The end

This time five years ago I'd never ridden a road bike and couldn't run 5km.

This time two years ago I completed my first half ironman.

This time one year ago I did my first hill climb on the bike, up Copperlode Dam in Cairns.

This time one week ago I was riding into Paris after cycling the route of the 2014 Tour de France.

There were three phases of challenge to the tour. The training, the actual tour, and now the aftermath. 

In many ways the actual tour was the least challenging bit. It was hard. I cried, I took more pain medication in a few weeks than I have in the past few years, and nearly every day was impossible. But I was surrounded by people who asked why I was doing the tour not because they thought I was mad, but because they were comparing notes. And there is some simple joy in setting out in the morning to achieve something on the peripheral of your physical and mental abilities, and sitting down to dinner (even if that's at 10pm) having achieved it.

The training was really tough, and perhaps unsurprisingly the aftermath poses it's own challenges too.

Preparing for the tour has been the biggest thing in my life for most of this year. It's a relief to have some more space, but it's also hard to have that clarity of purpose removed. Now I am left to tackle a project I've been neglecting for several months: get a life in rural England. Something a bit harder to write a training program for (although goodness knows I'll probably try).

We all have pivotal moments in our lives, even if we can only see them in hindsight. I know that the tour was definitely one such pivotal moment. I'm not sure what it will pivot to, but I look forward to finding out.

Just for the record, my three weeks in France were not a cheese and wine tasting trip. A pain au chocolat tasting trip maybe. But they were so much fun. I cried a few times, but I smiled a hundred times a day. I felt joy and exhilaration and proud every day. I extended my comfort zone so far that I'm not sure where it ends right now.

Thanks for coming along for the ride. x Dugong

Some photos

Celebrating at the top of an amazing Pyranees climb with Jess. Then time to descend and do it all again!

We made it up Col de Tourmalet!

Hazardous descent down the Tourmalet!

At the end of probably my toughest day on the bike I was awarded the chapeau (daily award to a person displaying the spirit of the tour). A great honour.

Time Triallers, Team Ovaries. Celebrating a job well done, and that Renee didn't sustain any major injuries. Yay!

The three female lifers getting ready to set out for a few extra kms in aid of clocking up the Rapha #womens100. Thanks so much to Phil for your support. Legend.

I made it to Paris.

The sun sets on my Tour de Dugong experience.

Woop woop! Message from Mum on day t+1, done and dusted, no need to ride today.

Stage 21: The End

A day that was surreal, a relief, a little sad, and an absolutely stand alone amazing experience in equal measure.

We started the day with an easy 7km extra loop to make up enough km to hit the Rapha Women's 100 Strava event that was run today. A big thank you goes out from me to Phil and all the male riders who joined us- without your help and support greater participation of women in cycling would be harder and a lot less fun.

We also managed an early coffee stop to make up for the rubbish coffee and lack of chocolate croissants at the hotel breakfast. It was nice to revel in the fact that we were less than 100km from finishing this grand tour, something that until the last week I really didn't know I would make it through.

But there was also a measure of sadness. Something I've spent over six months training for, that has been like a storm cloud on the horizon of my consciousness, is over! This period of simplicity of waking, eating, riding, eating, riding, eating (etc etc), sleeping (not enough) is over. A period of daily amazing feats of endurance, kindness, generosity and grit is over.

Surreal because we have spent three weeks cycling through the countryside of France mostly seeing fields, grapevines, and lots of mountains. And then we cycle into Paris, past Versailles, stopping for a photo at the Eiffel Tour, and then a burn out around the Champ d'Elysse (resulting in what I'm not sure was an attempt at police arrest or police escort).

This has been an epic journey, from the day I pressed the button to sign up, to rolling up at the hotel in Paris and getting off my bike. But an epic journey is just one step after another, feed stop to feed stop, Premier Class "hotel" to Premier Class "hotel". And sadly (but with a great sense of relief, especially in the BVS and quad regions) it is over.   

Stage 20: Time trial

For an amateur cyclist any grand tour (three week cycle race, of which there is the Italian Giro, French Tour and Spanish Vuelta) would be a demanding experience.

But the 2014 Tour de France route was a particular challenge. Ten days back to back with no rest day, relentless mountain stages, very cold weather, followed a few days later by very hot weather, and many sleep and energy sapping transfers.

