Traditionally, shoes were a nice way to add some extra style points to an ensemble. Now fashion and culture have changed a bit so kit is much brighter, but the right shoes still give you a chance to show some personality and attitude.

They’re your disco slippers, your dancing shoes. Think of the way Alberto Contador sashays his way up a climb – the wrong shoes would make him look much less elegant. 

Colour is crucially important. A white shoe is the most versatile all-round colour to match what you’re wearing or riding but they must be pristine. As with your Y-fronts, dirty white is never a good look.

Black shoes used to be a no-no but with kit more lairy these days they’re now acceptable and similarly versatile. In fact I can appreciate the understatement of a black pair because not every inch of your kit has to compete to shout the loudest.

Ultimately, though, black or white shoes are a bit of a cop-out. My view is that shoes should tie in to the rest of your outfit to bring it all together.

At a minimum they should match your helmet and glasses. I have a friend – let’s call him Curly Dan – who has three bikes, three helmets and three pairs of shoes that he bought to match different kit.

He’s one of the most well turned-out people I have ever seen on a bike, and everyone is impressed when he rocks up. He also smells amazing, but that’s another story.

Even if you don’t have the budget to do it like Dan you should still make an effort to match up shoes, bikes and kit. Your fashionable friends will thank you for it.

Fast not loose

Fastening systems are another important consideration. Laces are the most adjustable and look smart but I’ve seen guys get left behind on a club run because they had lace-ups and had to stop to re-tie them.

Who does that in the age of the Boa dial? Savages. Most pros favour Boas because they’re so much more convenient and easy to adjust on the move as your feet shrink or swell in the heat of a race.

That said, a pro would take sore feet any day if they felt like the shoe was lighter and stronger. You suffer like a dog anyway so if it helps you hold the wheel in front, a little more discomfort hardly makes a difference.

But for mere mortals I’d say comfort and fit have to be top priority, even to the extent of getting some custom-fitted. 

Lotto-Soudal pro Adam Hansen has taken this to the limit – he makes his own one-piece carbon shoes.

There’s a UCI rule that says all kit used in races must be available to purchase, so Hansen has made a business out of it. I’m guessing he only did this so he could race in them though – his shoes cost almost two grand a pair.

Collecting comes in many forms. For some it’s a near-full time pursuit that involves hours, days and weeks trawling through catalogues and websites to find that one elusive item that is their Holy Grail.

For others it’s very much part time – a distraction from stresses of daily life that, after 30 years of ‘a bit here and there’, manifests itself as a collection so vast and untamed that it becomes difficult to manage. 

For the third collector in our series, however – the first two covered the collections of Kadir Guirey and Rohan Dubash and – the motivating force is far simpler and more practical: Richard Williamson collects bicycles so he can ride them.

‘I’ve been collecting for about 14 years now,’ Williamson tells Cyclist as he leads us to his impressively large garage at his home in Surrey, where he has retired after a lucrative career in the printing industry.

‘I raced as a young lad and then I was out of the sport for a long time while I had a stint in motor racing.

Image 3 of 17

Image 3 of 17

‘I got back into cycling when I was about 55 and as I approached retirement I began collecting because I had a lot of time on my hands. It’s just a hobby, but I don’t just collect them, I ride them all. Not as frequently as I’d like, but I do.’

At first Williamson looked to acquire some true vintage bikes, but practicality made him change focus: ‘I had some bikes from the 1920s but I just couldn’t get on with them.

‘I mean I’m 70 now, so whether it’s an age thing or I’m just a bit nervous riding old machinery, I’ve sort of settled on my earliest rideable bike being a Freddie Grubb from 1931.

‘I can ride that quite comfortably as it’s a single-speed freewheel and it actually fits me quite nicely. Also some of the 1920s bikes have plunger brakes where the metal comes down on top of the tyre, which is quite a crazy design really as they don’t work well at all.

‘With a fixed wheel it’s sort of OK but if you don’t use it fixed it’s quite lethal. Also when these bikes were made I suppose there weren’t many obstacles in the road, or traffic lights for that matter.’

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Image 5 of 17

Getting out and riding the bikes is also the reason that Williamson doesn’t insist on attaining the exact period spec for some of his collection.

‘Some of these bikes aren’t perfect in their period correctness because you can’t always get the things you need at the right time.

‘Also, to do that the amount you’d have to invest in them would be off the scale, especially for things such as chains that are both rare and a consumable part.

‘I’m not trying to achieve anything in particular. People have asked me why I don’t just concentrate on one or two brands, but I just get interested by anything. It’s a visual thing initially.’

They can also be an investment. ‘Many of these bikes have gone up in value while I’ve owned them. More importantly, though, I’m having fun with them. Stocks and shares aren’t fun, are they?’

Secret source

Most collectors struggle to explain where individual items come from, and Williamson is no different.

It’s not that they’re reluctant to reveal their sources: it’s more that (aside from eBay) few items in any collection ever come from the same place, and each has its own unique story.

‘I bought this frame on eBay the other day… God, I must sound like I’m on eBay all the time. I probably am. They don’t all come from there. What I don’t get from eBay comes from cycle jumbles.

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Image 8 of 17

‘I use Hilary Stone [another collector and seller] quite a bit too because, although he’s a rather quirky individual, he’s incredibly knowledgeable and has often got difficult-to-find components.

‘Also I look on eBay a lot in different countries. Italian eBay is fantastic for Campagnolo, for instance. It seems obvious but most people don’t think to try it. France is good for Stronglight chainsets.

‘It’s funny how you come by them. I went up to [custom bike painter] Colour-Tech the other week to pick up a frame he was respraying for me and I said, “Have you got anything for sale?” I ended up buying a Ron Cooper.

I think it’s from around 2006 so it’s fairly modern. It’s never been built up. I used to race on a Gillott when I was a youngster.

I had two that I’ve kept and it was Ron who built those too. They’re the most fabulous frames – they just ride so well and the quality of his workmanship is beautiful.’ 

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Image 10 of 17

While Williamson might not be able to place where all his bikes come from, he’s sure of one thing – his passion for Italian bikes. 

