides at the most.  Piffling. People stand there, taking photos. Clapping you by.  There’s even a salsa band.  Messing with your head. Did your stride rate just go down? Did they speed up?

Why do we do this, then? This 2 hours of racing every February, business.

Well… paradoxically, because it’s fun.  Chris Boardman made a comment when he was in his heyday.  Something about it being ‘satisfying’ rather then ‘enjoyable’. Like the way that hitting your head against a wall is nice because it feels nice when you stop.   I’m competitive enough a personality to be unsatisfied with tenth place. I didn’t have a fantastic result but that’s the way I’m getting used to it, these days. But boy, it was fun.  People smiling, having a laugh with other guys suffering whilst you lapped them, thinking it’s harder for them.  It’s a shared pain thing.

I was asked at the end whether I enjoyed it.  I have a stock answer for things like that.  “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t enjoy it”.  I’m here because I race bikes for fun.  Despair is just part of having fun, when you’re riding Hit the North.

Thanks to Jason Miles and Andrew McHugh – organisers. They are lucky buggers to not be riding. It’s such a great event.

Thanks to SportSunday, Ed Rollasson, Alan Dorrington and Andy Waterman for these photos, and, of course, to Planet X Bikes for their continuing support, and the best bike at the race.

 

 

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Why I hate Strava (and why I need Strava)

It’s been nagging me for a while, this one.  This is about sport , technology, monitoring and stats.  It runs to the very core of me in a number of ways.

I’ve been using fairly detailed recording of my cycling and running for over five years now, since I first got a Garmin Forerunner GPS watch. It suited me.  I do a lot of training on my own – probably much more than the average cyclist or runner, so the ‘virtual’ training partner’ it gave me helped.  I’ve rarely been out running or cycling in the last few years without thinking about what the average speed, heart rate, calories burnt… or any one particular element of the ride (heck – even total mileage, sometimes… heaven forbid).  When Strava was introduced to me by Alan about a year or so ago, I thought it was perfect.  For those of you who don’t know it, Strava basically allows you to ‘compare’ yourself – your ride or run – to anyone else who has done the same bit as you.  These segments are “public”, so you get to see the ‘results’ for a particular segment (the leader is ‘King of the Mountains – or KoM / QoM for females – for the climb or descent [sic]).  It’s a very simple motivation – in the middle of an otherwise routine ride – to push yourself.

Simplicity Works

The purity of that is lovely.  ‘Competing’ against ‘real’ rides done by other people – sometimes famous athletes, even… you can soon see how the motivational factor is a great pick-me-up or boost when you’re doing that annoying short climb after the lights and your mind might drift from the training you’re supposed to be engaged with.  It’s satisfying too, to visit somewhere you’ve never been (such as my trips to Sardinia or Arran last year) and find out what other people you’ve never met and will never meet have managed on a particular climb or descent. Even better, you can look at some great stats in the middle of races, such as the various obvious ‘segments’ of the 3 Peaks Cyclocross – seeing where you performed well or badly compared to fellow competitors.

Every Silver Lining Has a Cloud

The press is rife with stories about segments that ought not be.  There are countless ones I know of where the segment may include lights in the middle of them, some on footpaths where, even being generous, we’re borderline meant to be riding – let alone racing (albeit virtually). There’s even one on a canal towpath I’ve heard of.  You can picture the flailing bodies of pedestrians thrown into the water as cyclists on tri-bars belt past them.  It’s just not really right.

Despite it being a good idea to ride hard when training, giving people free reign over where they race and don’t race is always going to lead to a few problems with the more competitive-minded ones of us out there.  It’s hard to ignore the opportunity of a bagging a good KoM when you’re feeling good, and once you get into racing mode, you start to take a few risks – unnecessary risks, in this case, of course, because you’re not actually racing.

It’s not racing.

A bit like time-trialling, a mildly impure form of racing because it relies on varying conditions, yet everyone sets off at different times, Strava suffers from extreme variations in conditions.  Severe (even storm-force) tailwinds can skew (daftly) the speed on some sections of road. So can the heat, traffic, time of day, even who you’re riding with… are they even out there motor pacing? Who knows?  It’s just a GPS record. They could be (and often have proven to have been) driving in the bloody car.  They could be out in a chain-gang..  through and off – you’re never competing on a like-for-like basis.