And only one time trial. With timing that meant it could not be used as a much needed surrogate rest day. Instead on the second last day it was asking you to ride on legs that were gone.

Four of us ladies created our own division of women's team time trial, and once out of the neutralised zone of traffic lights put our heads down along with the hammer. It was so much fun, and my only regret is I didn't have more in my legs to contribute to the train.

Something that I have discovered in the past year of cycling is that I can go downhill quite fast, and faster that a lot of other people. There is some pure joy in just going fast, and I still haven't figured out why other people don't go as fast as me.

It may be a blatant disregard for my personal safety, but until today the only accidents I'd had on the bike had involved not clipping out, and usually falling over in view of as many people as possible.

So, we were about 5km from the finish line, and I was enjoying a marvellous descent, well ahead of the rest of Team Ovaries. A white car pulled out in front of me, and I was concerned about having to slow. So I didn't see the sharp turn or roundabout come out of "nowhere".

Brakes on a road bike are not designed to make stops from 60km/hr to a stop in a matter of metres (especially on slightly damp and gravelly roads, and when the bike operators handling skills aren't the best). 

It's true, time really does stand still when something like this happens. You can see everything unfolding, but you have no way to control what is happening.

I am either awesome, lucky, or I suspect, a combination of both. I somehow managed a bit of a somersault (graceful commando roll) and to be (somewhat shakily) standing by the time the rest if the team came down the hill.

The damage: a very minor graze on a knee and elbow, a chunk out if my wrist (from the bracelet I was wearing) and a small scratch on my chin. Bike damage: handlebar angle slightly modified. Thankful I didn't go into shock, and was fairly easily able to ride to the finish line.

Closer inspection and a few days have revealed some additional bruising to my arse and shoulder, but  I think I was extremely lucky to escape intact.

My descents on the following day suggest I wasn't injured enough to shake some sense into me.

Stage 19: Hurt Locker

Rookie error. Covering up the pain in your quads with a codeine and ibuprofen combination also has the effect of covering up the pain of saddle sores.

With the hills over in Stage 18 I was hoping this would be a pleasant 200km recovery day like Stage 15. Alas it wasn't to be, instead I was faced with one if my hardest days on the bike.

Sitting on the saddle was literally eye watering, and getting any power from my legs was like squeezing blood from a stone. 

As we have learnt by now rolling is not the friendly cycling conditions that the term suggests. At least when you're climbing a Cat 1 hill you know it's know it's supposed to be hard. Rolling hill after hills while you are nearly in tears is a little harder to deal with!

The only things that got me through the stage were Katrine-Mari and Robyn, who stuck with me despite the fact I barely said a word to them for 9 hours, and my beautiful German friends Ivo and Ingo, who made a coke stop and pedalled it up to me when I was at a particularly low point.

The other thing that kept me getting in the van (because I really was thinking about it, a lot), was that I was so damn close to the end.

More kindness was on show when I got back to the hotel, the lovely Caroline met me with clean washing, peanut butter M&Ms, and a hug as I tried to pull myself together (after a bit of a weep on the massage table).

Then something rather cool and unexpected happened. The chapeau award is given out daily by the previous days recipient to someone who has represented the spirit of the tour. 

I was fortunate enough to be the days recipient, and all I can say is thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank you to Mum and Dad who told me I could do anything (even if the Tour de Dugong wasn't what they had in mind).

Thank you to my coaches Daryl and Charlotte who taught me how to believe that I am an endurance athlete.

Thank you to the amazing women of Darwin Tri Club who taught me that riding and running like a girl is a compliment.

Thank you to Cassie and Wendyn who were there for me while I trained.

Thank you Andrew for the training rides.

Thank you to everyone who donated to the William Wates Memorial Trust so I could reach my fundraising target.

And thank you to so many Tour de Forcers who have shown such support and generosity of spirit, especially but not limited to: Sarah, Phil, Gavin, Claire, Col, Kirsty, Katrine-Mari, Caroline, Florian, Matt, Ivo, Ingo.

xx

Stage 18: Pau to Hautacam

For the last six months when I've told people I'll be cycling the Tour de France route they've thought I mean I'm doing the Etape stage. 

Each year a large sportive is held on one if the tour stages. This year Stage 18 was the obvious choice as it contains the famous Col de Tourmalet. My understanding is that it is famous from the 30s and 40s when there was no tarmac and it was especially tough. I would honestly not especially hard, and not especially nice. Ditto for the Hautacam climb we finished on.

