Tour de Pistonheads 2015
Discussion
I enjoyed reading that Stage 1 report. Thanks, Gruffy. Looking forward to the story of Stage 2!
The Tour was the first time I'd heard "half a log" too. Great expression, as in "just put half a log on the fire", I take it. I think we need more Yorkshire sayings in cycling, all the French is getting a little passé.
The Tour was the first time I'd heard "half a log" too. Great expression, as in "just put half a log on the fire", I take it. I think we need more Yorkshire sayings in cycling, all the French is getting a little passé.
2015 Tour de Pistonheads - Stage 2
Harrogate - Sheffield 170km, 3,700m
Strava (Darren) | Strava Fly-By
6am. The alarm comes far too soon, but there’s no time for indulging in a lazy rise. My first thoughts are of the weather though by now I’d resigned myself to the fact that it wasn’t going to play nicely. I convinced myself that some brutal weather would actually make the Tour more glorious but here and now I was questioning that and I was full of hope as I drew back the curtains. The trees were leaning over at crazy angles. Bugger.
The night before I’d packed away as much as I could but left a selection of kit out, waiting to see what the weather would be like. I went for fleecy Nanoflex knee warmers under full Nanoflex tights. It was a struggle choosing between the new Gabba-style PH Tempest jersey or a jersey and jacket combination. Given the rain and the strong winds I opted for the full jersey and jacket set up. It was going to be cold out there. Luckily we had the huge advantage of Justin tagging us in the support car, so I could treat myself to being over-dressed for the cold start safe in the knowledge that I could pare it down later. We were also lucky to have Al driving with us for the first two hours pointing his SLR in our direction for some of the great shots below.
Breakfast was demolished in short order and it was back to the room for final packing and one last power-to-weight session on the porcelain throne. The chain was lubed, tyres and brakes checked. I packed my food box for the day and then wobbled my way down to the lobby with my bike and luggage.
In our tired state there was quite a bit of faffing all around and it was almost 8am when we finally rolled out of the sheltered reception area to pick up the Tour route on the A59. Given the forecast we’d elected to skip the optional 25km loop that would’ve maintained the official stage distance. Today was clearly going to be tough enough already. The first kilometre took us north on some downhill roads out of Harrogate and I got my first taste of the strength of the westerly crosswind. On those deep Mavic rims it was frankly terrifying at anything above 25kph and the descent out of Harrogate was quite unpleasant. It actually came as a relief to turn the first corner and point it into the 30mph wind. The sense of relief faded soon enough.
The next 25km was the toughest riding I have ever experienced. We rode in the tightest of formations and buried ourselves against the wind and driving rain. At times we struggled to reach 30kph downhill, the wind was so strong, but we knew this couldn’t last forever and eventually we’d turn southwards and into the crosswinds again. I swapped my jacket for a rain cape as the rain got heavier but even though it’s cut so close the wind was strong enough to make me ditch that soon after. So I ditched everything for just the Tempest jersey, which is truly painted on and coped superbly with the worst the Dales could throw at us.
The signs warn us that Blubberhouses (301m) is imminent. 1.8km at an average gradient of 6.1%. On paper this category four climb is the easiest of the day’s nine officially categorised climbs (there are 15 serious climbs in total) but perhaps not in these conditions. The early slopes did provide some shelter from the wind and created the bizarre scenario where a 6% slope felt easier than the flatter stuff before. That effect faded as we climbed higher towards the summit at 300m.
The descent came almost unnoticed, averaging just 25kph into the wind. At the bottom we finally turned southwards, into the shelter of some trees and instantly it felt like I’d been given an e-bike. Such was the relief to be in still conditions and capable of a decent pace again that I pressed on at a good lick of speed in search of somewhere in Addingham to regroup and warm ourselves, just 30km into our day.