‘I just love Colnagos, so often when I see one I feel like I have to buy it. Every one that I’ve had has just ridden so well and the paintwork is always fantastic.

‘I really fell in love with them when I had a C40 built as my race bike. Then I started collecting other carbon Colnagos and that branched out into the steel ones as well.

‘The C40 is great because it bridges two genres of bikes. It’s got that look of the Master but with some modern touches.

‘I’m not keen on bikes with big chunky tubing, but I guess that’s because that isn’t what I grew up with. This era of Colnagos is still fantastic. Modern Pinarellos are terrible.’

Growing pains

Williamson is one collector who has not been constrained by space. Most build their collections like goldfish – they grow until they fill their tank and then stop – but Williamson simply built another tank, or rather an extension onto his garage.

‘The builder did say I could make it even bigger but the worry is I’d fill it. I used to go into Cycles Dauphin on Box Hill [in Surrey] to buy an inner tube and I’d come out with a new bike.

‘I don’t really know how to organise it all. I started with Colnagos there [pointing to a corner of the room], and I’m quite fond of Hetchins too, so I put them over the other side.

‘Then after that I tried to keep the Italian bikes down this side, but a few ended up spilling out over here too.’

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Image 13 of 17

Williamson’s craving for n+1 is something many riders can empathise with. Having the money and space to indulge the habit helps, but mainly it requires a mindset that combines inquisitiveness with mild obsession. 

Others in the league of collectors include a former manager of Frankie Goes To Hollywood who has a ‘rather modest collection of just 26’.

We’ve heard of one who’s collected tubular tyres for 15 years. Then there’s that Wiggins chap – he’s said to be building a fairly tasty collection of his own. 

If Cyclist could persuade him to show us around his garage, perhaps Wiggins could answer the biggest question for collectors: how do you know when you’ve got enough?

The answer, we suspect, is never.

When the result of the EU referendum was announced at 4.39am on 23rd June 2016, the price of bike parts probably wasn’t the first thing on your mind.

As the dust has settled, though, it’s becoming evident that Brexit may have significant consequences for the world of cycling, even if they are
as yet largely invisible. 

‘There weren’t any immediate consequences,’ says Dominic Langan, CEO of Madison, the UK’s largest distributor and importer of cycling products.

True enough, prices have stayed largely the same and retailers are trading just as before. But what we in the consumer world are blissfully unaware of is the intricate nature
of how currency works in the bike industry, which has so far protected prices. But not for long. 

‘The main issue is that the entire industry pretty much buys everything in US dollars,’ Langan says. The reason is a little complicated, but it revolves around Taiwan and the Far East being the centre of global bicycle production. 

‘Almost all high-performance bikes are made in factories in the Far East,’ says Cam Whiting, an industry veteran and commentator who runs market intelligence site CyclingiQ.com.

‘When you buy from a European brand such as Scott or Cannondale Europe, they’ll generally buy in US dollars from Taiwan or China.’

The dollar is king even with wholly EU-based brands, but the dollars that the industry are spending right now are not the same dollars against which the pound crashed. 

Whiting says, ‘Cycling companies will usually buy currency using something called hedging. You’re basically locking in an exchange rate for a certain period of time, which gives you some security in what you’ll be paying over the term you’ll be paying for.’ 

As a result, much of the stock of bikes and parts bought since the Brexit vote were bought using dollars purchased before the referendum took place.

The problem is that once a company spends all of its dollars, so to speak, it has to buy more at a higher rate. 

‘Basically the customer is going to see changes on pricing and obviously it’s going the wrong way,’ says James Backhouse, marketing director at Evans Cycles.

The extra cost to distributors will in most cases be passed on to retailers and consumers, so we can expect a spike in prices soon. But what does the more pressing prospect of ‘Hard Brexit’ mean for cycling in the long term? 

Building barriers 

In theory, the EU is a trade union at heart, geared towards removing trade barriers, customs duties and general import taxes between states.

For cycling that’s hugely beneficial as stock and components can move freely from one country to another. 

Outside of the customs union, a brand running out of a certain type of shoes, tyres or wheels in the UK won’t be able to react with the same fluidity to meet demand.

Even test bikes for Cyclist will require complex temporary export permits to avoid hefty customs charges. That said, the cycling industry hasn’t always taken advantage of the greatest opportunities of a free trading block. 

‘Clearly a single market makes life easier, but my hunch is not much will change,’ Langan says. The structure of the UK cycling market is that importers, or distributors, bring in products from overseas and sell them in the UK.

The EU means it is much easier for a European company to sell directly to UK consumers, which is a key factor in the success of direct-to-market brands such as Canyon.

Despite this opportunity, however, most brands have stuck to the more traditional model of using UK distributors. 

‘I think it’s fair of us to ask – why aren’t European brands selling in the UK directly?’ says Whiting. The extra links in the supply chain from the EU has left open goals for some opportunists – most obviously online retailers such as Wiggle. 

‘Wiggle can buy grey market stock from a factory that has surplus or approach a brand and offer to sell directly into their UK distributors’ territory,’ Whiting explains.

‘And in desperate times people have elected to take that option.’

It seems the days of Wiggle and Chain Reaction’s pricing dominance could be limited outside of the EU, but it could be some time before we see how Brexit will affect the future of e-commerce sites. 

Should Britain fall into recession, one comforting reminder is the success of the UK bike industry the last time the economy went into decline.

‘We performed well during the 2008 recession,’ says Evans’ Backhouse. ‘There could be a number of theories behind that but generally cycling is a fairly recession-proof industry because cycling is a very cost effective means of transport and leisure.’ 

And there’s something else. Amid the risks and complications, Brexit does present some great opportunities. 

It’s a free country 

There was a lot of talk during the run-up to the Brexit vote about the prospect of trade deals with countries such as China. For the world of cycling products, such deals could have significant consequences.

That’s all because of the intricate world of anti-dumping duties.

‘The Chinese anti-dumping duty is basically a protective measure by the EU to prevent China, where the bicycle industry is assisted by the state, from making really cheap cycling products and dumping them in other countries,’ says Whiting.