The big challenge for the day was the heat, but luckily I handle this much better than most of my British friends. Other than that it was a matter of pedalling through to a huge sense of relief at the end of the day- the mountains are over!

Stage 17: Saint Gaudens to Pla d'Atet

Oh, Stage 17, just like Stage 16 but shorter, right?!?! Not quite. A relentless day of 3x Cat 1s and a crowning HC made for an extremely tough day, sitting up there with Stages 2 and 10.

All the climbs were relentless, but the last was the hardest. Our last feedstop was on the lawn outside our hotel, and we just had to climb that last hill, and descend again to the same spot.

Aside from my mental/emotional breakdown of a few days ago and my permanent anxiety through the first three stages this was the first time I really questions what the hell I'm doing here. Head in hands, I smashed down a can of coke, found the strength to get back on the bike, and just started pedalling.

This was a day where my triathlon training was really helpful. All those hours and hours of sessions of kilometre repeats come in handy mentally when you face sign after sign saying: x kilometres to go (just ignore the average gradient for the next k). One pedal stroke at a time, one kilometre at a time, one hill at a time, it would appear that anything can be accomplished.

Suddenly you are looking down at that town or lake that you were riding past not that long ago, having accomplished for the fourth time in the day something impossible.

Stage 16: Carcassonne to Luchon

After a rest day staying in a mining camp chic style hotel (with 600,000 people flooding Carcassonne for its famous Bastille Day fireworks, it was all that was available) we hauled ourselves back into the bike.

Things have gotten to the point now where I have done so much that I don't question whether or not I will finish a stage. The anxiety about making it to Paris is gone, replaced with a sometimes weary resolution to just keep pedalling.

To continue the theme the first 50-100kms of the day are all about warming up, and really what better way to do this than with a couple of Cat 4 climbs. They are but mere bumps on the horizon to me now.

It was hard to believe that only a few days before we had a bunch of cyclists with borderline hypothermia, now in the Pyranees we had temperatures of above 30C, which in the sun, on tarmac, climbing a hill is pretty warm. Thankfully the heat is treating me okay, and thankfully our mostly British cohort has not melted away.

This was a long stage, and to counter the sleepiness that my nurofen + codeine + not sufficient sleep cocktail provides I found 4x cans of coke, 2x ice creams and goodness knows how much other food kept me moving.

The crowning glory of the day was Port de Bals, a relentless HC climb that came at the end of the day, as just kept going and going and going. But what a place to spend a few hours, surrounded by the amazing snow capped Pyrenees mountains, passing some of the happiest cows on earth (no wonder French cheese is so good!).

Then, the summit, and descent. After days of descending in the wet with extreme trepidation it was time to let fly, with the sun setting into the beautiful village of Luchon.

We rolled in at about 9:30pm, and luckily had the foresight to send Caroline ahead of us. She managed to get the room and bags sorted, so that it was only a matter of hauling myself from the bike to the massage table to the shower and bed.

It was a long and hard day, but one of the best I've had on the bike.

BVS Update

There are a number of people who are either bemused, or slightly embarrassed by the BVS discussion, but I know there are enough of you interested to warrant an update!

Now, there are a few components to BVS. 

1. Saddle discomfort

This is what I had mostly encountered pre-tour, and is pretty much a factor of sitting your entire body weight on a few square inches of saddle. 

Most of this can be solved by a good saddle (which seems to be a matter of trial and error), saddle position, and a certain amount of toughening up.

But toughening up. You can toughen up your sit bones, which might not be used to having that weight on them for an extended period. But your sensitive V-skin is not going to toughen up.

2. V-skin discomfort

Two things to worry about here. Mashing up of the V-area, and numbness. Pins and needles down there should send you shopping for a new saddle or a dramatic position change.

Mashing that leads to blisters or serious chafing should also be remedied by saddle change or position.

3. Saddle sores

It took several days for this to become an issue, but ouch. I am an aficionado of chafing, but saddle sores are another thing altogether. They are irritated hair follicles that look like pimples.

You do not want broken skin in this area, so squeezing is a definite no-no. Clean shorts (no knickers) daily, liberal application of chamois cream (or Savlon or Sudocreme) every stop and overnight after showering are key.

My top tips for preventing and managing BVS:

- Get a saddle and saddle position that you are reasonably comfortable with. You need some long rides of several hours to really find out if it works.