That’s why I love road racing, Cyclocross, and Mountain Bike racing.  The gun goes, and there you are – amongst them.  The whippet climbers, the daft ones who sit on the front and then shout at you for not coming through, the ones who show little stress then suddenly blow up, the skilled ones, the powerful ones… despite all of the mirrored shades, you get to look at them in the eye.  You’re racing them.

I’ll stay on Strava though. I (like everyone else on there) have enough positive motivation from it and (think that) I can resist the temptation to go for any daft KoM segments whilst trying my best to keep good speeds up where I can and where it’s appropriate to my training. I’m not dwelling on there, though. Forgive me for not paging through who’s ahead of me or behind me on certain segments. I didn’t have the legs / tailwind / motor assistance that particular day.

Truly unforgivable

But perhaps what annoys me most of all, is that people can ‘name’ their own segment, can’t use normal sentence case, or spell ‘descent’, so my achievements are forever described by some Klutz’s bad grammar.   That one kills me every time.

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National Cyclocross Championships 2013 – Peel Park, Bradford.

My favourite venue for cyclocross outside of Helwith Bridge. This year’s Nationals were at Peel Park again.  The rain held off much to my disgust int he days before. I like it more cloggy and technical, but on race day, Peel Park never lets you down – it’s a terrific venue with so much technique called upon even on the less muddy years. So here’s race day, in as few words as necessary. Continue reading “National Cyclocross Championships 2013 – Peel Park, Bradford.”

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When all goes to Plagne – A family ski holiday

The Haygarths were very lucky in 2012 and squeezed in a ski holiday into the New Year on top of two other lovely family breaks in Scotland and Sardinia.

Our first outing as a family onto the slopes has been talked about for years after a massive break from skiing for me (basically, since we had children…!) and finally we were prompted into action when friends Rach and Jon booked their holiday in La Plagne. A lot of the decisions (accommodation, dates) were made for us – we just had to decide if we could afford it and afford (me) the time off work. We did.

There are so many things to remember in any holiday – with young children especially – and I can honestly say every moment was cherished. With a minor thing like Christmas in the way, it felt a bit odd to say the least to do a bit of packing then get in the car and drive 920 miles to the middle of the Haute Savoie.

The journey was wearing but tolerable. A 10pm Eurotunnel crossing meant driving through the night on easy roads. The new Led Zeppelin CD VERY loud in my headphones meant the family slept and I drove the quiet autoroutes focused and entertained. The sun rose as we neared Lake Annecy and the final miles were pretty mind blowing (especially for someone who grew up on watching Stephen Roche!)

The resort, accommodation, weather and tuition were just perfect.  Watching the girls learning to ski was much more simple than predicted – young people just learn without having to consciously do so.  It’s fair to say that Lily was apprehensive about being a beginner at the age of ten when so many more experienced 4 year olds flow about our ankles on the first day, but after one lesson she was snow-ploughing and turning like she’d been at it for ages.  Elsie was just a classic 4 year old on skis. You don’t need to teach her how to turn  you just say ‘follow me’ and she can.  It’s all quite  surreal how it seems to be ‘in us’.

The girls had lessons and the ESF instructors (Vlad and Daniel) were just lovely.  They nurtured and encouraged the girls so well and made us feel very secure.  By the last day we were all skiing together pretty unhindered.  When things got too steep, Elsie held on to my ski poles at my side and we pottered down pretty much anything.

The apartments were great and we had a swimming pool – meaning a lovely relax and play after a day on the slopes. We paid a bit more than we’d have normally done for such luxury but it was a welcome distraction for tired little bodies.

Media

There’s some photos here and a video here – and embedded below

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Cyclocross: All of the faff

It’s the National Championships at the weekend, and time to reflect as the season approaches its finale.

Cyclocross is a strange sport. It breeds and harbours obsessives. For a discipline that involves belting around muddy fields, there is an inordinate amount of fine-tuning, preparation and finesse… from the meticulously exact tyre pressures for the conditions in the correct tubulars with the correct tread, to the perfecting of the right line on the course recce at 8am in -2°C. The right clothes, the right food, just enough sleep, the right warm-up… the training, the bike fettling, and even the Dirt Bags to make sure we clean off properly after a play in the mud.

This short road movie is about all of the faff of cyclocross for team mate Alan Dorrington and I as we covered the northern half of England in the final three rounds of British Cycling’s National Trophy series.

Yeah, we raced, too. But that was just for a few minutes every fortnight.