‘So the EU put in place a 48.5% tariff on Chinese bicycle imports as a punitive measure.’ 

As a result of that duty, few brands are able to manufacture bikes entirely in China, which could otherwise offer much cheaper bikes to UK consumers.

Even recent Chinese crowd-funded start-up SpeedX needs a German facility to assemble its bikes to bypass the enormous tax. The duty, some believe, does little for the UK economy. 

‘Many of the duties we have to pay on products coming into the UK are there to protect manufacturing in Europe,’ argues Langan.

‘It certainly helps Germany, France and some of the eastern European countries. As we don’t have a great deal of manufacturing in the UK within the bicycle industry, and we now import most of our bikes subject to those duties, it isn’t such an advantage to us.

'Trade deals could result in duties being reduced or removed and this would allow us to lower pricing to benefit the consumer.’

These duties have also influenced the geography of the bike industry itself. The prospect of anti-dumping duty has kept much of the higher end of the industry in Taiwan, but China is a giant of production.

Whiting suggests China could be eager to steal more of the share of the global bike-building business if the UK were suddenly able to import Chinese products more freely: ‘I tend to think whenever there’s an opportunity for a business to make more money, Chinese firms will do whatever it takes to increase their profits.’ 

There’s a chance, then, that the UK’s departure from the EU could affect the balance of the global industry. 

The stage is no longer set 

Perhaps the last worry for the UK cyclist is the professional sport of cycling. Should customs charges and visas come into the equation, suddenly hosting a stage of the Tour de France or Giro d’Italia in the UK could become a costly and burdensome prospect.

‘Would that be as appealing if you could no longer freely move goods and transport people between economies?’ Whiting asks.

‘It’s going to be a lot more complicated in the future.’

At present we can only speculate on what will happen, but Brexit will impact heavily, not only on prices but on which brands are most readily available and on the nations that make up the industry. Will that be for better or worse? 

‘I’m confident that in the long run it will all be OK,’ Langan thinks.

It can’t hurt to be optimistic. 

--

This article was taken from Issue 58 of Cyclist Magazine, March 2017. You can subscribe here. 

Illustration: Rob Milton 

I feel your pain, old man, I think to myself as I look up wearily at Octave Lapize’s statue at the summit of the Col du Tourmalet.

It’s the second time I’ve seen him today and only now can I appreciate his anguish when he famously accused the organisers of the Tour de France of being ‘assassins!’ when he became the first man to cross the summit during the 1910 race. 

By this point I’m more than 120km into the inaugural Marmotte Pyrenees, and for the previous 30 minutes, while my legs have ground out one painful pedal stroke after another on the second ascent of the Tourmalet, I’ve considered quitting the ride too many times to mention, and have cursed the organisers for their cruelty.

How anyone thought doing a ‘Double Tourmalet’ was a good idea is beyond me, but I guess when an organisation develops a reputation for putting on infamously tough sportives, they have to live up to their name. 

Mention La Marmotte to any serious road cyclist and you’ll invariably get a whistling noise and a widening of eyes, as if they’re trying to mimic the large Alpine rodent the event is named after.

One of the oldest sportives in the world, La Marmotte has been running for 34 years and each year sees up to 7,500 cyclists from every corner of the globe attempt the 174km rollercoaster around some of the biggest cols in the French Alps, before spitting them out after 5,000m of climbing at the summit of Alpe d’Huez.

It’s known as ‘the mother of all sportives’ and is so popular that entries can sell out within 24 hours.

And now the organiser has added a Pyrenees-based event to its Marmotte Granfondo Series (there’s also an Austrian one), which I’m among the first to get to sample. 

At 163km it’s slightly shorter than the Alps event, but it manages to pack in a whopping 5,600m of elevation, taking in some of cycling’s most iconic cols, including the Col du Tourmalet (twice), the Col d’Aspin and Luz Ardiden.

It’s hard to call, but it could be argued that the Marmotte Pyrenees is actually tougher than its Alpine sibling. 

The beginning of the end

The starting town of Argelès-Gazost, a few kilometres from Lourdes in the south of France, is the kind of place that encourages you to linger.

It would be pleasant to settle into one of the numerous cafes, order an espresso and take in the Belle Époque architecture, but I have to steel myself for the hardships that lie ahead today. 

Curiously, although the event starts here, we’re some distance from the finish at the summit of Luz Ardiden, which means I have to consider how I’m going to get back to Argelès-Gazost after the ride.

I’ll either have to cycle back to my car (an unappealing prospect considering I’ll already have 163km in my legs or catch one of the buses laid on by the organisers.

I decide not to worry about it until later, and instead make my way through the town in search of the start line. 

‘Trois, deux, un, allez!’ The noise of the klaxon is followed by hundreds of cleats snapping into place.

With around 1,000 cyclists on the start line – a mere fraction of the number who head to the event in the Alps – even those of us at the back don’t have to wait long before we’re out of Argelès-Gazost and tearing south along the Gorges de Luz, a majestic road with high-sided cliff walls that follows the Gave de Gavarnie river upstream to Luz-Saint-Saveur, where the road will swing east to mark the start of our first assault on the Tourmalet.

All around me there’s a frenzy of activity as the stragglers desperately fight their way along this flattish section, no doubt hoping to latch on to a decent group before the serious climbing begins. 

I’m determined to keep my cool and not blow a gasket before the first climb. As riders come past me, I try to suppress my competitive side, telling myself that maintaining a zen-like calm now will pay dividends later when others are dropping from exhaustion.

I keep up a sauntering pace for several kilometres until I am snapped out of my reverie by a rider who whizzes past me wearing a pair of baggy football shorts, trainers and a T-shirt.

His ancient-looking touring bike has a rear pannier rack with a baguette and a carton of orange juice strapped to it.

At first I assume he is someone who has simply got caught up in our event during his round-the-world tour, but then I spot his race number and realise that I have just been overtaken by someone who looks like he is heading out for a picnic. 

To be fair, he’s going at a hell of a pace, as evidenced by the long tail of cyclists in his wake, but pride is at stake so I drop through the gears and accelerate past him. 