- Don't wear underwear with your shorts. It took me a while to realise this when I first started cycling, but the less seams the better.

- Chamois cream works. I managed to scab grab some Assos brand from a departing rider, and the fresh menthol feel gets you going at 5am and provides some protection. Liberal reapplication at every break is a must.

- Antiseptic creams (nappy rash creams such as Savlon and Sudocreme) are you friend. Shower and liberal application should see you ready to face another day.

- Double shorts. When times are tough, double up the shorts. I was sceptical, but when things are getting ugly it makes a big difference.

Some photos

Ben, feed stop driver man, and witness to my mental wobble and emotional breakdown. A good hugger who helped me through a few hard days.

In the interests of full disclosure, this is what a Dugong looks like after full emotional meltdown while defrosting in the van.

Caroline and Katrine-Mari. Raring to go the morning after getting through a day in hell.

I'll be back to conquer you in fairer weather you bastard Alps.

Stage 14: Grenoble to Risoul

The day that I snapped. We woke in our ski apartments on top of the previous nights HC climb to cold and rain. My cheery demeanour was slipping, with the thought of the 20km bonus decent to get us to the start of the course.

Having discovered the previous day that my long gloves seriously hamper my braking ability when going downhill on the drops I was left wearing every piece of clothing I bought, and fingerless gloves.

Riding through the foothills of The Alps, this countryside was just amazing, and some brief periods of not raining were great. Feed stop 1 went by: miserable cold, and an every man for himself setup. Feed stop 2 was halfway up our first Cat 1 of the day: a climb that topped out at over 2000m. 

It took forever to get to, and then instead of the sweet relief of a gentle decent, it was a bit a of a nightmare. Pissing down rain my sanity was slowly ebbing away. I knew feed stop 3 was at the bottom, but as I cycled through yet another village and then another and another I broke down and started to cry. 

10km of sobbing later I rolled into the shitty car park that was FS3, which I'm sure would have been quite nice on a sunny day. Ben (one of the tour staff, who are all absolute legends) helped me off my bike with a hug and bundled me into the heated cab of the truck.

Maybe this should have been a more difficult choice- I wasn't injured, and I wasn't shaking uncontrollably (as many others were), but I was not going to get back on the bike. As we drove the rest of the course I knew I'd done the right thing for me. The ascents are one thing, but the fear of descending in the cold and rain, your steering having the wobbles because you're shaking so bad, well I could be tough enough for that on the day.

To everybody who finished the stage, from Caroline who was in one of the front packs showing the boys how it's done, to Katrine-Mari, and Ivo and Ingo who slogged it through to the bitter end, hats off. That was a physical and mental challenge that had to be seen to be believed.

Stage 13: Saint Etienne to Chamrousse

Our first HC climb loomed at the end of the stage, waiting after we'd warmed up on a Cat 3, Cat 1 and close to 200km.

The morning was really bad, for the first time I couldn't put my happy face on, not even a pretend one (I'm pretty rubbish at the pretend face anyway). I'd crossed the threshold from low discomfort, through to medium and into the pain zone. I had no power in the legs, and being the sun lover I am, another cold rainy morning wasn't helping emotionally or physically to get the quads fired up.

I finally caved at the 80km stop, and in consultation with Dr Col (who is the pack doctor, who just steamrolls his bike through the course every day like a knife through butter, despite or perhaps because of his impressive Scottish stature) I had a panadol, 2 x nurofen and panadeine forte. Along with some physio, a hug and a can of coke (with some additional concrete).

Once again I now mention the kindness of others. Through the morning I was sheltered by a group which was principally made up of my three Germans (super domestiques Florian, Ivo and Ingo), and had my ladies Caroline and Katrine-Mari. Ivo helped me over the hills (on the "flat" part of the course) and then towed me back into the rest of the group.

But the HC, what a bastard. Katrine-Mari who had shot ahead took some time picking wild raspberries and other such activities so that we could climb together. With about three hours of climbing, at least half in the mist and rain, it was a tough slog. But compared to my flat morning spent in the hurt locker it was surprisingly manageable (especially with my patented zig-zag cycle technique on the steeper parts). Just shy of 12 hours cycling. A massive day. Just f-ing massive.

