Solitude in the city is never quite what it seems. The next person is only a thin concrete wall away, a busy road within earshot, a 24 hour supermarket open for business close by. But on a bike you can escape and leave it behind, close the front door and pedal yourself into the middle of nowhere.

You, an empty road, horses in a field, and the wind filling your ears.

My winter training has differed in one significant way from previous years  – it’s been undertaken almost entirely alone. I have a bible (written by Joe Friel) and it decrees that riding alone is the most effective way to train. But as I hope has been made abundantly clear on this blog, effectiveness is not a singular aim I attempt to achieve in training. Yet unlike the core strength exercises and the pedalling drills to hone technique, I’ve actually stuck to this commandment. I’ve clocked up hours and miles alone – yet it’s rarely felt lonely.

The advantages of the solo ride are many. You can start when you want, and never be late. Can go as far and as fast as you want. Go where you want, up as few hills, in as many circles, backtrack, take shortcuts. Stop for a pee when called for (and there’s a convenient amount of shrubbery at hand). Linger to take a photo. Get lost and have no one to blame but yourself, and no one blaming yourself but yourself. Punctures might need mending, but they’re never someone else’s. When it rains you can seek shelter, or just stay in bed. No one tells you to MTFU. Bad days and tired legs can remain your own secret.

For a motivated rider there are few disadvantages. But if you want to race then the solitude can not last – eventually you will have to seek out ‘competition’.

“Hell is the rhythm of others” wrote Paul Fournel. After several weeks of careful training, long solo rides taking on headwinds single-handed, the sensations of form begin to emerge. An optimism starts to take hold, a belief in your own immortal speed. Until the illusion crumbles the moment you attempt to hold the wheels of a fast moving group. Suddenly gradients aren’t spun up in a light gear, bum planted snugly on the saddle – it’s nose to the bar tape, digging in, desperately stamping on the pedals to stay in contact. These are totally different sensations, and it’s like being shaken awake from a cosy winter’s slumber.

To set yourself against a competitive group is inevitable as the season draws closer and, hopefully, after the initial jolt the enthusiasm for competition is relearned. The reward for grovelling on the wheels of others will be those delicious opportunities of returning the favour, to be the enthusiastic host to a light lunch of suffering.

But more than the competition, what the solo rider misses most is the conversation. A group of cyclists is united not just by the action of pedalling but by the common interest in it. Somehow the specifics are always forgotten, but good conversation is the perfect background to a good ride. We talk about everything and nothing, and even, at times when the wind is strong, much of it is barely understood. But best of all, conversation is the perfect modulator of pace; it’s impossible to hold down an interesting discussion when the effort is too vigorous.

So cherish the silence on the long solo rides of winter. But beware joining a group riding in silence – it’s unlikely to allow you the breath to enjoy the scenery.

Looking back at the year just gone I’ve spent approximately 450 hours riding a bicycle. I’d wager that I’ve spent approximately 450 of those hours with both hands on the handlebars.

Riding hones the pedalling technique, endless fluid circles. The body adapting, the bike an extension of the rider. Endless loops of Richmond Park, I could navigate it with my eyes closed. Or packed into a fast moving peloton, navigating hair pin bends. At times one handed, either hand, looking backwards, sideways, nonchalantly, effortlessly. And yet… as soon as both hands let go I feel like a fish out of water. Or at least a fish about to leap from the water to land face first onto the tarmac.

Everyone claims to have a good sense of humour. After all, who thinks of themselves as humourless? And so every cyclist must believe in their own sense of balance, it’s a basic prerequisite. Riding on two wheels requires balance, and as far as I know there aren’t any stabilisers in the professional peloton.

I recall moments of skilled bike handling to support the belief in my talent for balance, those times of staying upright when those around me were sliding along the road having fallen like dominoes. But perhaps that was just luck? Or because I ride with such excessive caution that crashing into anything would be a statistical anomaly?

Letting go of the bars feels like relinquishing control. My arms naturally adopt the pose of the falling rider, like I’m reaching out in readiness to hug the road. My bicycle senses my fear and obliges by lunging to either side in search of something other than the straight path ahead.

I remember my first time riding a horse and being surprised it wasn’t the same as riding a bicycle – you couldn’t just steer the horse, it had a brain of its own. You could only ask it to go in the same direction that you wanted. And letting go of my bike’s reigns I get the same sensation, but when at the mercy of my bike I struggle to credit it with the same intelligence. Even the stupidest horse knows that falling over isn’t a good idea.

But the worst thing of all is the secret shame. Do you live in fear of being exposed as a fraud? Of not knowing your clinchers from your tubulars? Of that cold chill when standing in the bike shop and being asked a question that exceeds your technical knowledge? The inability to ride no handed is a fatal flaw in my illusion of cycling competence, it marks me out as an amateur. The pros shoot down mountainsides at 70kph peeling a banana.

And so with the start of the new year my resolution is to master riding with no hands. Sure, there are more important matters that need fixing. I’ve got to start going to bed earlier, to eat proper meals, and to even stretch once in a while. But even if I end up finishing dead last in every race over the next twelve months, I will at least be able to remove my gilet without having to drop two metres off the back of the bunch. And if things really go in my favour, to raise both arms in a victory salute without fear of falling short of the finishing line.

One of my new years resolutions this time around will include writing down and keeping somewhere safe what those resolutions actually are. But I’m pretty sure last year’s included putting in a little more time and dedication into this blog. And looking back over the past twelve months gives me quite a sense of satisfaction that it was a resolution I actually stuck to (apart from during those times when I got lazy, distracted, or couldn’t think of anything interesting to say. Which was quite often).

So a big thank you to everyone who has visited during that time, I only hope you found it was an enjoyable experience, that you were entertained or learnt something new. Or at the very least weren’t appalled and disappointed. Getting positive comments and feedback makes all the hard work worthwhile. It’s also a real privilege to have been given the opportunity to meet and feature the guys from the cycling world who I admire and look up to, and for some of the best photographers around to lend me their work illustrate my words.