I soon find myself passing through Luz-Saint-Saveur, after which a sign delivers the ominous news that we’re about to start climbing – and it’s 18km to the summit with 1,404m of climbing at an average of 8%. 

The Col du Tourmalet hardly needs any introduction. At 2,115m, it’s not only the highest paved road in the Pyrenees but without doubt one of the most well known cols in France, having featured in 88 editions of the Tour de France, more than any other climb.

Around here, the French call it ‘L’incontournable’ – the unavoidable one – not just because it’s the only way to cross this part of the mountains, but because from a cyclist’s perspective it has simply got to be done.

And today will be my day of reckoning. Not just once, but twice.

Heaven on earth

The road has opened up to a vista of sky and space and towering mountains, which despite the effort makes me feel surprisingly good. I begin to smile. If there is a cycling heaven, this is what it will look like. 

I arrive at the summit in reasonable shape – just as well with more than 120km over four major climbs still to go.

On top of the Tourmalet the organisers have placed an aid station – a chance to top up water bottles and gorge on orange slices and bananas while soaking in the majestic view of the Pyrenees against a blue sky and the sweeping road that will take us back down again. 

The descent is the stuff of dreams. I glance at my Garmin and see 60kmh, 70kmh, 80kmh… Just when I think I should rein in the speed, baguette man comes past me in an aero tuck that would impress Chris Froome, speeding towards Saint-Marie-de-Campan with shorts flapping in the wind.

I put my head down and give chase.

Usually, when the Tour de France comes this way, the peloton will head straight towards the Col d’Aspin, but the organisers have an extra treat for us.

We take a sharp right at the village of Payolle and enter a world rarely visited by the Tour. A narrow, single-lane road takes us into a beautiful forest of pine trees that provides welcome shade from the mid-morning sun. 

The road takes us south towards the second category Hourquette d’Ancizan, a climb that has appeared just three times in the Tour and only once in this direction, which was in 2016.

On paper, after the rigours of the Tourmalet, an 8.2km climb at 4.5% should feel easy, and for a few kilometres it is, but then the trees recede to reveal a luscious green landscape split by a long stretch of tarmac pitching between 7-10% all the way to the top.

Birds of prey soar above me, no doubt intrigued by the long line of fresh meat that is making its way through the valley.

Towards the top, the road dips briefly, offering a moment’s respite before the final haul to the summit at 1,564m. Ignoring the water station, I soft-pedal to catch my breath before throwing myself back down the other side towards Ancizan with childlike glee – safe in the knowledge of a food station at the bottom. 

A col to remember

I’ve heard many things about the Col d’Aspin. A member of the affectionately named ‘Circle of Death’ after its first appearance in 1910, it has since become a regular feature on the Tour, often sandwiched between the Tourmalet and the Col de Peyresourde.

With the 12km climb at 6.5% beginning in the forest, once again I’m grateful to have the sun off my back. As I slowly make my way up, the trees give way to a view of the col far away in the distance.

Having such a clear vision of the hurt to come has a profound effect on my legs, which start to complain for the first time, having been exceptionally well behaved up to this point.

At first it’s just a minor protest, but as I get closer to the summit they produce howls of pain as the cumulative effect of several thousand metres of climbing takes hold. For the first time I begin to wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. 

At the top I’m welcomed by a herd of slightly bemused cattle mingling with tired-looking cyclists topping up water bottles. As I look around, I feel some degree of relief to know that I am not the only one hurting.

In the far distance I can see the Pic du Midi – a sobering reminder that I’m only a little over halfway and I still have two hors categorie climbs to go. 

Hope and glory

After descending back to Saint-Marie-de-Campan I latch onto a small group and we silently begin the 1,255m climb back up the east side of the Tourmalet.

We may be together as a group, but each of us is alone, burrowed deep into our personal pain caves, each looking for a way out – or at the very least another gear. 

At the ski resort of La Mongie, about 4km from the summit, I come to a stop. I need a minute to persuade my legs to continue the uphill fight, and to get my head around the fact that even if I get to the top of the Tourmalet I still have to make my way down and then climb another 1,000m to the finish line. 

My mind turns to Octave Lapize’s torment during the Pyrenean stage of the 1910 Tour de France. He promised to quit the race on the descent from the Aubisque, the climb next to the Tourmalet, but somehow he found the resolve to carry on. And so will I.

The final kilometres to the summit of the Tourmalet are a blur of pain. I glance again at the statue of Lapize and order myself to stay focused on the long technical descent down the mountain’s west flank.

As I pass through the town of Luz-Saint-Saveur at the foot of the Tourmalet for the second time today, I can’t help thinking how easy it would be to stop here. But then I cast a glance at my phone and see a message from my wife: ‘We’re waiting for you at the top of Luz Ardiden! Keep going!’ 

If there was one climb on this event that I’d been looking forward to the most, it was Luz Ardiden. A ski resort in the winter, in summer it’s a cyclist’s fantasy of Alpe d’Huez-style switchbacks, and has been a stage finish for eight Tours. Now that I’m beneath it, however, I am not relishing the climb ahead.

The sun, which until now has been blazing overhead, has become hidden by a thick mist. I can barely see beyond my handlebars, and my legs are already running on reserve power when a sign appears out of the gloom telling me I have 13.3km and almost 1,000m of climbing to go.

I plonk my chain into the granny ring and retreat back into my pain cave as I blindly make my way up the 7.7% climb, one misty turn after another. 

And then it’s over. As I coast under the finishing gantry, nine hours and 23 minutes after leaving Argelès-Gazost, the pain, the suffering, the majestic landscapes, punishing climbs and breakneck descents all morph into a feeling of quiet contentment. I later learn that only half the field has completed the course. 

Was this inaugural Marmotte in the Pyrenees tougher than the legendary Marmotte Alps? Possibly. But for now my thoughts are focused on the pasta party beneath me at Luz-Saint-Saveur. Ah, yes, and the dawning memory that I have a 13km ride to get there. Luckily, it’s downhill all the way.