Stage 11: Besancon to Oyannax Stage 12: Bourg-en-Bresse to Saint-Etienne

In theory these stages should have been pretty manageable. A bit of riding on the flat, with some Cat 3 and 4 hills thrown in. And the riding was surprisingly manageable, apart from the post-rest day shock to the body (your legs screaming at you: what is this nonsense!?!? I thought we'd finished).

But then there was the rain. Both days it rained pretty much all day. It's pretty hard to stay dry on the bike, especially with the added challenge of sweating on the uphill and getting quite cold on the downhill. It turns out that the merino base layers and fluro rain jacket I threw in the bag at the last minute have become a staple part of my tour wardrobe!

Another event of note for these few days, my first magic tape episode. The tape promotes oxygen flow and reduces load in the areas it's applied to, so my quads and right calf have pretty much been mummified with the stuff!

Scatter brain

Sorry my updates are going to be a bit scatty for these next few stages. We've been without wifi for a few nights, and although I thought I'd discovered long days and exhaustion, this past few days have been something else.

Stages 8 - 10: The Vosges mountain range

Stage 8: Tomblaine - Gerardmer

Stage 9: Gerardmer - Mulhouse

Stage 10: Mulhouse - La Planche des Belles Filles

The Vosges, the other mountain range in France than isn't the Pyranees or the Alps. Three truly amazing days of riding where I was really tested mentally and physically, and which ended with me standing at the top of a massive hill, hugging a fellow rider, with a massive grin on my face (and then riding down said hill in bucketing rain, hopping on a bus and getting a two hour transfer to our rest day hotel, unable to sleep because my quads were cramping up, all part of the fun).

Stage 8 was another morale boosting day. It was a long day (225km), with two Cat 4 hills at the end. With the benefit of the hindsight of Stages 9 and 10 I laugh at the Renee who was worried about those hills, but at the time it was quite a concern to do two small climbs with 200km in the legs. 

I say morale boosting with no sarcasm, because I have loved these long flat (by flat I actually mean incredibly lumpy) days, where I can get in a group with guys I can't stick with on the hills and just chew up some kilometres. I think I gained some extra fitness on these days because I just had to get my head down and really work hard to hang on, especially up the rises (and then zoom past everybody on the descents).

Where Stage 8 was a rainy slightly miserable day, Stage 9 was a scorcher (for English people) or quite temperate (for the girl from the Territory). It was a day with six categorised hills, including our first Cat 1 (non-cyclists, hills are categorised by some magical formula that takes into account their length and gradient, a Cat 4 is the lowest, Cat 1 the highest, and then HC which stands for uncategorisable, or really really f-ing hard).

But the severity of Stage 9 was just a warm up for Stage 10. The day opened with two Cat 1 climbs, the first being through light rain and mist that sometimes limited visibility to 50m. The first decent of the day left me miserable and cold and actually looking forward to the next hill. We were so fortunate with the weather, a day meant to be pissing rain the entire day ended up only pissing rain for the last few hours.

The crowning glory of Stage 10, and my biggest Tour accomplishment so far, were the last two climbs (Col des Cheveres and La Planche Des Belles Filles). Both Cat 1s and both incredibly hard. The Cheveres had an incredibly steep incline for 3km. Darwinites, imagine climbing the High School Hill for 3km. After already climbing 2 Cat 1s, 2 Cat 2s and a Cat 3 and cycling about 150km. The Plache was less steep, but a 9km climb in pouring rain is still interesting.

A few things got me through. Stage 2 in Yorkshire saw me got off the bike to walk partway up hills about 10 times- I was just mentally broken. Stage 10 only had me stopping on climbs to eat, catch my breath, or wait for my climbing buddy. Things that got me through:

- Breaking it down: 10km is just 20 Swains Lanes. I know it sounds cliche and trite, but even the biggest obstacles can be chipped away at one step, or pedal, at a time

- My buddy Katrine-Mari. We stuck together all day, joked, chatted and had a tear when we summited the last climb of the day

- The tour staff. The support staff on the tour are amazing. The physios (who I continue to mention because they have kept my legs and back on working order through 10 gruelling days, and because one of them is surely George Clooney's Scottish brother), bike mechanics, masseurs and drivers work even harder then we riders keeping us fed, encouraged and happy.

The country in this part of France is amazing. We are close to the border of Germany, and the influence can be seen in the house, mountain names, and Hansel and Gretel style forests that line the mountain roads. The first time the mountains rose up in front of me was daunting and amazing- when you appreciate their beauty and feel a shiver of fear go up your spine knowing that you will somehow get your bike up there.