Below is a selection of articles from the past year that you might like to revisit or perhaps discover for the first time. Thanks again for reading and supporting this little blog, and I hope you’ll continue to come back during 2012 – I promise not to be quite so lazy and distracted next year…

January

To that roadie girl I pass on my way to work sometimes…

So you like cycling. That’s cool. What’s your job? I’ve seen you riding to work a few times in the morning, or at least the days when it’s not raining. I pass you on the way into town – I think you’re headed towards Soho. You’ve probably noticed me too, right? I’m guessing you do something creative because you obviously start at half nine, or around ten – probably in a studio or someplace cool where you work on Macs with large monitors and all the guys have beards and wear skinny jeans. I’m not saying you’re a hipster – you ride a Colnago for Chrissakes! – but maybe you keep a fixie at home and you ride that the days I don’t pass you on High Street Ken? Of course I wouldn’t know that sort of stuff ‘cos it’s not like I’ve been following you or anything (although I’ve maybe considered it).

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February

The Deadly Sins of Cycling: no. 7 Tardiness

“The hardest part about going training is putting on your socks”, so says Simon Gerrans’ coach Dave Sanders. However, for me, the hardest part is actually finding my socks in the first place. And then trying to remember where I put the strap for my heart rate monitor, and then realising I forgot to lube my chain or fill my drinks bottles… and then, before you know it, I’m already late.

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March

Q+A: Camille McMillan, photographer

After racing at the top level as a junior, Camille McMillan swapped his bike for the camera to become one of the top cycling photograpers around. Le Métier was published last year, with Camille’s photographs illustrating Michael Barry’s story of life as a pro, and his work has featured in magazines such as Rouleur and their photography annuals. He is currently embedded with Team Sky for the classics season, shooting and blogging for The Times.

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April

Strava: slaying the virtual opposition

I knew we were in trouble when he turned up to the training ride in a skinsuit, aero booties and with the vents on his helmet taped up. The wind direction had been deemed favourable, temperature and air density agreeable. It was time to go break some Strava records.

If you’re so far unacquainted with Strava, then it’s an on-line repository for all those GPS files and stats accumulated by these new-fangled cycling computers. Every variable is measured and uploaded and converted into a binary facsimile of how any ride – from commute to leisurely jaunt in the countryside – might appear if it were conceived by the makers of The Matrix. A dizzying stream of binary type reconstructing the open road as a line on a map and the curves of a graph.

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May

On getting dropped

How many times does the thought cross your mind? “I wish this could just end right now”, as the elastic to the wheel in front starts to stretch further and further, and the effort to close it gets more and more painful. A puncture, a broken spoke, something innocuous but definitive. A noble end, an irrefutable excuse. “Not a crash, nothing painful, just an end.”

And then it finally happens, the shameful truth emerges – the legs inadequate, the heart too weak, the line of riders drift away. Shoulders bowed, head hung low – you’ve been dropped.

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June

Ditching the lycra

If you’re reading this blog then the likelihood is that for you cycling is a year-round activity. However, to much of the London population, cycling is something that only happens during the summer (and tube strikes). In the same way that tennis hibernates year round and only emerges during the brief weeks of Wimbledon with every public court booked out morning ’til night, London’s roads become clogged with cyclists the moment it’s warm enough to leave the cardigan at home.

As an aloof, elitist and snooty racing cyclist, I of course endeavour to look down on these fair weather cyclists with disdain, overtaking them with my nose held high in the air. It is important for the world to see the distinction; they are merely people riding bikes, whereas I am a cyclist. Through thick and thin, through bad weather and good, I am dedicated, committed and devoted to the bicycle. And if my assured riding style, and nonchalant regard for complex road traffic systems isn’t proof enough of my cyclist status, then my lycra shorts should be.

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July

Racing lines

I bear the marks of my biker’s tan… It’s my second skin. I derive neither shame nor glory from it. I take it on, and, with the first rays of the spring sun, I put down another layer. One day I was at the pool and a kid yelled at me: ‘Hey pops, you forgot your bike!’ It’s hard to stay incognito. – Paul Fournel, Need for the Bike

By now your friends, family and work colleagues already think you’re strange with that peculiar obsession with cycling you have. But that doesn’t stop them from stifling a giggle when they first notice that the deep brown tan on your arms mysteriously ends at the wrist – the classic cycling mitt tan line. Do they suspect the other tanning horrors that lurk beneath your shirtsleeves?

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August

Crewing at Paris-Brest-Paris

We arrived in Paris from London at midnight; eight hours later we met Chris Ragsdale for the first time. Tarik (of Etape Reine Cycling) and myself were to be a two-man crew in his attempt to clock the fastest time at Paris-Brest-Paris 2011. Chris is a multiple US 24 hour champion and world record holder for the 1,000km. This was his first time attempting the 1,200km event, it was our first time crewing. Despite our research none of us had a real idea of what to expect – the following two days and nights were to expose our naivety.

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September

Keep calm and carry on

The commissaire was twitchy. His pre-race briefing stressed a disapproval of straying across the central road lines; we were to remain squeezed onto the left hand side only. Eighty riders trying to race on just a few metres of tarmac.

Unfortunately this enthusiastic interpretation of the rules didn’t bring about safer racing, it only made us more uneasy. Chances were still being taken, on blind bends, and on the climbs when the bunch naturally fans across the road as the pace slows. Of course, some riders were clearly intent on taking more risks than others.

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October

Diary of an Urban Warrior

“I prefer the rain. There’s less newbies, nodders and plodders out there, getting in my way. I’m riding to work and I want to get there fast, flying past the gridlocked cars and sneering at the morons inside. I curse at the dimwitted bus drivers. Expect the unexpected from mini-cabs. As I race through the traffic I wonder who would drive a car in London anyway? Rich tossers and lazy bastards.

But the sun is out today, and with it the hoards of lingerers and dawdlers. Competition on the roads will be fierce, and so will the fight for space; I’ll need to constantly jump ahead of the shoals of bikes in order to see the clear spaces ahead. I hesitate slightly over today’s bike choice; the carbon road bike means more speed on the straights, but the Canondale Bad Boy is better for diving through traffic, hopping over curbs, the disc brakes are handy for those evasive manoeuvres. Today will be about speed, so I slip my drinks bottle into the holder of the racer and pull on my SPD shoes, tightening the straps firmly.