After 30 minutes of warming our hands on hot chocolates and stuffing our bellies on parkin and pork pies we squelched off to Keighley. Many of the climbs on the stage weren't categorised for the Tour de France, and with so many big climbs still to come we tried not to give them much attention ourselves. Perspectives were beginning to shift. We reached the Cote d'Oxenhope Moor and turn left to pass along a reservoir. We use the short descent to build some good speed, hoping to carry it into the climb, but we hit the 25% ramp at the start and ground to a halt so abruptly that we were left struggling to change down quickly enough.
The climb was dramatic, punctuated with several brutally sharp ramps to sap your strength, making even the easier pitches in between that much more difficult. The weather hadn't changed its mood either.
The descent was good fun but I almost came undone. A tractor appeared in the distance, heading away from me but taking up the full width of the narrow lane, tightly flanked by drystrone walls. I eased the brakes on and then, when nothing much happened, I stopped easing and starting wrenching on them. The Exalith braking surface on the Mavic rims, combined with dual pivot Ultegra calipers is amazing in the dry, but in the wet… not so much. As I hurtled closer to the tractor I could see the driver worriedly fixed on his mirror - he was already going flat out. Two pipes poked out behind him and I was between these, no more than a metre from the body of the thing, when I finally scrubbed enough speed to avoid a crash. That shrunk my appetite for any high-speed shenanigans until the roads dried up!
Fortunately the weather was starting to improve as we dropped down into Hebden Bridge along a busier, swoopier stretch of road. Despite the rivers of rainwater on the sides of the road the descent had good enough visibility to open the taps up and we rolled into the pretty village of Hebden Bridge overtaking the traffic as we did. Three Cheshire Cat grins arrived at a tea shop for a spot of lunch but we sobered up when we realised it had taken us five and a half hours to cover just 64km and we still had most of the climbing ahead of us.
The profile from here on was either up or down, which meant we were usually spread out across the route riding at our own paces and regrouping often. Martin and Tony set off towards Cragg Vale while I gave myself a bit more time to thaw my feet out - it took an hour of massaging them to regain feeling in my heels.
Strava ranks this as a category 3 climb but Cragg Vale was uncategorised climbs in the Tour de France. Climbing 300m at 3% for 8.6km is a serious climb on cold stiff post-lunch legs but the joy on cresting the summit was doubled when we realised we'd be turning east and getting our first taste of a cross-tailwind. We crossed the Cote de Ripponden and grabbed another coffee in Ripponden village.
We had the Cote de Greetland to deal with but all attention was focused on Holme Moss, the lumpiest lump of the stage. By now I was feeling strong and gaining confidence in my climbing. Martin and Tony set off and I hung back to try and time a simultaneous arrival at the top of Holme Moss to avoid anybody waiting in the cold for too long. I gave chase through the maze of seriously steep residential roads out of Greetland and along some major roads into and through Huddersfield.
It's an 18km climb from Huddersfield to the top of Holme Moss which starts gradually and then ramps up violently at Holme Firth with 5km to go. I passed Martin at the side of the road just before Holme Firth and shouted to see if he was OK. He said he was and with Justin not far behind in the support car I concentrated on trying to reel Tony in.
From Holme Firth the climb rises to 521m at an average gradient of 7.1% over 4.7km. Those numbers a worthless though. Most of the early part of the climb was comfortably into double digits. I gritted my teeth thinking that the rest of the climb must ease off if the average is 7.1% but I was wrong. The last thing you want to see when you're looking at your Garmin and counting down the metres climbed to 521m is a descent. Several times I lost elevation and then cursed as the gradient went back up past 10%… 12%… 15%. As the view opened up I still couldn't see Tony which made we doubt how hard I was working, despite suffering hard. There were two occasions on Holme Moss - the only times during the Tour - where I thought I might have to stop, that I wasn't able to climb this hill in one hit. I had to dig very deep into my Rule 5 reserves to stay upright and press on. With 150m climbing to go I reset my mental climbing counter and decided I had one 'Westerham Hill' left to go. There were a family of Japanese tourists near the final set of bends and they expressed their respect for my efforts. OK, it wasn't quite the thousands that carpeted this hill for the Grand Depart but they were encouraging me and I felt an obligation to rise to their expectations of the stoic cycling warrior. I'm pretty sure they were the difference in getting me to the top at that pace without stopping. That and desperately trying to chase down Tony. It makes me wonder how incredible it must have been for the pros to be cheered on by all those people. The hairs are standing up just writing this.