A few more photos

We stayed at the top of the hill at Gerardmer la Mauselaine where Stage 8 will finish. A bit of hostel slum-tourism for some of our fancier tour riders. Fabulous views down to the lake.

A shit scared Dugong on the morning of Stage 1 of Le Tour.

Didn't know my Garmin could count so high!

I though Stage 9's profile looked scary. Until I saw Stage 10. I've now decided to nap through the stage briefings, since they just scare the shit out of me.

A few photos

Hello Dugong-Spotters. Unfortunately the blogger platform is absolutely rubbish, so it's too hard to put the following in any proper order, so please enjoy in a mish-mash kind of fashion.

At the top of Le Markstein, the first Category 1 climb of Le Tour, coming towards the end of Stage 9, after 2x Cat 2 and 3x Cat 3 climbs. Felt AMAZING!

Phil Deeker (lead rider)'s Stage 10 briefing profile. I felt physically sick when this went up (not that this stopped me eating an insane amount of food). It was also accompanied by a weather forecast of rain all day (which thankfully ended up only being rain half the day). One pedal stroke at a time gets you there.

The female lifers (lifers = people doing the whole tour). L-R Katrine-Mari, Caroline, me. Both of these ladies have been both an inspiration to me so far, and a great help in pulling me through some tough parts of the tour.

My German guardian angels, Ivo and Ingo. These guys watched over me on the flay stages, and made sure I could catch our group back if I fell behind on the "small" hills. They are ever so generous, and awesome cyclists to boot.

My fellow Aussie parter in crime, he has a Gee-long accent that 14 years in the UK hasn't dulled, and which outs my Territory-bogan brogue to shame. Also my partner in crime though the first few days of the tour while we took a while to find our tour legs. He definitely picked up some legs for the mountains!

The first few French stages wound around the French-Belguim borders, where lie the Flanders Fields, centre of much of the WW1 horrors. Gallipoli gets a lot of attention from Aussies when it comes to WW1 (not undeservedly), but here at Flanders so many died too.

Katrine-Mari and I play tourist after getting in while the sun was still up and check out the cathedral at Reim where all the Kings of France are buried. Nice bakery en route too.

Stage 7: Epernay to Nancy

After spending the first few days terrified that this 21 days of riding was going to be a nightmare, that I was not going to be able to punch through a wall to find some fun and enjoyment, and thinking that I'd been an absolute idiot to even try and attempt this thing the last four days have been amazing.

In the last week I have become an absolute freak (or more of one). This was another day of unknown territory, a 225km day (the official route will be 234.5km), and my seventh day of back to back riding. Who knew I could do either, or both?

I have a few heroes on this trip (whom I think of as domestiques when I'm delirious at various stages of the day). My two German friends Ivo and Ingo, who have watched out for me every day to make sure that I don't fall behind and help drag me back onto a group. Matt who has also helped me up a lot of hills even though he can easily mix it with the big boys when he wants to. Caroline who is a quieter achiever and workhorse who helped drag me up the last hill of the day. And so many other generous people who have included me in their groups.

I also have to thank the physios: Gavin and Claire, and the masseurs. Without their help I wouldn't have got through the first few stages, physically because my legs just would not switch on, and mentally because I was falling apart.

Mansplaining has been at an absolute minimum (which considering there are only about five women in a group of 60+ blokes in pretty amazing), also some has reached through, despite me almost physical force field of 'Don't Tell Me What To Do'.

So, the stage. It was 200km of flat riding, followed by two Category 4 climbs (4 being the lowest, 1 being the highest, topped by HC, which must stand for really f-ing hard in French of something). Oh, and flat riding doesn't mean flat. It means with "slight" rises that would be equivalent to the Cairns 70.3 bike course. I know it sounds like bullshit, but between have a feedstop every 40-50km to work towards and a group that you are holding onto with single minded determination the kms do just tick by.

BVS Update: During an evening toilet visit I had something of a panic attack when I thought I'd found a blister, but false alarm. The creases under my bum cheeks are continuing to make themselves known, and were the rest day not within reach I'd be more concerned. But 1/3 of the way through the days and kms (if nowhere near 1/3 through the climbing) I think that I will still be able to sit in a chair and have children one day.