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November

Winter riding: rediscovery

The tan line on the back of my wrist is gradually fading, early morning rides have been replaced by late morning lie ins. Recently sausages and mash has formed the back bone of my diet, and I’ve indulged my slothful impulses. Unfortunately the winter hiatus is coming to end – today is marked as Base 1, Week 1, Day 1 on my Excel spreadsheet.

Getting off the sofa and back into training isn’t going to be as easy as I might have thought; over the past few months, as the season drew to a close and the winter loomed, it feels as though my attitudes towards competitive riding had been shifting. Taking the time out had been an opportunity to rediscover that hankering for racing, the need for competition. Absence making the heart grow fonder, and all of that.

By now I should be salivating at the prospect of a chaingang, chomping at the bit for a competitive training ride through the hills. But I’m not sure it’s worked.

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December

Q+A: Jered Gruber, writer & photographer

Jered Gruber left behind a career in America as a pro cyclist to pursue a life travelling with his wife Ashley across the roads of Europe. Since first picking up a camera just two years ago, the duo have photographed and reported from Grand Tours and the Classics, capturing some stunning images along the way. His work can be seen in magazines such as Peloton and Bicycling Australia, and on the official poster of the 2012 Giro d’Italia. It may sound like a dream come true, but as Jered reveals, it’s taken a lot of hard work and perseverance to get this far…

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Jered leads the bunch up Paris Mountain during the USPRO in 2008: “David Zabriskie was already up the road, but I got a big enough gap on the field to get a chance to enjoy Paris Mountain and its thousands of fans all by myself. It was special. It would have been special just like that, but it hit unforgettable for me, because a lot of my friends, including Ashley, were in the first kilometer of the climb.” Photo by Darrell Parks

Jered Gruber left behind a career in America as a pro cyclist to pursue a life travelling with his wife Ashley across the roads of Europe. Since first picking up a camera just two years ago, the duo have photographed and reported from Grand Tours and the Classics, capturing some stunning images along the way. His work can be seen in magazines such as Peloton and Bicycling Australia, and on the official poster of the 2012 Giro d’Italia. It may sound like a dream come true, but as Jered reveals, it’s taken a lot of hard work and perseverance to get this far…

Give us a brief account of your cycling background. I started riding in 2002 after spending most of my childhood playing golf. After graduating high school in May of 2001, I traveled to Europe with a friend, Teddy. We did the European Trip and one day ended up mountain biking with my uncle and Teddy. Teddy kicked my ass. He always kicked my ass though, but for some reason, this time it stung. I wanted a bike, so bought a bike at the very end of the year for $400 from a guy in Athens. Shoes, bike, wheels, pedals, everything.

After that, it was a slow, slow process to getting reasonably fast. Cat 5 to Cat 4 in 2002, Cat 3 in 2003, a year studying and racing out of Heidelberg, Germany in 2003-2004. Cat 2 at the end of 2004, Cat 2 and 15th at U23 Nats in 2005, Cat 1 in 2006. In 2007, things started to pick up. I had been working hard since about 2005, but it took until 2007 for things to start to come together. I signed on with a great squad, the TIME Factory Development Team, and suddenly everything clicked. The people behind that program really made me the bike rider I became (plus of course my good friend, coach, training partner Jacob Fetty).

How long have you been writing about and photographing cycling? I’ve been working with PezCyclingNews since the end of 2003. I can’t believe it, but that makes for eight years now. I started working with PEZ while studying in Germany for the 2003/2004 school year. I began with Homeboy articles, then went to EuroTrash, articles, etc etc. I didn’t make any money until 2005, and at that time PEZ offered me a little something to take on some more responsibilities. That stipend of sorts really got me through those lean years when I raced full-time and made no money on my bike.

The magazines didn’t come until I met Ashley. We moved to Europe in 2008 and that’s when things really kicked off. Ashley’s continual desire to travel got us on the road and taking pictures. We got lucky and made a contact at ROAD Magazine as well as Bicycling Australia. They were happy to have our work, and we were so happy to have the chance to see our pictures and words on paper! We moved over to Peloton Magazine at the end of 2010, and that brings us to our current set up: PEZ, Peloton, Bicycling Australia.

What’s been your greatest ride or achievement on a bike? Three days stand out to me above all others…

Number one was the first real win of my ‘career’, which came in 2007 with the TIME Factory Development team. It was my first win, the first win for the team (now Mountain Khakis), and it was a hugely welcomed result after so much hard work from both myself and everyone around me who helped me along the way. I’ll never be able to say thank you enough for the support, teaching, time, friendship, and faith that the people who led that team gave me. That was a crucial year for me in every way, I had some of my biggest highs and lowest lows.

The second is being awarded the Most Aggressive Rider jersey at the Nature Valley GP in 2008. The day that I earned it was special, but the call up from Dave Towle before the Stillwater Crit the next day and my ensuing BMX startline attack up the hill – that was just awesome. I cracked halfway through and pulled out, but I still have that jersey on my wall.

And finally, my solo ride up Paris Mountain at USPRO in 2009. I met Ashley at the beginning of the 2008 season and happily left bike racing midway through my first season as a professional to be with her when she moved to Austria. It was the best decision I ever made, and I’m just so happy that it was such a simple one. I knew that I wanted to be with Ashley, but somehow I still managed a spot on a small Southeastern pro team for 2009.

I didn’t race until August – my second race back was USPRO. I had trained hard, but I hadn’t raced at all, so it was never going to be a successful outing. I managed to make the most of it though and attacked as the race left the opening circuits and headed for Paris Mountain. David Zabriskie was already up the road, but I got a big enough gap on the field to get a chance to enjoy Paris Mountain and its thousands of fans all by myself. It was special. It would have been special just like that, but it hit unforgettable for me, because a lot of my friends, including Ashley, were in the first kilometer of the climb.

Of all the places you’ve travelled to, where’s your favourite place to ride? I think I’ll have to give the nod to either the area around Monte Grappa in Italy or the place that’s the closest thing we have to a home – Athens, Georgia.