Justin was waiting at the top but it turned out Tony had taken a wrong turn somewhere in Huddersfield and I'd nipped past him without realising. I'm grateful for that really because I don't think I could have pushed so hard with out that challenge. It breaks The Rules but I'd earned a cheesy trophy photo. I rested the bike against the motor and jumped in the passenger seat to eat, drink and rest a little. The wind was still quite violent and blew the bike to the ground. Given how much I'd suffered coming up I was now thinking of Martin and Tony and how they'd fare, especially as Martin had pulled up just before Holme Firth. This stage caught out many of the pros during the Tour and my Icelandic ironman friends tried this stage last year (only this stage) and reported back that it broke them too. A few minutes later and Tony appeared on the final slopes, looking far too fresh.
From the top the view stretches out for quite some way and I was getting more worried when we still couldn't see Martin anywhere. There was no need to worry though. We didn't see him coming but he appeared not far behind Tony, stubbornly spinning away in his metronomic style, giving the sense that he could've simply carried on at the same pace for another few hundred vertical metres.
That was the big one. It was behind us. We still had a lot of climbing to do but there was just 55km to go and the weather was improving quickly too. I gave the guys a few minutes and then got myself ready for the descent I'd been looking forward to for the last few months. There was a crosswind but it was consistent rather than anything too gusty and the roads were dry which meant I had confidence in the brakes again. Justin rolled out of the car park behind me and we set off downhill towards Sheffield.
I'd not been moving long before the front wheel started to wobble, getting stronger and stronger. Justin tells me we were doing around 40mph at this point and the stab of adrenalin it gave me sent everything into slow motion. I remembered the recent article in one of the cycling magazines about this wheel oscillation and trying to understand the science behind it. There was no known explanation but I was racking my brains trying to remember what advice they gave if you ever experienced it. I tried the brakes and that didn't help much. I tried going loose and that didn't help much either. The wobble grew and I was fairly sure I wasn't going to be able to rescue this but I thought, at least there's no drystone walls here so if I can just avoid hitting the tarmac… Everything happened over the space of what I believe is around 10-15 seconds and it faded just as quickly as it came on. Somehow I was still upright but I still had a huge descent to tackle and I'd lost my bottle. I rode the brakes, terrified about catching another cross-wind, but then the smell of burning rubber had me loosening up again. The wobble returned but I was going much slower this time so it was managed with a little braking. It wasn't until after the descent that Justin had the insight to check the wheels and found that the skewer needed tightening after the bike toppled at the summit. It was nothing to do with crosswinds!
Martin had gone on ahead and so Tony and I were riding together, taking it easy into Sheffield to recover for a glorious effort up Jenkin Road. It seemed to take ages to finally arrive but when it did I wished Tony good luck and launched into an effort. This road is crazy. Crazy in the best possible way. Any road that needs a handrail for pedestrians is always going to be a bit special. The route planners were touched by genius when they put this at the end of this stage, with 400km and 7,000m of climbing in the legs. I tried to pace myself and was well measured in the early part of the climb. Justin was poised with the camera on the steepest part of the road (30%) and that was all the motivation I needed to step it up a gear. About two thirds up it eases to 20-22% and I decided I should give whatever was left. It was almost certainly adrenalin and endorphins clouding my judgement but I felt I could've given even more on those top slopes.
Tony and I regrouped just after the descent and rolled towards the finish, chatting about our cat-and-mouse tactics and how we'd outfox each other for the sprint finish. Martin was comfortably ahead of us and waiting roadside just before the finish line, which we were struggling to identify. The Garmin proclaimed we'd crossed the line already and then we just kind of stumbled across the hotel and the ride was done.
That was it. We'd tamed the beast. After what we'd just done stage 3 was just cast aside as an afterthought, a recovery ride. As far as we were concerned we’d cracked the Tour and it was with a huge sense of pride that we sunk some beers and pizza and flicked through the photos and videos of the day.