What Marmotte Granfondo Pyrenees
Where Luz-Saint-Saveur, Haute Pyrenees, France
Next one 27th August 2017
Distance 163km
Elevation 5,500m+
Price €70 plus €10 deposit for the timing chip (discounts available for multiple Marmotte finishes). Note the route for 2017 is changing slightly, with the finish at the summit of the Hautacam
Sign up marmotte.sportcommunication.info

Paris-Roubaix was inaugurated in 1896, making it one of the oldest bike races in the world. Born of a familiar story involving entrepreneurial types, newspapers, and money-making schemes, in time the race has come to adopt monikers like the 'Queen of the Classics' and 'Hell of the North', and remains one of the most prestigious victories to take in pro bike racing.

Its place on the calendar marks the end of the Cobbled Classics season, coming as a climactic end after races such as the Tour of Flanders, E3 Harelbeke and Gent-Wevelgem.

Paris-Roubaix 2017: Key information

Date: Sunday 9th April
Start: Compiègne, north of Paris
Finish: Vélodrome André-Pétrieux, Roubaix
Distance: 260km
Cobbles: 52.8km
UK television coverage: The race will be shown from start to finish on Eurosport - 09:15-16:00 BST

Paris-Roubaix 2017 route

The 2017 Paris-Roubaix route has been confirmed and this year will contain 29 cobbled sectors totalling 55km, over a total race distance of 257km. 

The three most anticipated sectors  - the Tranchée d’Arenberg, Mons-en-Pévèle and the Carrefour de l’Arbre - are all included. However, there are also changes from previous years in that two new additions, Briastre and Solesmes, will appear as sector 25 and 26 near the start of the race. It is the first time they have been used since 1987.

'The first is three kilometres long, it is actually being renovated but it is one of the difficult sectors,' said route designer Thierry Gouvenou of Briastre.

'The next is a lot shorter, however it is uphill. It is not our wish to make the race harder at this stage, but to find more diversity between the cobblestone sectors and make sure these areas continue to feed the legend.'

Paris-Roubaix 2017: The cobbled sectors

The details are open to change and confirmation by the organisers

Riders to watch at Paris-Roubaix 2017

Tom Boonen

Second place to Mat Hayman in 2016, Tom Boonen is on a mission to take a record fifth Paris-Roubaix victory in this, his final year as a pro. Early season signs are good for Boonen, with the Belgian already having taken victory in some sprints, and with no opportunities beyond 2017 to seal the Roubaix record, many will be rooting for 'Tomekke'. 

He was unlucky at the Tour of Flanders when an ill-timed double mechanical took him out of the reckoning, so expect to see him all the more determined at Paris-Roubaix.

Peter Sagan

A rider you can never write off. More suited to the punchy climbs of the Tour of Flanders, the World Champion will nontheless be a force to be reckoned with at Roubaix.

He too fell foul of bad luck at the Ronde, getting tangled in a barrier on the Oude Kwaremont which caused him to crash heavily and break his bike. Ater a crash also counted him out of the lead group at last year's Paris-Roubaix, this year will surely go the way of the Slovak.

Philippe Gilbert

His place in the Quick-Step Floors team hasn't been confirmed but after putting in one of the best winning rides in Tour of Flanders history it will be a surprise if he's left at home.

Better known for his wins in the Ardennes where he's suited to the punchy climbs, it would still be foolish to write-off his chances on the flat cobbled sectors of Roubaix.

Sep Vanmarcke

Having made a return to the Cannondale-Drapac team (after having left it in its Garmin days), Vanmarcke has proved his pedigree on the cobbles time and again - but without ever winning much. He will be there or thereabouts, perhaps even on the top step.

However, he's another who found himself unlucky at the Tour of Flanders when he crashed out of a chasing group. He lost a lot of skin and has since reported that he broke a finger; his attendance of Paris-Roubaix is TBC.

John Degenkolb

Degenkolb took an emphatic win at Paris-Roubaix in 2015, dictacting the race in the final kilometres before winning the sprint from the lead group. A terrible crash put him out of competition for much of 2016, but after showing clear signs to a full return to form with his new Trek-Segafredo team, things are looking good for the German.

He looked strong early on at the Tour of Flanders but was nowhere to be seen when things really got going. Better suited to Roubaix anyway, he should be a contender.

Ian Stannard and Luke Rowe

Ian Stannard has won Omloop Het Nieuwsblad twice, and finished on the podium at Paris-Roubaix in 2016. His strength is clear, and his tactics can't be faulted, but he comes as part of a Team Sky set up that has always lacked a clear leader in the Classics, and so whether he ends up in the position he needs to be is uncertain.

So far this season Luke Rowe has been the British squad's strongest rider in many of the one day races, but neither of this duo has recorded a victory yet this year.

They'll need to be stronger and wiser than they've looked over the last few weeks if they're to trouble to podium.

Paris Roubaix 2017: The teams

WorldTour teams

A2gr La Mondiale (Fra)
Astana Pro Team (Kaz)
Bahrain-Merida (Bhr)
BMC Racing Team (USA)
Bora-Hansgrohe (Ger)
Cannondale-Drapac (USA)
FDJ (Fra)
Lotto Soudal (Bel)
Movistar (Esp)
Orica-Scott (Aus)
Quick-Step Floors (Bel)
Dimension Data (RSA)
Katusha-Alpecin (Sui)
LottoNL-Jumbo (Ned)
Team Sky (GBr)
Team Sunweb (Ger)
Trek-Segafredo (USA)
UAE Abu Dhabi (UAE)

Pro Continental wildcard teams

Cofidis, Solutions Crédits (Fra)
Delko Marseille Provence KTM (Fra)
Direct Energie (Fra)
Fortuneo-Vital Concept (Fra)
Roompot Nederlandse Loterij (Ned)
Sport Vlaanderen-Baloise (Bel)
Wanty-Groupe Gobert (Bel)

Click through to the pages below for more on about Paris-Roubaix: History, famous editions, sportive write-up and a recap from 2016

Paris-Roubaix: History

Paris-Roubaix was born in 1896, making it one of the very oldest bike races around. A tenuous claim puts Liege-Bastogne-Liege as being older, and therefore the oldest race that's still alive today, but the only other recognisable events to precede the birth of Roubaix are the long-deceased relics of former classics such as Paris-Rouen and Paris-Brest-Paris.