We spent a lot of time just north of Monte Grappa in Fonzaso (the home of Castelli and Sportful) and just south of Monte Grappa in Castelcucco (the home of Velo Veneto). I’m in love with the area. It has everything I could ever ask for, and most importantly, it’s quiet. The roads are small and unused, the climbs never-ending, the weather just right, the food out of this world, the people are great… it’s my little piece of earthly heaven. The riding in Athens isn’t a tenth as good as Fonzaso, but it’s home.

Giro d’Italia, 2011

Your own riding and racing seems to have taken a backseat in favour of working on your career. Do you miss it, or do you now perhaps have more opportunities, such as to ride in more interesting places? I miss racing very much. I’m working on returning to racing next season in Belgium. Right now, we’re trying to get a journalist visa to Belgium. If we can do that, we’ll rent an apartment near Oudenaarde. From that base, I’ll race, follow races, and work. It’s going to be a tough juggling act, but I really want to race again. I have no illusions of grandeur, I just want to finish up something that I don’t feel like I was done with. That could all change if things make a jump forward with our photography, but as long as nothing crazy happens, I really want to race.

Of course, with that said, I’ve suffered my first ever real injury this winter. I don’t know what happened, but I tweaked my back in a big way. I haven’t been able to train much for almost a month now. I’ve been trying to be relaxed about it, but it’s getting pretty late in the year… It’s a long season though.

If there was one rider, past or present, that you’d like to photograph who would it be? I don’t think it’s necessarily a certain rider. I would, however, love the chance to photograph the Classics back in the 60′s, 70′s, and 80′s with the equipment I have today. THAT would be amazing. Why stop there though – I’d love to shoot Coppi on the Stelvio, Hinault at the Tour, the list goes on and on and on…

What’s been the best experience or opportunity you’ve had as part of your job so far? The opportunity to do what we’ve done over the past year and a half has been incredible. We haven’t made much money, but we’ve had just enough to put ourselves in some incredible places and situations. It has been a ton of work, a lot of late nights, and more than a few sacrifices, but it has been worth it. While I’m thankful to so many people and companies for their support, I do feel like we’ve made our way, because we’ve worked our asses off. I feel like this has been a case of making our own luck – we’ve worked hard, made a huge leap of faith to become nomads in Europe, put ourselves in the right places… and as a result, we’ve had some amazing opportunities and experiences.

When I think back about it, it’s hard not to shake my head in disbelief. It was a crazy idea – fly to Europe, buy a car, find places to stay, and find jobs to do. For that though, I have to give Ashley credit. She’s the dreamer. She comes up with the craziest ideas and puts them in my head. I call her crazy, but she plants the seed. I ride my bike. I think about it. Then one day, it clicks. That could work. We could do that. It has happened over and over again. I wouldn’t have done a millionth of the things we’ve done without Ashley’s never-ending desire to explore.

Are there any other photographers you look up to, or take inspiration from? Right now, I’m going crazy looking at the work of a wedding photographer from New York. He takes brilliant pictures. While wedding photography and cycling are about as opposite as you can get, I really feel that some of his techniques and ideas will be useful when I shoot a big race. That’s my hope at least.

I guess I find inspiration and look up to nearly every photographer that I stumble upon. At this point in my career I try to look at as many pictures as I can. I get mad at myself when I’m not looking at new pictures or reading about photography. With that said, I hope that there never comes a time when I’m not looking at what other people are doing. I hope I never feel too good or established or secure to disregard the amazing work being produced by photographers around the world. Even when I look at some photographers where I don’t necessarily enjoy their pictures, I’m still impressed, because they’ve figured out how to make it, how to earn a living. That’s not something I’ve managed to do yet.

While it might be cliche to say…I really, really love the work of Ansel Adams. I’ve never seen pictures that make me stop and gasp like that from anyone else. They’re unbelievable.

Can you give any simple tips for anyone who wants to get good shots at a bike race? Firstly, it doesn’t cost a lot to put together a decent lens system. Three lenses should do the trick: wide, all-purpose, and long. Primes are awesome too. I love prime lenses – they’re cheap, you get a great quality lens, and it simplifies the process. My feet do the work of a good zoom lens in that case.

Do something to make the image more compelling, more interesting. Go high, go low, go wide, go long.

Keep that shutter speed high if you’re trying to stop movement. I try not to shoot below 1/1000th of a second if I can manage it. I’m not sure if that’s necessary, but it has become a rule of thumb of sorts for me. Since I have no schooling whatsoever in photography, that really is an arbitrary number. It seems about right though…

When you have a shot in mind, stick with it. Ashley and I can attest to having major issues with this. We’ll stand in a spot, have a perfect shot all worked out, and as soon as we see the race, we lose our minds and just start clicking. Afterwards, we’ll look back, and we’re often happy with the pictures, but we’ll realize we didn’t actually take the picture we had envisioned. This isn’t always a bad thing, but there’s plenty of time to get that shot you’re thinking of… plus the others that inevitably arise.

Liège-Bastogne-Liège, 2011

When did you first pick up a camera or start taking photography seriously? I first picked up a real camera when I took a Nikon D40 out of the box at Christmas at the end of 2008. It didn’t take long before I started taking things seriously, because I had the unique opportunity to immediately publish my pictures. First with PEZ, then with ROAD Magazine and Bicycling Australia. I went from nothing to big pictures in a magazine after only four months with the D40.

I kind of just fell into it. After that, things took off. The cameras I’ve gone through in the last three years testify to the growth – from Nikon’s lowest end camera to its best: D40 (now with my father-in-law), D90 (now with my father), D300 (just sold), D700 (love it), D3s (heaven).

I never had any formal training as a photographer, so I feel like I have so much to make up for. I feel like I have to become a student of photography. Unfortunately, I’m a really crappy student. My father got me a year-long subscription to a huge online resource in photography learning – kelbytraining.com – but I admit that I haven’t done a hundredth of what I hoped to so far.