Stage 6: Arras - Reims

187.5km in 7:05! That's a 26.5km/hr average. It is amazing how much work gets done in a pace train and how enjoyable the day was.

This morning the alarm went off at 5:35am, as we had yet another (shorter) to the starting line. I was an absolute zombie, as the fatigue starts to pile on with the lack of sleep, before starting to gain the superpowers that come with your body giving up and just going with the flow. Me being rather quiet is not something that happens very often.

After two chocolate croissants, a cup of average coffee, a ham and cheese sandwich, and some muesli and yogurt (Boy, there is going to be some dieting after this! Loving chewing those calories up) it was time to jump on the bus for another 40 minute transfer.

The North of France Tour stages are those long stages that wind along the windy flat fields of wheat. Perfect for sitting in a pace line (chain gang, daisy chain, etc), sharing the work and chewing up the kilometres. I was fortunate enough to get in a great group. We had similar abilities and worked well together, having a chat, and generally having a great day.

The only problem I have is falling back on the hills, but fortunately my lovely group waited for me at the top of the hills, where I then caned it down and shot ahead.

One of the reasons I'm starting to feel better about this event is the realisation that most of the crazy bastards here have done some massive crazy feats before (desert motor bike racing, multi stage bike races, or just preparing for a round the world tandem bike ride) or have decades of cycling experience. Many if them are struggling through the day, so no wonder I'm feeling so challenged!!

Getting a touch up by the physios every 3-4 hours and a massage at the end of the day (10 minutes only, don't be greedy now!) is the difference between being functional and falling apart. The same problems that have affected me in the past are ricocheting around in an exaggerated fashion: broken right ankle (now not problematic), over compensating left leg, sore left lower back, tight right upper back. If this event doesn't get me onto the body maintenance wagon nothing will!

The benefit of getting in at a reasonable hour was that I could do the first non-bike related thing I've done this holiday, taking a stroll to the Reim cathedral (where all the French kings are buried). For a minute in the sunshine I could imagine I wasn't a masochist and I was just on a normal holiday!

But even though this holiday isn't normal, it's important to look up from the back wheel you are hanging onto for dear life! Looking as high as the backside in front of you (and there are lots of very good looking backsides) and sometimes the scenery!

BVS: Thankfully the BVS remains at bay. I continue to apply lashings of chamois cream, including a reapplication halfway through the day. The creases beneath the bum cheeks continue to be pretty tender, and my greatest concern. There are a number of riders sporting the double short combination, but I haven't had to go there yet.

French food update: France is indeed God's country (second only to Italy in my experience). Pain au Chocolat (x2), ham and cheese baguette, Nutella. That's just breakfast. The road side catering includes lovely cakes and French cheese.... And I'm smashing enough calories to partake in it all!

Stage 5: Ypres to Arenberg

What a day! This is the first time in a long time that a decent section of cobbles has been included in Le a tour route. Oh goodness I thought, they have to go cobbles the year that I do it! Quite a few people were concerned about the cobbles at the training weekend, but with a cumulative 15km of cobbles I figured that even if I walked it wouldn't be such a big deal- it's mountain after mountain after mountain that concerns me.

So, cobbles. I pictured something like riding through a city centre of cobbled streets. No, these are cobbles of back country lanes frequented by tractors. We are heavily in WW1 territory at the moment, and I imagine that in a lot of respects when you fly around those back lanes little has changed.

There were 9 sections of cobbles, with 15km in total. The trick, we were told, was to hit them fast, pedal in a high gear nice and hard (good triathlon style riding, which will not serve me well in the mountains). A bit of weight helps (tick!) and my bike is perfect for the cobbles (so says Aaron of Cycle Zone, Darwin).

I had so much fun, compounded by the fact that the rest of the day was fast and flat (really flat, not this pretend flat with a few thousand metres of climbing), and mental the day is so manageable because you are effectively cycling from feed station to cobbled section to cobbled section to feed station.

Extra bonus was arriving at 4pm, with time for bike wipe down, washing and nap, instead of arriving at dinner while it was in motion.

BVS Update: All good downstairs! Liberal creaming up continues to work. The crease below the bum cheek, which also happens to be the edge of the saddle/chamois is getting somewhat uncomfortable, but I am happy to say that my legs continue to be a bigger issue that blisters in unmentionable places.

Thanks for all the messages of encouragement- I'm having a great time... Only five days until the rest day.