Rewind to 1895, and to two entrepreneurial types from Roubaix who had just built a velodrome in the small northern town, which had already hosted a meet with the dominant track star of the time, American Major Taylor. But the duo wanted more publicity for their venture, and so approached Parisian sports newspaper Le Velo to enquire about the possibility of their involvement in a race to start in Paris and end in the new velodrome in Roubaix. It was pitched as a warm-up race to the mighty Bordeux-Paris classic.

The newspaper director, Paul Rousseau, duly gave his approval. But the first edition proved difficult to get off the ground, amid concerns of it being held on Easter Sunday: How would the riders attend mass? Would spectators not rather go to church than the velodrome?

The date was presumably moved in accordance, and it was the German Josef Fischer who came out victorious, putting Maurice Garin - who would go on to win the first ever Tour de France - into third. Every edition until that of 1919 would finish at this original velodrome, at which point began years of the race finishing at various locations around Roubaix, until it found its current home at the Roubaix Velodrome in 1943.

Of course, road conditions in 1896 were hardly of an immaculate standard, and rather than today's need for organisers to go in search of cobbled sectors, in days of old there was no choice in the matter - roads that weren't horrendously paved, cobbled, cindered or just plain dirt, were the exception. 

Indeed, one could be forgiven for thinking that it was these horrendous surfaces, as well as other hazards and a generally harsh crack of the organiser's whip, that earned the race the title the 'Hell of the North'. But in sobering fact, it was the devastating effects of the world at war that gave Paris-Roubaix this timeless moniker - coined by journalists as they inspected the route prior to the race's revival after World War One.

But as Nord pas de Calais recovered from the battles fought out on its open wastes; as the French economy recovered and roads gradually began to improve, the race director's found that they had to actively search out cobbled sectors to maintain the spirit of the race.

A period of dominance from Eddy Merckx, Francesco Moser and 'Mr. Paris-Roubaix' Roger De Vlaeminck in the 60s and 70s preceded the formation of Les Amis de Paris-Roubaix though. In an effort to restore the spirit of the Queen of the Classics came this thousands-strong group, which was founded in 1983.

Their aim of discovering and restoring cobbled roads to be used in the race has been appreciated ever since, as well as their maintenance of current ones - the merciless Forest of Arenberg, Carrefour de l'Arbre and Mons-en-Pevele sectors included. 

Famous editions

1927 - A controversial victory

21-year-old Belgian George Ronsse had attacked early and built up a solo lead, but was caught by a 16-man chase group on the run in to Roubaix. Present in the group were French duo Charles Pellisier (younger brother of the more famous Henri), and Joseph Curtel, with the former a known sprinter and - once the junction was made - the expected winner. 

But it was Curtel and the former soloist Ronsse who battled to the line, with Curtel (left in the picture) supposedly winning the sprint. He was carried off by French supporters while the band began playing the French national anthem, until the formal results were read out, declaring Ronsse the winner.

Rider protests were denied, accusations of shady dealings were made against Ronsse's Automoto team, but the result still stands. 

1943 - The race enters the velodrome

A landmark year for Paris-Roubaix, as 1943 was the first year that the famous Roubaix Velodrome was used as the finish line. Although the initial editions of the race were held with the finish at a velodrome, it was located on a different site, and while some alternate locations around Roubaix have been used sporadically since, it is the one first used in 1943 that has retained the finish to this day - along with the fabled post-race shower block in the adjacent changing rooms. 

1988 - The early breakaway survives

While an early breakaway always goes in Paris-Roubaix, it is not common for it to hang on until the end, such is the fatiguing nature of the course. But in 1988, a breakaway went after 27km, and the finish was contested between two of its original protagonists after attacking their companions in the  finale and holding off the remnants of the peloton behind. 

Dirk Demol of Belgium and Thomas Wegmuller of Switzerland were those two riders, but in a cruel twist of fate for Wegmuller, a plastic bag became entangled with his rear derailleur with just a handful of kilometres left. Efforts to remove it were unsuccessful, and a bike change at that stage of the race would have been suicidal, so Wegmuller was left to contest the finish in a gear unbefitting of an all-out sprint. Unsurprisingly, it was Demol who came out as the victor. 

1996, 1998 & 2001 - Mapei and Domo 1,2,3

In 1996 the Mapei-GB team provided a rarely-achieved feat by completing the podium. Johan Museeuw, Gianluca Bortalami and Andrea Tafi crossed the line arm in arm, finishing 2 minutes and 38 seconds ahead of 4th place. In 1998 they did it again, with Franco Ballerini, Andrea Tafi and Wilfried Peeters all finishing by themselves, but nonetheless ahead of everyone else.

For a third time in six years, Domo - Farm Frites unbelievably were able to do the same, with the winner Servais Knaven and Johan Museeuw - after having almost lost his leg to gangrene after a crash in '98 - in second, and Latvian Romans Vainsteins in third. 

2006 - Train stops play

While 2006 was also the year that Fabian Cancellara took his first of three victories to date, and when pre-race favourite and long-time Roubaix aspirant George Hincapie was befallen by a snapped steerer and subsequent broken collarbone, it as also a year of disqualifications.

While Cancellara had already attacked and left his companions with 20km to go on the Camphin-en-Pevele sector, those in pursuit (Vladimir Gusev, Leif Hoste and Peter Van Petegem) crossed a level crossing while the barriers were down. Although the three would place 2nd, 3rd and 4th on the day, they were disqualified for their earlier infringements. 

2012 - Boonen makes it four

If Roger De Vlaeminck is 'Mr Paris Roubaix' with his four victories, then Tom Boonen surely became a modern day equivalent when he matched his Belgian predecessor in the win tally. In a year where his long-time rival Fabian Cancellara was ruled out after crashing in the Tour of Flanders, Boonen escaped with his teammate Niki Terpstra, before dropping the Dutchman and soloing to victory, over a minute and a half in front of second place Sebastian Turgot. 

The 2016 edition should hopefully see Boonen on the start line again, as well as Fabian Cancellara, who with three Roubaix victories already, will be hoping to reach the head of the Roubaix table along with Boonen and De Vlaeminck. 