Harrogate - Sheffield 170km, 3,700m
Strava (Darren) | Strava Fly-By
6am. The alarm comes far too soon, but there’s no time for indulging in a lazy rise. My first thoughts are of the weather though by now I’d resigned myself to the fact that it wasn’t going to play nicely. I convinced myself that some brutal weather would actually make the Tour more glorious but here and now I was questioning that and I was full of hope as I drew back the curtains. The trees were leaning over at crazy angles. Bugger.
The night before I’d packed away as much as I could but left a selection of kit out, waiting to see what the weather would be like. I went for fleecy Nanoflex knee warmers under full Nanoflex tights. It was a struggle choosing between the new Gabba-style PH Tempest jersey or a jersey and jacket combination. Given the rain and the strong winds I opted for the full jersey and jacket set up. It was going to be cold out there. Luckily we had the huge advantage of Justin tagging us in the support car, so I could treat myself to being over-dressed for the cold start safe in the knowledge that I could pare it down later. We were also lucky to have Al driving with us for the first two hours pointing his SLR in our direction for some of the great shots below.
Breakfast was demolished in short order and it was back to the room for final packing and one last power-to-weight session on the porcelain throne. The chain was lubed, tyres and brakes checked. I packed my food box for the day and then wobbled my way down to the lobby with my bike and luggage.
In our tired state there was quite a bit of faffing all around and it was almost 8am when we finally rolled out of the sheltered reception area to pick up the Tour route on the A59. Given the forecast we’d elected to skip the optional 25km loop that would’ve maintained the official stage distance. Today was clearly going to be tough enough already. The first kilometre took us north on some downhill roads out of Harrogate and I got my first taste of the strength of the westerly crosswind. On those deep Mavic rims it was frankly terrifying at anything above 25kph and the descent out of Harrogate was quite unpleasant. It actually came as a relief to turn the first corner and point it into the 30mph wind. The sense of relief faded soon enough.
The next 25km was the toughest riding I have ever experienced. We rode in the tightest of formations and buried ourselves against the wind and driving rain. At times we struggled to reach 30kph downhill, the wind was so strong, but we knew this couldn’t last forever and eventually we’d turn southwards and into the crosswinds again. I swapped my jacket for a rain cape as the rain got heavier but even though it’s cut so close the wind was strong enough to make me ditch that soon after. So I ditched everything for just the Tempest jersey, which is truly painted on and coped superbly with the worst the Dales could throw at us.
The signs warn us that Blubberhouses (301m) is imminent. 1.8km at an average gradient of 6.1%. On paper this category four climb is the easiest of the day’s nine officially categorised climbs (there are 15 serious climbs in total) but perhaps not in these conditions. The early slopes did provide some shelter from the wind and created the bizarre scenario where a 6% slope felt easier than the flatter stuff before. That effect faded as we climbed higher towards the summit at 300m.
The descent came almost unnoticed, averaging just 25kph into the wind. At the bottom we finally turned southwards, into the shelter of some trees and instantly it felt like I’d been given an e-bike. Such was the relief to be in still conditions and capable of a decent pace again that I pressed on at a good lick of speed in search of somewhere in Addingham to regroup and warm ourselves, just 30km into our day.
After 30 minutes of warming our hands on hot chocolates and stuffing our bellies on parkin and pork pies we squelched off to Keighley. Many of the climbs on the stage weren't categorised for the Tour de France, and with so many big climbs still to come we tried not to give them much attention ourselves. Perspectives were beginning to shift. We reached the Cote d'Oxenhope Moor and turn left to pass along a reservoir. We use the short descent to build some good speed, hoping to carry it into the climb, but we hit the 25% ramp at the start and ground to a halt so abruptly that we were left struggling to change down quickly enough.
The climb was dramatic, punctuated with several brutally sharp ramps to sap your strength, making even the easier pitches in between that much more difficult. The weather hadn't changed its mood either.