It seems you must be constantly on the road, traveling from one place to another. Do you get to spend much time at home, and is the travelling aspect one of the big attractions to what you do? Not so much. I love traveling, but with the workload we have and the riding that I want to do, traveling just makes it that much more difficult. Ashley has to pry me kicking and screaming away from one of our ‘home’ bases in Europe. Like I said before though, I’m so happy she drags my contented butt away from the easy life and continually to somewhere that challenges us.

Of course, there’s not much to complain about. Whenever we do travel, I’m always happy. It’s exciting. When we get the chance to do a shoot in a new place, it’s an adventure. The problem is that we’ve found some amazing places, and when we get to those places, I don’t want to leave. I think we’ve come to the conclusion that we could settle down in the area near Fonzaso and never leave though.

Paris-Roubaix, 2011

What’s next on the horizon for you? Do you have any ambitions that you want to achieve? I don’t honestly know. I guess I need to sit down and think about that. I’m afraid to look too far ahead, because I always have this feeling that this is a fleeting time. I guess it’s my wildest dream to think that we could possibly make this a viable career someday. At the moment though, we’re just getting by.

I’ve been working non-stop to try and make this work though. I’ve realized that I would love, more than anything, to be a photographer. I love to take pictures, I love to create, I love to sift through thousands of images, find the good ones, and make them special. I love it even more when I go back months later to those same images, and then find more.

For 2012, I want more than anything to transform ourselves into a well-known, successful duo. I hope that companies will respect us and pay us accordingly. I hope that newssources and magazines will do the same. I want to continue doing what we’re doing, but I want to turn this into something that could really pay the rent and buy ourselves a car with working windows and air-conditioning. I would love to be able to drop my many different jobs in the hope of focusing entirely on one – taking pictures. If we could do that, I can’t imagine what would be possible.

Looking at it a little more simply: we want to cover the Classics again. Het Volk, Milan-San Remo, Flanders, Gent-Wevelgem, Roubaix, Amstel Gold, Fleche Wallonne, Liège-Bastogne-Liège, Lombardia… I also want to cover a little bit more of the Grand Tours. Hopefully at least some part of all three Grand Tours, plus who knows what else. If we could manage that, with a car that keeps on running, I’ll be pretty excited.

Jered’s shot of the Garmin-Cervélo rider Peter Stetino tackling the Passo Giau has been chosen as the official poster publicising the 2012 edition of the Giro d’Italia.

Prints of Jered’s work – including all those featured in the article above – are available to order from his website.

They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and that couldn’t be more true when it preludes a five hour ride on a frosty winter’s morning. Lunchtime is usually come and gone by the time you return home hungry and exhausted, so you need some serious fuel in the tank before setting off.

It’s no secret that porridge makes for the perfect cyclist’s breakfast; it’s got all that low GI slow-energy release stuff, sustaining you well through the morning, and it provides some welcome warmth before stepping out into the cold. And it’s cheap, offering far more healthy nourishment for the pound than any other breakfast cereal on the supermarket shelves (most of which are horribly over processed, and over priced). Yet, porridge can also become a joyless stodgy glop that’s a chore to force down if you don’t get it right.

I used to hate porridge, mostly because of the way my mum used to make it (sorry Mum). She’d leave it to soak overnight, and then it would sit on the stove gently solidifying before being served up as a sort of paste that clung stubbornly to each spoonful. But don’t be seduced by the convenience and ease of the quick cook sachets as an easy way out, with their promise of a steaming bowlful after a quick blast in the microwave. I recently bought a couple of boxes after seeing them on special in the supermarket, but found they offered a joyless experience despite the added flavourings. And worse, I was hungry again by mid-morning despite the giant portions I was forcing down.

Always opt for whole rolled porridge oats, despite the extra labour involved. The six to seven minute cooking time might seem like an inconvenience, but it gives the perfect opportunity to get your kit ready, to track down that missing sock, and to rummage around in the laundry basket for the jersey you intended to wear but forget to put into the wash. My pre-ride morning routine is a whirlwind of disorganisation, yet it always seems possible to prepare a proper bowl of porridge.

First off, boil some water in the kettle. Then add it to a saucepan with your oats (I like the jumbo variety), enough to cover it completely. Stir regularly over a low heat for about five minutes, before mixing in some semi-skimmed milk and allowing that to warm through for another couple of minutes. Some like to add salt during cooking, but I don’t bother. You can vary the ratios of milk and water – milk is a good source of protein and gives a nice creamy texture. However I find too much milk makes for a very heavy bowlful.

Then you can flavour it with anything you fancy – nuts, seeds, dried fruit, compote, blueberries, once I even experimented (unsuccessfully) with Nutella – but I find a teaspoon of runny honey works for me, adding some healthy sweetness. For some reason tea just doesn’t work with porridge, it has to be a mug of strong coffee, such as filter or an Americano, nothing too milky.

And there you have it, a breakfast of champions.

My bike fit was undertaken at the Cyclefit studio at Pearson Cycles, 232 Upper Richmond Road West, London SW14 8AG. For more information visit their website.

The Man-Machine: one half is a complex mechanism of joints and moving parts, the other is a bicycle. One is endlessly adjustable and adaptable, the other is a cyclist. The ideal is a perfect union of the two separate entities, working in harmony and efficiency – except the reality is usually much different, involving wonky knees, sore backs, and cricked necks.

I’ve come to the new Cyclefit studio at the new Pearson Cycles shop in Sheen to iron out a few glitches and doubts I’ve had about my own riding setup. And it’s very early into the session that I become aware of just how little thought I’d previously put into getting my bike set up correctly and to how my body sits and moves when it’s on it. My first surprise was really just how much discomfort I was willing to accept as part of trying to ride a bike quickly – and that these discomforts could so easily be eliminated without compromising on speed.

The bike fit, perhaps unfairly, has garnered a reputation of advocating comfort over speed, practicality over style. Stuart Jeffreys of Cyclefit who will be doing my bike fitting, admits this perception has been reinforced by the type of customers they often see – many returning to sport after years of a sedentary lifestyle, backs hunched in front of computer screens. It’s these cyclists, and others who encounter obvious problems – perhaps caused by poor flexibility, or by previous injuries – can most easily see the significant benefits of having a bike that fits their body properly. But almost everyone – including experienced cyclists – can benefit from one too.

