Just Add Waffles

By Mike Cotty

November 23, 2009

All round cycle adventurer Mike Cotty has been racing in the Wessex Cyclo Cross League this season on his CX9 Cannondale Bike. Race 8 sees a change in the conditions.

Mike writes: Up until now we’ve definitely been on the lucky side with course conditions down south. Despite the wettest November since ‘64 (don’t quote me, I made that part up, but I’m probably not far wrong) by the time race day came around the ground had drained well enough to make way for fast, relatively grippy, surfaces. It’s 10.30am on Sunday morning and I know things are going to be very different for Round 8 of the Wessex.

How can I tell? Well, I pride myself on having A1 perception. Checking wind direction and speed, a careful analysis of imminent cloud cover above - matching it with my grey scale Dulux colour swatch, stuck on the wall just above my computer, to determine just how much of a battering we could be in for. In reality the appliance of science was not necessary.

The rain was sheeting in so hard vertically against the window that I thought it was going to put the damn thing through any second. Next doors car alarm had just started blaring. Of course, nobody in their right mind would be out trying to nick a car in that (and it’s one of those boxy weird looking Kia Soul things anyway so not even worth thieving on a perfect summer afternoon). When the apparent ‘twister’ had paused to draw breath for a second I could see the ‘For Sale’ sign that was in the front garden of the house opposite now busted in half and making a bid for freedom, running down the road on its own. I only saw this for a moment. It then started to hail. So listen up peeps, here’s a lesson in perception for y’all. With the race little over 3 hours away there’s no way in hell the dirt is gonna dry out this time. I took a deep breath as I sat back in my office chair, feet snug against a warm radiator. A menacing smile graced my face. Well, the house is still standing so it can’t be that bad. It’s time to bring on the hurt.

Southampton Sports Centre is my local circuit and one that has played host to a number of quality events in the past, including the National Championships. In a couple of weeks it’ll be the venue of the Southern Champs so well worth a look-see in advance. As I rolled into the top car park the sky had brightened (well, it had stopped raining) and I could see that this was going to be a hard fought battle indeed. Current National Champion, Jody Crawforth, was unloading his bikes whilst Jamie Newell, another top 10 national rider, seemed to be content on trying to erect a complete trade fair from the back of his van. Stu Bowers was pitched next door whilst team mate Ian Field, who’s been ripping it up in Belgium all season, was out practicing the course. Quality! Don’t even need to travel to a national event to race the best in the country, let the nationals come to moi!

One practice lap was enough, the bike was butchered by mid way and the queue for the jet washer was far too long. This was proper cross racing, gloopy mud on open fields, one foot out slick turns and spray from any wheel ahead instantly machine gunning you in crud. Tyres were soft and on this occasion the newly glued Rhinos were definitely coming out to party, and not your normal party either, we're talking a full on S-Club party (as in Shhh*t Club). I’d wanted to try these out big time, well, ever since I’d recovered from intoxicating myself in the garage whilst gluing them to the Ksyriums that is.

As we took to the start the wind was once again swirling above with clouds looking angry in a “Get the Gortex” tone of grey. I got away relatively well, in around 5th, and was trying to hold my line into the first slick right hander when ‘BAMM’, outta nowhere I get flicked from the right with an elbow, calling for some pretty impressive Sven Nys style handling skills 1) to keep it upright and 2) to avoid the three foot course marker that is now coming at me at a hundred miles and hour. It's Mike ‘the Badger’ Warner, getting far too over zealous so early on. I know if we both go to ground now it’s going to be a real mess, I back off for half a pedal stroke and regain balance. It adds to the hit of adrenalin I’m soulfully seeking. Warner’s scalp will be mine, and within a bend it was, never to be seen again in this race. As we hit the fast run into the opening technical section it’s my big bro and Wheelbase.co.uk/Cannondale team mate JC who is on fire, floating over the channels of mud and up to 3rd place. There’s little guessing where he gets his nickname Jimmy Tomac from when a stunt like that is pulled. In the scrum of riders it’s all about trying to stay upright whilst the pecking order is established. Showing their true class, Crawforth and Field already have daylight between the chasers. I’m happy to have avoided the early squirmishes, now sat in around 6th or 7th.

The Rhinos are hooking up well but within a couple of laps the bike is practically destroyed by the mud so time for a change. The jet washers were working at full bore in the pits, it’s a real luxury if you have access to one as jumping on a fresh bike each lap is a major advantage. As it happens we didn’t, which meant our man in the pits had his work cut out trying to scrape the claylike mud from mine and JC’s bikes each lap. I owe you Rich, you’re a freakin’ legend buddy.

My second bike was shod with Typhoons and immediately I could feel a major difference in the traction they were offering. Having a working bike helped but I needed to back off more on the corners for risk of washing out, which I duly did anyway. Ah, come on, this is cyclocross remember. Isn’t it all about the big crash? I was happy to get back on my first bike again and tried to stay on it for as long as possible before it really was too caked to ride. With a touch of pressure scrubbed from the Typhoons they were better than before, but still a long way from their more aggressively treaded mud munching Rhinos.

Sat with the Hargroves duo of Matt MacDonald and Mike Groves things were shaping up by the halfway point. I was loving the course, like a little slice of real Belgium racing brought to my doorstep, but to get the power down efficiently was not easy with the rear wheel spinning uncontrollably unless on the outer edge of the course where traction was higher. I succumbed to riding more conservatively than I’d have liked, trying to keep traction and not making too many mistakes. Despite a series of bike changes throughout, I stuck on my main bike for the tail end of the race. It was getting more and more caned but still giving me the grip I wanted. Matt had dropped off the pace and I now had a gap on Grovesy, leaving me in 5th. With a lap to go it was all about not doing anything stupid. The course had dried and lines were easier to negotiate, but the mud was starting to congeal. I passed the pits for the final time, surely I don’t need to change bikes so close to the finish. Well, you know what they say, it’s not over ‘til the fat lady covered in mud sings. I dropped down through the twisting left and right hander and tried to power out of the corner but the drive-train was jammed. A flick of the cranks backwards didn’t help and as I went to dismount I could see the rear derailleur in a fresh new, and rather alarmingly NOT GOOD, position I hadn’t seen it in before perched nicely on top of the chainstay! The mud was too thick, it had screwed the whole lot and with my sparrow like power I’d ripped it clean off the back of the bike. Forced to run the final few bends and home straight I was certainly lucky that it had happened when it did, any earlier and I may not have held my position to the line.

Okay, so I have a little bit of bike maintenance to address this week but the overall result has pushed me further up the Wessex rankings, as I’d hoped, and if it means the destruction of the odd rear mech or two then so be it.

Until Oxford.

Peace out.