The descent was good fun but I almost came undone. A tractor appeared in the distance, heading away from me but taking up the full width of the narrow lane, tightly flanked by drystrone walls. I eased the brakes on and then, when nothing much happened, I stopped easing and starting wrenching on them. The Exalith braking surface on the Mavic rims, combined with dual pivot Ultegra calipers is amazing in the dry, but in the wet… not so much. As I hurtled closer to the tractor I could see the driver worriedly fixed on his mirror - he was already going flat out. Two pipes poked out behind him and I was between these, no more than a metre from the body of the thing, when I finally scrubbed enough speed to avoid a crash. That shrunk my appetite for any high-speed shenanigans until the roads dried up!
Fortunately the weather was starting to improve as we dropped down into Hebden Bridge along a busier, swoopier stretch of road. Despite the rivers of rainwater on the sides of the road the descent had good enough visibility to open the taps up and we rolled into the pretty village of Hebden Bridge overtaking the traffic as we did. Three Cheshire Cat grins arrived at a tea shop for a spot of lunch but we sobered up when we realised it had taken us five and a half hours to cover just 64km and we still had most of the climbing ahead of us.
The profile from here on was either up or down, which meant we were usually spread out across the route riding at our own paces and regrouping often. Martin and Tony set off towards Cragg Vale while I gave myself a bit more time to thaw my feet out - it took an hour of massaging them to regain feeling in my heels.
Strava ranks this as a category 3 climb but Cragg Vale was uncategorised climbs in the Tour de France. Climbing 300m at 3% for 8.6km is a serious climb on cold stiff post-lunch legs but the joy on cresting the summit was doubled when we realised we'd be turning east and getting our first taste of a cross-tailwind. We crossed the Cote de Ripponden and grabbed another coffee in Ripponden village.
We had the Cote de Greetland to deal with but all attention was focused on Holme Moss, the lumpiest lump of the stage. By now I was feeling strong and gaining confidence in my climbing. Martin and Tony set off and I hung back to try and time a simultaneous arrival at the top of Holme Moss to avoid anybody waiting in the cold for too long. I gave chase through the maze of seriously steep residential roads out of Greetland and along some major roads into and through Huddersfield.
It's an 18km climb from Huddersfield to the top of Holme Moss which starts gradually and then ramps up violently at Holme Firth with 5km to go. I passed Martin at the side of the road just before Holme Firth and shouted to see if he was OK. He said he was and with Justin not far behind in the support car I concentrated on trying to reel Tony in.
From Holme Firth the climb rises to 521m at an average gradient of 7.1% over 4.7km. Those numbers a worthless though. Most of the early part of the climb was comfortably into double digits. I gritted my teeth thinking that the rest of the climb must ease off if the average is 7.1% but I was wrong. The last thing you want to see when you're looking at your Garmin and counting down the metres climbed to 521m is a descent. Several times I lost elevation and then cursed as the gradient went back up past 10%… 12%… 15%. As the view opened up I still couldn't see Tony which made we doubt how hard I was working, despite suffering hard. There were two occasions on Holme Moss - the only times during the Tour - where I thought I might have to stop, that I wasn't able to climb this hill in one hit. I had to dig very deep into my Rule 5 reserves to stay upright and press on. With 150m climbing to go I reset my mental climbing counter and decided I had one 'Westerham Hill' left to go. There were a family of Japanese tourists near the final set of bends and they expressed their respect for my efforts. OK, it wasn't quite the thousands that carpeted this hill for the Grand Depart but they were encouraging me and I felt an obligation to rise to their expectations of the stoic cycling warrior. I'm pretty sure they were the difference in getting me to the top at that pace without stopping. That and desperately trying to chase down Tony. It makes me wonder how incredible it must have been for the pros to be cheered on by all those people. The hairs are standing up just writing this.
