My first time trial

New member Ian Collins describes his first race against the clock.

I'd just joined the club with vague professions of being interested in racing when my bluff was well and truly called by being invited to ride in the Kingston Phoenix Road Club’s Open 10 mile Time Trial. Apparently it was a Wheelers’ “targeted event” and I couldn’t think of an excuse why I couldn’t enter quickly enough. I have to say I was intrigued how fast I could ride 10 miles and although I’d competed in many triathlons, I’d never been in a situation where all I had to do was ride as fast as I possibly could for a set distance. During triathlons, I always left a little bit for the run leg.

I’d love to say I immediately threw myself into a specific training regime for the forthcoming event but that would be a lie. I confess to doing a couple of sessions on the turbo trainer but apart from that, riding out with the club was all I did. I also realised that a relatively slow first time might work in my favour as I lopped off minutes in subsequent club TTs on the same course….

So I fitted my tri bars onto my road bike on the morning of the race and stuffed myself with my usual mix of porridge and all bran. It was clear that the whole point of a TT is to put so much into it that literally the second you cross the finish line you have nothing left to give. That sounded more than a bit unpleasant and I was apprehensive about hurting myself in such a voluntary manner.

I declined offers to lend me a club jersey as the thought of anonymity was comforting and rode to the course as a warm up. Predictably, I arrived far too early having set off with 2 hours to spare, which gave me a chance to ride the course. In my mind I knew my first objective was to get under 30 minutes as an absolute minimum and so set off on a practice run with this in mind. I probably went too hard into a vicious headwind fuelled on adrenaline and completed what I thought was the course in 16 minutes. My brief elation quickly subsided when I realised that the turn point was almost certainly the second and not the first roundabout. A check of the race instructions unfortunately confirmed this.

At race HQ I was intimidated by lots of entrants in skinsuits with funny-looking pointy hats and disc wheels, riding full-on TT bikes. Fortunately, however, I also clocked some pretty ropey equipment and more than the odd impressive beer gut and so my terror of coming last was dampened. It was even reported that one of the competitors was 90 years old – this was a double-edged comfort. I assumed I could beat him but imagined never being able to live down getting my butt kicked by a nonagenarian who had ridden the Tour before World War II.

After a bit of nervous banter with other Kingston Wheelers, I attached my number and rode up to the start. I was impressed by how professional the organisation all seemed to be, right down to having someone hold your bike while you clipped into your pedals. I had nightmare visions of me careering off and immediately falling over from such a start, a concern that persists to this day! The rider who set off the minute before me was the Kingston Wheelers club president. I didn’t want to think about the rider behind.

So at long last I got the 10 second countdown and powered (or perhaps meandered) out onto the A24. While not a long way, 10 miles is enough to make you pretty uncomfortable if you go out too hard and I was soon feeling it as the road started going uphill. In all honesty the next few minutes were horrible. I was trying to stay as relaxed as possible and to keep my upper body relatively still while my legs drove me forwards but I was aware of making comical expressions of abject pain as I trundled along, probably to the amusement of car drivers who wondered what strange tribe of lycra-clad aliens had invaded the Surrey countryside. However, I could see I was slowly closing on my minute man and despite the damage I might have done to progressing within the club hierarchy, I managed to reel in the President by the turn point. Going out had been a nightmare into a strong wind. Coming back was better but not much so as my body went past politely asking me to stop and started screaming. I eventually crossed the line in 27.18. I was told it had been a “slow” day for the course owing to the wind and so I was pretty pleased, even if the winner had done it in 21 minutes or something. It is a strange fact about time trialling that following crossing the line and enjoying a cake and a drink with your clubmates, the whole thing seems enjoyable and fun to do. That is weird because there is nothing remotely pleasant about thrashing yourself on dual carriageways. But it was immediately strangely addictive and I was busy telling people how I was looking forward to the next one within seconds of finishing. It was also the perfect way of getting into racing generally and whetted my appetite for trying road racing too.