Paris-Roubaix Challenge Sportive

A pain more engulfing than the one endured on the cobblestones of Paris-Roubaix will not be experienced while riding a bicycle. This is a fact that I am now certain of.

I’m negotiating one, for it could be any, of the 28 cobbled sectors that make up the 170km route of the Paris-Roubaix Challenge, and the unrelenting punishment has turned my face into a grimace – a teeth-baring contortion akin to an old English gurning competition – and my hands are clamping the bars tighter than a pair of mole grips. For one embarrassing moment I hear a small groan escape the gaps between my grinding teeth, and I feel a dollop of something – it could be sweat, it could be saliva or snot – land firmly on my dust-encrusted thigh. None of this matters, though. Any ideals of maintaining style were abandoned some time ago, along with the ability to stick to a chosen line or resist the temptation to ride in the gutter. The only thing I can think about is the banner I can see through the dusty haze, hung across the road to mark the end of this clattering torment and the start of the tarmac-smooth salvation that lies ahead. 

The history of Paris-Roubaix needs no retelling. The name alone conjures images of dust-caked faces and bone-shattering crashes from down the years. The race is almost as old as cycling itself, and it is always one of the most exciting spectacles of the pro calendar, but it is hard for the armchair viewer to understand exactly what the riders are going through when they blast onto the cobbles. This is why I’m here – for enlightenment, to experience the reality of trying to pedal across roads that are entirely unsuited to bicycles, and to comprehend the pain, fear and exhaustion that riding on cobbles inflicts. I’m learning quickly. 

Dawn of the dead

The day begins at 5.45am, at a hotel breakfast buffet being rapidly harvested of carbohydrates by a marauding bunch of MAMILs. The gates of the Challenge officially open at 7am, so after filling my stomach to just the right side of uncomfortable, I give my bike a once-over and make the early morning dash from my hotel in St Quentin to the start in Busigny. The 170km route all but follows the pro race’s parcours inch for inch (albeit without the preceding 100km), but there are 140km and 70km options too, both of which start from the Roubaix velodrome. 

A misty and cold scene greets us upon arrival. Gaggles of riders sit perched on their car boots and point us in the direction of the sign-on. The foggy shroud allows no more than a dozen metres of visibility, but gradually some sort of communal village building comes into view under an inflatable gantry. It spills out groups of riders, tottering around in cleats and clasping steaming polystyrene cups of watery coffee, before joining the masses in their uncomfortable wait for one of the precious few Port-a-loos to become vacant. I receive my entry pack along with a handful of sweets, then proceed to attach the number to my bars and ‘sector guide’ to my Pinarello’s top tube – while trying not to pay too much attention to the length, frequency and severity of the cobbled sectors it cruelly details. 

I’m feeling anxious, although I can’t pinpoint exactly why. A glance around the bustling street confirms I’m not alone, as I catch the eyes of a few riders, momentarily detached from their bantering circle of Lycra-clad friends and alone with their thoughts. Their faces reveal underlying doubts about our impending ride. It’s not the 170km length: I’m sure I can handle that. It’s not the bike either: the same Pinarello DogmaK will be ridden by Team Sky in the pro race tomorrow. It’s not even the legs: they’ve served me well so far. No, it must be those sinister cobbles – the reason we’re all here – that are fuelling our communal sense of apprehension, and I get the feeling it’s a suspicion that’s going to be painfully justified. 

I scramble to join a mass of riders about to leave, preferring the shelter of wheels to ease myself through the first few undulating kilometres. It’s a little before 8am, with the temperature still low, and my gilet is proving of little hindrance to the cold morning haze as we coast out of Busigny into the unknown. 

Stoned to death

Despite this not being a race, there is a definite change of pace as we near the first cobbled section, and the drop-off in conversation only confirms that things are about to get serious. 

To avoid potential collisions I make my way to the front of the group as a banner looms overhead, signifying the start of ‘Sector 28 – Troisvilles à Inchy’, and no sooner have we passed under it than the first thundering
waves of stone break under our front wheels. 

The craggy shards have more in common with a rock garden than a road, with an intertwining maze of crevices vanishing into muddy, tyre-swallowing depths that are all but unavoidable. I try to steer my line towards the smoother central crown of the road, a meager channel of reprieve wide enough for just one rider, before it falls away on either side into two parallel seas of jumbled stonework. Once over the initial shock, I find some space, some rhythm, and start to negotiate my way forwards, trying desperately to keep the all-important momentum going. 

Maintaining speed over the cobbles is essential; without it every separate stone becomes a tyre-impeding obstacle. So I adopt a gung-ho approach, stomping on the pedals, following the direction my bike dictates, and hoping for the best. Successfully negotiating a chosen line through this carnage borders on miraculous, and changing gear is nigh-on impossible. But by the end of the 2.2km induction I’m amid a small bunch of cyclocross riders (why am I not surprised to see this lot revelling in the ordeal?), and if it weren’t for my severe oxygen debt I’d be inclined to breathe a long sigh of relief. 

The ensuing succession of sectors passes by in a similar fashion. They are all harsh and exhausting, but the excitement, novelty and hardships of each installment leave me craving the next as soon as I have recovered from the last. Most riders seem to have found themselves in groups of ten to 15; either cooperatively going through-and-off, or letting a couple of rampaging pedal-bashers lead from the front. My own company has the sportive demographic well represented, with road bikes, cyclocross bikes, mountain bikes, carbon, steel and aluminium all contributing to an eclectic mix of styles rolling through to poke their noses into the wind. We even pass one heroic individual aboard a wooden velocipede, swinging his legs nonchalantly while clattering over the cobbles, with nether-regional consequences I dread to even think about. 

The first food station appears in a petite village square, and all but a determined few stop to gorge on the various forms of sugar-laden fodder and fill up their bidons from industrial irrigation containers. There’s even a mechanic sheltering under a gazebo, puffing on a cigar and dressed in blue overalls naturally, but also on hand to deal with any non-terminal bike injuries the conditions may have inflicted. As for fixing morale, I bump into Cyclist’s photographer Geoff taking a few snaps: ‘Those cobbles look brutal,’ he chuckles through the car window. ‘Because they bloody are!’ I bleat, while rolling off into the mist.