The fitting

The session started with a chat about my riding, what sort of hours I do on the bike, and a little about my own expectations of what I was hoping to get out of the fitting. A few days earlier Cyclefit had sent over a questionnaire to fill in, so Stuart already had a good idea of where I was coming from. For the past year or so I’d become aware of an awkwardness in my left leg – at the bottom of the stroke it felt as though my foot was searching or reaching for the pedal, and despite endless cleat adjustments the discomfort stubbornly remained.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect bike fit,” Stuart warned me from the outset. There are so many factors to consider that any fit will require the interpretation of data through an experienced eye, and balancing this with the needs and expectations of the client. He also made it clear a bike fit is not about producing extra watts or refining aerodynamics – it won’t magically make you ride faster. But it makes sense that a rider who avoids injury and can ride without discomfort is likely to be a fitter and more efficient one.

After our preliminary chat Stuart measures me up and asks me to do some simple stretches so he can gauge my flexibility and core strength. Fortunately I’m able to touch my toes and my general flexibility compares well to the average cyclist – unfortunately that’s not really saying much. Stretching is for most of us something we’re aware we should do, but rarely actually bother with. For more serious flexibility and core strength issues Stuart is a big advocate of Pilates as a way to help remedy any problems.

Measuring and analysing

The SiCI fitting jig at Cyclefit is almost endlessly adjustable, with interchangeable saddle and handlebars. The power output from each leg can also be measured independently to ensure both are balanced, and any discrepancies can be rectified.

It’s when assessing my feet that Stuart starts to realise why I might be having issues with my pedal stroke. While measuring my arches whilst I both sit and stand he sees a discrepancy between each foot, with the arches collapsing slightly more on the left. But before suggesting any changes at this stage, he replicates the setup of my current bike on the fitting rig and gets me up and pedalling.

The jig is designed to make adjustment of each variable quick and easy, and it also has the facility to measure the power output from each leg. After a few minutes to get settled, Stuart is able to employ several means of analysing my position – the first of these is by eye. Straightaway Stuart can see my bars are too low and too wide. Stuart points out how my back is struggling to stretch into such a low position, and how my arms are locked straight down – by moving the bars up slightly my elbows will naturally bend to compensate, making things more comfortable without making me sit up any higher on the bike (and so not ruining my sleek aerodynamic shape!). Simple really.

Next he looks at the power being generated from each leg, and in my case things are reassuringly even – just a one or two percent favouring of the right which is well within the bounds of acceptability. However this belies a rather obvious problem with my left leg which Stuart spots straightaway. Attaching little sticky dots to my leg, knee and feet, Stuart films a side-on view of me pedalling so we can play it back and analyse how I’m moving.

Software from Dartfish helps to plot the angles and movements of my pedalling action, and again it identifies how my left heel is dropping too early. These are all signs which point towards my left foot causing the problems. In the past I’d endlessly fiddled with the cleat positioning on my left shoe in an attempt to get comfortable, but it seems the issue lies not just with the cleats, but also with the insoles and with the actual shoes themselves.

Leg to toe

Stuart explained that even expensive and otherwise good quality cycling shoes are almost always sold with sub-standard insoles. My Mavics were no different, and offered very little in the way of arch support. sSoles offer a customisable insole which can be tailored to each individual foot. Combined with a slightly different cleat position, plus the addition of cleat shims underneath the shoe, my feet immediately began to feel more supported and more connected to the pedal.

However there remained movement of my left heel within the shoe, which was now more obvious to see now the rest of the foot was being kept securely in place. Stuart put this down to the Mavic shoes not offering the right heel support for my particular shape of feet. He went down into the shop and brought back up several pairs from different brands for me to try – this wasn’t a sales pitch, but a demonstration of just how the contrast in shapes is really quite surprising. He recommended looking at the heat mouldable options from Bont and Shimano as these can both be tailored more closely to feet that are not neatly catered for by regular models.

Best foot forward

With my eSoles in place, I was back on the jig riding in Stuart’s recommended setup. The adjustments to my feet made such a noticeable difference to not only my comfort, but to how smooth my pedal action now felt. A nifty laser measuring device confirmed my knees were now tracking better (that is not sticking out in either direction but remaining pointing forwards during the stroke). My shoulders felt far more relaxed with the bars coming up slightly higher, and moving my saddle a centimetre lower but further back meant I was sitting on it correctly, and not too far forward as I had been previously.

After the session Cyclefit provides a report with all the necessary measurements needed to match this new setup on your own bike. Assuming these aren’t drastic it should be possible to achieve these changes without going to any great expense – and of course they’ll come in very handy when purchasing a new frame or bike. The eSoles are not included in the price, but are relatively inexpensive and bring so many benefits to make them a very wise investment.

I came away from the session feeling a lot more confident that my bike was fitting ‘right’, and that I won’t be inadvertently knackering my knees from misguided cleat positioning. Even though there were no major adjustments made, the small tweaks added up to a much greater whole. The eSoles were a revelation in themselves!

Happy feet. And knees. And back.

For such beneficial changes to be felt by someone who didn’t have any major problems to begin with, I can see how valuable a good bike fit can be to someone having to curtail or even avoid riding just because of discomfort. If you’re looking to save watts through aerodynamics then this isn’t the place to come, but equally Cyclefit won’t have you riding around with a stack of spacers and a flipped up stem if that’s not what you need.

The session is not cheap, and for most isn’t a real necessity – but it’s not just for those with significant problems or injuries either. I enjoyed the experience and found the changes to be beneficial. And in the context of buying a new bike, a couple of hundred pounds spent on significantly improving the comfort of your riding experience is money well spent.

A Cyclefit session at Pearson Cycles costs £195 and will last approximately three hours. Fittings on your own bike, and shoe and cleat only setups are also available – see the website for more details. Optional – but highly recommended – eSoles are an additional £65.