Justin was waiting at the top but it turned out Tony had taken a wrong turn somewhere in Huddersfield and I'd nipped past him without realising. I'm grateful for that really because I don't think I could have pushed so hard with out that challenge. It breaks The Rules but I'd earned a cheesy trophy photo. I rested the bike against the motor and jumped in the passenger seat to eat, drink and rest a little. The wind was still quite violent and blew the bike to the ground. Given how much I'd suffered coming up I was now thinking of Martin and Tony and how they'd fare, especially as Martin had pulled up just before Holme Firth. This stage caught out many of the pros during the Tour and my Icelandic ironman friends tried this stage last year (only this stage) and reported back that it broke them too. A few minutes later and Tony appeared on the final slopes, looking far too fresh.
From the top the view stretches out for quite some way and I was getting more worried when we still couldn't see Martin anywhere. There was no need to worry though. We didn't see him coming but he appeared not far behind Tony, stubbornly spinning away in his metronomic style, giving the sense that he could've simply carried on at the same pace for another few hundred vertical metres.
That was the big one. It was behind us. We still had a lot of climbing to do but there was just 55km to go and the weather was improving quickly too. I gave the guys a few minutes and then got myself ready for the descent I'd been looking forward to for the last few months. There was a crosswind but it was consistent rather than anything too gusty and the roads were dry which meant I had confidence in the brakes again. Justin rolled out of the car park behind me and we set off downhill towards Sheffield.
I'd not been moving long before the front wheel started to wobble, getting stronger and stronger. Justin tells me we were doing around 40mph at this point and the stab of adrenalin it gave me sent everything into slow motion. I remembered the recent article in one of the cycling magazines about this wheel oscillation and trying to understand the science behind it. There was no known explanation but I was racking my brains trying to remember what advice they gave if you ever experienced it. I tried the brakes and that didn't help much. I tried going loose and that didn't help much either. The wobble grew and I was fairly sure I wasn't going to be able to rescue this but I thought, at least there's no drystone walls here so if I can just avoid hitting the tarmac… Everything happened over the space of what I believe is around 10-15 seconds and it faded just as quickly as it came on. Somehow I was still upright but I still had a huge descent to tackle and I'd lost my bottle. I rode the brakes, terrified about catching another cross-wind, but then the smell of burning rubber had me loosening up again. The wobble returned but I was going much slower this time so it was managed with a little braking. It wasn't until after the descent that Justin had the insight to check the wheels and found that the skewer needed tightening after the bike toppled at the summit. It was nothing to do with crosswinds!
- Justin has this episode on camera. I'll update this when it's available.
Martin had gone on ahead and so Tony and I were riding together, taking it easy into Sheffield to recover for a glorious effort up Jenkin Road. It seemed to take ages to finally arrive but when it did I wished Tony good luck and launched into an effort. This road is crazy. Crazy in the best possible way. Any road that needs a handrail for pedestrians is always going to be a bit special. The route planners were touched by genius when they put this at the end of this stage, with 400km and 7,000m of climbing in the legs. I tried to pace myself and was well measured in the early part of the climb. Justin was poised with the camera on the steepest part of the road (30%) and that was all the motivation I needed to step it up a gear. About two thirds up it eases to 20-22% and I decided I should give whatever was left. It was almost certainly adrenalin and endorphins clouding my judgement but I felt I could've given even more on those top slopes.
Tony and I regrouped just after the descent and rolled towards the finish, chatting about our cat-and-mouse tactics and how we'd outfox each other for the sprint finish. Martin was comfortably ahead of us and waiting roadside just before the finish line, which we were struggling to identify. The Garmin proclaimed we'd crossed the line already and then we just kind of stumbled across the hotel and the ride was done.
That was it. We'd tamed the beast. After what we'd just done stage 3 was just cast aside as an afterthought, a recovery ride. As far as we were concerned we’d cracked the Tour and it was with a huge sense of pride that we sunk some beers and pizza and flicked through the photos and videos of the day.
Marcellus said:
I now feel that i did actually do all three days, without pushing a pedal!
err, no....not even close, lol. Day 2 is the hardest physical thing I have ever done, it was brutal.I was thinking there was a gap in the write up between Holme Moss and Jenkins road, described as 'small climbs'. To put it into perspective, I got to the top of Holme Moss after 9 hours and it was 3 hours of almost constant riding between them for me. Every single hill was probably tougher than the steepest/longest on stage 3. For a masochist like myself, it was arguably the best day I have spent on a bike.