Martijn Maaskant of Garmin-Cérvelo on the Muur. Photo by Jered Gruber

Riding through winter is very much like riding through summer. Only it tends to be colder. But, as you’ve no doubt read in countless magazine articles and forums and on websites, there’s a whole host of pitfalls to side step, heart rate zones to ride in, perfect rain jackets to purchase, and actual Phd theses on winter tyres to digest. So as if you didn’t need any more advice on how to ride your bike, here are my - characteristically verbose – tips on arriving in spring ready to attack the racing season with gusto…

Create your own mythology. The fundamentals of any training plan will be founded on goals and targets. But those are simply words, abstract ideas, accumulations of numbers and times. To survive a winter of continuous training, to make the cold rain bearable and for the intensity of intervals to not seem like an insanity, you need to dream. Allow yourself to visualise the highs of summer – the highs created by peak fitness, the highs of conquering mountains. Your goal is not to finish in first place – it’s to feel the euphoria, to bask in the glow only bestowed on the victorious. Hold onto these vignettes – of gritting your teeth in the sprint, the feel of accelerating away from the bunch as the road climbs upwards – it’s these expectations of  success that will help you make sense of riding through the drudgery and the many challenges winter will throw at you.

Wrap yourself in cotton wool. True, it’s sometimes good to tough it out and ride through miserable conditions. Just knowing how your body copes when sodden and frozen can help you deal with similar conditions when encountered during a race. But there’s little benefit in putting yourself through it day after day – eventually you’ll crack and want to spend a week wrapped up in bed. And if you get ill you might not have any choice in the matter.

Perhaps more importantly, always err on the side of caution when temperatures dip below freezing overnight and there’s a chance of ice on the roads. Last year we had to abandon a club run when half the group fell on the same patch of black ice – and that was on a main road before we’d even made into the country lanes. It can be extremely frustrating as chances to ride slip past, but the consequences of a bad fall make patience a far more sensible option.

Wrap yourself in sportswool. The amount of hours you spend riding on the road is probably easily matched by the time you spend checking out bike kit in shops and online. Looking for the best deals, comparing the weights of wheels, the lumens of lights, co-ordinating your arm warmers to your bar tape. Winter is a particularly enjoyable time of year for the kit fetishists as the amount of clothes required triples – baselayers, overshoes, jackets, hats, gloves… Spend wisely, but don’t scrimp on quality. Sportswool and merino are usually better than synthetics. Have multiples of the necessities – you can’t be washing the same kit night after night. Being prepared for the conditions means it’s more likely you’ll get out of bed and tackle them.

Too little is better than too much. A plan will never, it seems, go to plan. No matter how thorough your Excel spreadsheet might be, how flexible you try to make your schedule, life and weather and circumstance will inevitably get in the way. Christmas will come along and force you to drink and eat more, to go to parties and socialise, and you know, all that terrible enjoying yourself stuff. Illness will enforce rest. It’s hard not to panic, to not throw in extra hours to make up for those already missed. To up the intensity in fear of the races beginning to draw into view. But keep your progress steady, add training stress incrementally, even if that means reaching the start of the season slightly undertrained. The season is long, and you’ll soon catch up.

A little less pressure. That applies to your tyres, but also to your mindset. Get a group of guys, set them on a task together, and watch as the testosterone levels rise and everyone tries to outdo each other. Almost every group ride will at some point deteriorate into a race or a competition; if it’s not who can get up the hill first, it will be who does the longest pull on the front. And if your training is not on the same schedule of those around you, and it’s you getting dropped on every climb, it can get pretty demoralising. Leave the racing and competition for the actual racing and competitions. Riding at the pace that’s right for you is not always easy, so try to find a like minded group, or failing that, ride solo. In the end winter is actually a great time to enjoy a ride as just a ride – be serious and structured about how you approach your preparation for the following season, but also see it as a rest from all the pressures it will inevitably bring.

Lizzie Armistead gets in the winter miles through the stunning forests of Leuven, Belgium. Photo by Jered Gruber

The tan line on the back of my wrist is gradually fading, early morning rides have been replaced by late morning lie ins. Recently sausages and mash has formed the back bone of my diet, and I’ve indulged my slothful impulses. Unfortunately the winter hiatus is coming to end – today is marked as Base 1, Week 1, Day 1 on my Excel spreadsheet.

Getting off the sofa and back into training isn’t going to be as easy as I might have thought; over the past few months, as the season drew to a close and the winter loomed, it feels as though my attitudes towards competitive riding had been shifting. Taking the time out had been an opportunity to rediscover that hankering for racing, the need for competition. Absence making the heart grow fonder, and all of that.

By now I should be salivating at the prospect of a chaingang, chomping at the bit for a competitive training ride through the hills. But I’m not sure it’s worked.

Why would anyone race? What’s the appeal? The constant need to prove yourself and to perform at your best is draining. The training is hard and sucks up time. Competition is stressful, races can be dangerous. It can be cold and wet and muddy; the suffering might be controlled and fleeting, but it feels real enough.

Fall out of the racing groove, to find yourself at a distance from it if only just momentarily, and it’s not hard to adopt a critical perspective. The satisfaction, the excitement, the thrill, the achievements can all fade out of view, to be replaced with the question ‘Why?’.

It’s occurred to me that in the past I’ve found winter riding to be a time of falling back in love with the bike. It’s an opportunity to ride without training, to amble along with guys who ride this pace all year. To linger slightly longer at café stops, to tackle hills while still maintaining enough breath to continue your conversation. There’s nothing to prove; the guy attacking the group is a nuisance rather than a target.

Crisp winter mornings can be the most beautiful time of year to be out in the countryside – and ignoring the numbers from the digital box on the handlebars makes it easier to look up and absorb those surroundings.

From now until Christmas my rides might be marked ‘Base Miles’ but a more accurate description would be ‘Ambling’. I’ve accepted that I’m going to need to start riding again before I contemplate resuming training. For now a ride will be about a tantalising route on new roads, or the promise of interesting company, rather than because of an entry in a spreadsheet and a target heart rate zone. Only after I’ve had my fill of going slow will I turn my thoughts again to riding fast.

Read part 2, The Inevitable ‘Top Tips’, here.

First of all, congratulations to Heather Shearer and Marc Durdin who were the winners from the previous two weeks – both get to download and enjoy The Sufferfest’s latest training video A Very Dark Place.

Heather impressed us with her story of being undettered by the freezing temperatures of Saskatchewan – the road race she had entered my have been cancelled, but there’s always some crazy randonneurs ready to risk life and frost-bitten limb to ride their bikes through sub-zero temperatures. When water sprayed up from the road freezes on your cassette, limiting you to just a couple of gears, you know the conditions are tough. But despite this, she completed the 200km ride through Prince Albert National Park – an achievement worthy of any self-respecting Sufferlandrian.

Marc’s prize should really be passed onto his friend, the subject of his entry – having sprinted clear of the field in the final metres, our hapless hero unshipped his chain in a bravura display of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. But if we find he was shifting down gears, we reserve the right to refuse him his prize.

For this week the prize will go to someone displaying the reflexes of a cat, the cunning of a fox, the lightening speed of a cheetah – we’re only interested in winners this time…

Europcar’s Christopher Kern shows some impressive suffering, only to finish behind Rodriguez at the Criterium du Dauphine. Relive the agony (over and over again) in The Sufferfest’s A Very Dark Place.

The rules of this week’s contest are simple – the first person to leave a comment below wins the video. That’s it. So what are you waiting for?!

Heritage, authenticity, history – what most bike brands wouldn’t give for just a fraction of Pearson Cycle’s.

A lot has changed since their first shop set up for business 150 years ago, and no more has this been evident than in the most recent of those years. Fads and fashions have come and gone, technology has progressed, and the bicycle industry has matured. But amongst it all has been a prevailing trend to look backwards.

Steel frames continue to survive in the face of carbon, and bike brands new and old continue to plunder the history books for inspiration. You’d forgive Pearson for sharing the same nostalgic outlook, but for Britain’s oldest bike shop the future isn’t boxed-in by its past – their new 2012 range reveals a brave break from tradition.

Top Row: Details of ‘Once More…’, an aluminium framed bike based on their famous singlespeed ‘Touché’. Perfect as a winter training bike or commuting all-rounder, it’s all set to go with mudguard eyelets. Bottom row: ‘I’ve Started…’, a carbon cyclocross frame, but perfect as a multi-use go anywhere bike. Note the Pearson logo runs in the reverse direction on the non-drive side of the bikes.

The Pearson family business – now run since the early nineties by the fifth generation of brothers Will and Guy – is a microcosm of cycling’s history. From a Blacksmith’s branching out into the newly burgeoning field of bicycle repair in the late 1800s, to 2011 with the opening of their second store in Sheen catering to a sophisticated cycling audience looking for high performance carbon machines.

As the popularity of cycling has blossomed in recent years, so has the industry; designer clothing companies have emerged with cool branding and clever marketing, cycle manufacturers have stepped in to serve the demands of a diverse market that seeks cheap carbon frames to custom made titanium and everything in between, and bike shops have matured into lifestyle shopping experiences like any other sophisticated retailers to be found on the high street.

The new performance orientated Sheen store neatly ticks all the boxes of what a new well-heeled cycling clientele now expect; the shop is open and bright, friendly and welcoming, a small cafe bar serves cappuccinos and espressos. But it’s not only surface; upstairs Cyclefit are setting up shop to offer an expert bike fitting service, which is not just an added extra, but an approach which is now leading the way Pearson sees how it serves their customers. After giving me a quick tour of the shop and the fitting spaces upstairs, Will Pearson admits that after seeing how the Cyclefit process works, he realised just how rudimentary the traditional way of measuring up customers for new bikes has been.

The Cyclefit fitting rig: all measurements are adjusted on the fly, power output from each leg can be measured, with each personalised session lasting in the region of three hours.

In a world where amateurs are spending thousands on carbon wheels to save seconds, bike fitting has become a comparatively cost effective way of improving performance. Comfort means time on the bike can be extended, efficiency of pedalling contributing to increased power, and the advantages of avoiding injury caused by poor bike setup are obvious. A fitting session is now the recommended starting point of any bike purchase.

But it’s the 2012 range of bikes are where the changes at Pearson are most noticeable. A new sense of personality has emerged, a quirkiness, and individuality that wasn’t previously expressed so confidently. Will concedes that previous ranges looked up too much to the large bike manufacturers with their understated (i.e. boring) stylings, unimaginative titles – a mass market model that clearly wasn’t relevant to a small independent such as Pearson.

So in comes a range that includes bikes such as the ‘I May Be Some Time’ and ‘A Cunning Plan’, a new logo, new bold paintwork, and hidden details which add an intimacy that’s absent from the bikes from bigger players. The renowned tailor (and Rapha collaborator) Timothy Everest was already an existing Pearson customer, and was called upon, along with design and fashion consultant (also, on occasion, to Rapha) Tim Voegele-Downing, to lend the benefits of their expertise. The result is more coherent branding with a strong element of Britishness – and our peculiar humour – running through it.

Top row: ‘Mine Goes to Eleven’, the top end race frame, available in a more muted colour scheme, and with Campag 11-speed no doubt. Bottom left: ‘Goes Like Stink’ time trial frame. Bottom right: ’10 Goal’ bike polo inspired urban frame.

Hanging on the wall at the front of the shop is the top of the range racing model – ‘Mine Goes to Eleven’… kitted out in 10-speed Dura Ace. Will understands not everyone will get the joke, that it’s more a reference to Spinal Tap than it is to Campagnolo Super Record. The name is intended to capture something about the banter and ribbing that is a part of the British racing scene – turn up to race on a blinged out machine and you better be prepared to back it up with strong legs, or at least be ready to accept some pretty merciless teasing.

It’s also part of a realisation that it’s not necessary to try to appeal to everyone – that’s not Pearson’s job. But even if just a small section of the market is strongly drawn to the distinctive new bikes, then they’ve been a success. The amount of interest and coverage surrounding the new range has already indicated they’ve achieved their aims – a buzz which is unfamiliar even to a business that’s been around for 150 years.

The new Pearson Cycles shop in Sheen displaying the new range for 2012 is at 232 Upper Richmond Road West, London SW14 8AG.