The descending was something else too. I never thought I would spin out on my 50-11 gearing, especially with tired legs, but it happened several times that day. You know you're going quickly when cars don't feel the need to overtake you on a straight A-road.
A few memories from me are:
Missing my turning in Huddersfield and finding myself in the pedestrian precinct on a Saturday afternoon. Lucky the tour didn't do that.
Justin waving frantically out of his window to warn about a hairpin bend as I was racing an Audi, who was making progress, down a hill.
Having just climbed Jenkins road and turned at the lights and now with over 100 miles, 9,500ft and nearly 12 hours, I heard a huffing/puffing noise behind me and found someone wheel sucking me! I'm still shaking my head at it now.
I thought i'd wait for the Darren & Tony a few hundred metres before the finish and we'd all come in together. 7 minutes later they come into view and sprint for the line before I've even managed to clip in! Cheers lads! Strangely, i'm not last on that strava segment though.
That just shows how fatigue blurs your senses, I was standing about 5 meters from the car when I warned you about the hairpin
Gruffy missed out the impromptu Foam Roller session on a hill about 15 miles out of Sheffield too.
I think you'd pressed on when he decided now was the time for a little back cracking.
Gruffy missed out the impromptu Foam Roller session on a hill about 15 miles out of Sheffield too.
I think you'd pressed on when he decided now was the time for a little back cracking.
The luxuries of a supported ride!johno_78 said:
I was thinking there was a gap in the write up between Holme Moss and Jenkins road, described as 'small climbs'. To put it into perspective, I got to the top of Holme Moss after 9 hours and it was 3 hours of almost constant riding between them for me. Every single hill was probably tougher than the steepest/longest on stage 3. For a masochist like myself, it was arguably the best day I have spent on a bike.
More of this after the stage 3 write-up, but the craziest thing for me was the total perspective shift the Tour gave me. To be able to disregard all those late climbs is quite odd when a week before any one of them would have been bigger than anything on my local routes. The biggest hill on stage 3 was Sewards End out of Saffron Walden – 1.2km at 3% average – which wouldn't have even registered on stages 1 or 2. Hell, the official profile even ignored some category 3 hills on stage 2!johno_78 said:
I thought i'd wait for the Darren & Tony a few hundred metres before the finish and we'd all come in together. 7 minutes later they come into view and sprint for the line before I've even managed to clip in! Cheers lads! Strangely, i'm not last on that strava segment though.
I felt rotten about that once I'd realised 
Made me smile remembering it all over again 
Your point about it recalibrating my idea of hard, Gruffy, is so so true. The local "hills" near me (north Kent) which you always think of "oh not this again", barely register now. Nor do distances.
Granted, having Justin just changed things so hugely; he was an absolute life saver on so many occasions and so that was a big part of the comfort of doing big distances.
I think I mentioned earlier, but I was close to getting off about 90mins in on stage 2. That wind. Sore knees from previous day. The driving rain. Everything so cold I couldn't get warm. And 12hrs ahead of us. I really questioned why I was doing it. But we got through the terrible bit, and the stop in Addingham and the world's most glorious warm pork pie was all that was needed to be sure there was no getting off at all.
That was a VERY good pork pie
Your point about it recalibrating my idea of hard, Gruffy, is so so true. The local "hills" near me (north Kent) which you always think of "oh not this again", barely register now. Nor do distances.
Granted, having Justin just changed things so hugely; he was an absolute life saver on so many occasions and so that was a big part of the comfort of doing big distances.
I think I mentioned earlier, but I was close to getting off about 90mins in on stage 2. That wind. Sore knees from previous day. The driving rain. Everything so cold I couldn't get warm. And 12hrs ahead of us. I really questioned why I was doing it. But we got through the terrible bit, and the stop in Addingham and the world's most glorious warm pork pie was all that was needed to be sure there was no getting off at all.
That was a VERY good pork pie
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