After the stop I notice that the number of groups has dwindled, and more and more riders are resigned to riding alone at their own manageable pace as fatigue kicks in. We’re no more than a third of the way through the distance, and yet the ride has already become a game of survival. 

Trench town rock

Paris-Roubaix wasn’t always like this. When the race started it was indeed a fearsome endeavour, as the road quality was shambolic, whether on cobbles or not. But after the First World War, from which the race picked up its ‘Hell of the North’ nickname owing to the apocalyptic scenes the battles left in their wake, the roads were repaved to a substantial quality. As a result, Paris-Roubaix lost its attraction, and the routes we pass over today are those which organisers were forced to go in search of, in a bid to reinvigorate the perilous heart of the race.

More sectors pass. I’m aware they have names, but by now they are starting to blend into one, possibly because the rattling of my brain within my skull has rendered me incapable of distinguishing between them. The misty shroud has lost none of its opacity either, and as I trundle on alone, through grassy fields and past dilapidated red-brick farm buildings, a positively Dickensian air descends upon the landscape. A ghostly apparition ahead morphs into the hunched figure of a fellow rider who looks up briefly from his own suffering to bear witness to mine. Having exchanged weary glances, we drift silently apart until he is lost again in the mist and I continue on alone down the grey roads, past the brown fields.

Soon enough I find myself surrounded by derelict mining machinery, and my brain is still alert enough to inform me that we must be in the Arenberg Forest. As I ride through the wastelands of abandoned rust-green metal and occasional piles of slag, I begin to call up memories of old Roubaix stories. For it was in these mines, under the Arenberg trench itself if the legend is to be believed, that Jean Stablinski laboured before turning professional as a cyclist, and who eventually went on to become a key initiator of the Trouee d’Arenberg’s maiden inclusion to the race in 1968. ‘Paris-Roubaix is not won in Arenberg,’ he once said, ‘but from there the winning group is selected.’ Gulp. 

The Arenberg trench, or simply ‘The Trench’, is 2,400m of bike riding that no one can prepare themselves for. Its brutality is unparalleled in any of the 28 sectors of Paris-Roubaix. If there was a competition for the least bike-friendly surface imaginable, then this would be on the shortlist. 

The bunch in which I enter The Trench immediately thins to one solitary line of riders, jostling for position on the central crown once again. My handlebars ricochet back into my palms relentlessly, like some sort of crazed pneumatic drill, while my glasses slip closer to the end of my nose, obscuring my vision slightly, but there’s little I can do about it as it’s impossible to remove a hand from the bars. 

The pain is exhaustive, absolute, and one I’m not used to dealing with. We all know what oxygen debt feels like, what lactic acid feels like, what bonking feels like, and can for the most part deal with them accordingly. But the searing, breathtaking pain currently being doled out to my arms and hands by the incessant blows is quite simply unbearable. I’m not in control – I am a passenger at the mercy of my bike, and of the road – if you can call it that. 

We soldier on, and after five minutes eventually reach the end of our affliction, grovelling over the final few yards before emerging out of the forested nightmare into a vivid picture of the devastation it’s caused. Some riders collapse over their bars as soon as they reach tarmac, before being nursed out of the way by a team of marshals. Others muster the energy to find a small patch of seclusion in which to dismount and lie star-fished next to their steeds. Upturned, broken bikes stand in the middle of groups of concerned, head-shaking riders, and the surrounding bins spill out as many inner tubes as they do energy gels. It’s like the aftermath of a battle – something that this area has more experience of than most, dotted as it is by the graves of soldiers who fought over these muddy fields during the First World War. 

The good news is that the sun has burnt through the remaining wisps of fog, and with the Arenberg Trench behind me I tell myself that things can only get better from now on. Maybe it’s just a trick of the mind, but improve they do, and with the sun high in the sky, the cobbles pass under my wheels with a relative sense of serenity, and my legs rejoice in a second wind of enthusiasm. I feel that Roubaix’s back has been broken. Or then again, maybe I’m just delirious from the continual pummelling my body is undergoing. The brief lull in suffering allows for some sightseeing though, and I notice the famous abattoir the route passes through at the start of the Orchies sector like some twisted omen, as well as the graffitied bridge over the ‘Pont Gibus’ cobbles – newly reinstalled as of 2013 thanks to the restorative labour of Les Amis de Paris-Roubaix, the group of fans who keep the roads of Roubaix in their hellish state.

Yet the respite is short lived and my exuberance is deflated – along with my back tyre, forcing me to reluctantly pull over and change the pinch-punctured tube. It’s now that it becomes apparent just how pitiful my dexterity has become as a result of the day’s exertions, as I painfully fumble around with tyre levers and valves, my throbbing, swollen fingers barely able to unfurl from their petrified, bar-gripping state. It’s then like salt in the wounds as I clamber back on to my bike, only to realise I’m about to encounter the day’s second, and final, five-starred sector: Le Carrefour de l’Arbre. 

Out of the frying pan…

This section is one of the timed primes, but no sooner do I apply the power than my head hangs back between my shoulders and I, along with the masses, head for the gutter in tired desperation. The dirt is the dry, billowing dust synonymous with Roubaix editions of recent years. It cakes my bike and body, tickling the back of my throat as I gasp for air, and turns into viscous channels of muddy slime as the sweat runs off my face. The pain has reached a climax and, despite what I’ve been told about staying loose while riding cobbles, I find myself gripping harder and harder, my knuckles turning white in a bid to somehow squeeze out the pain. It’s a futile struggle, and I’m spat out the end of the Carrefour de l’Arbre barely able to release the strangle I have on my garroted handlebars; my hands either scared or rattled stiff. 

The remaining three sectors are a tiresome drag. They’re not hard enough to warrant excitement, but not easy enough to be insignificant; they are a necessary evil, and for that very reason seem almost representative of the day’s struggles. The final, ceremonious sector that precedes the velodrome is sporadically pavéd with smooth plaques, nestled between the cobbles and adorning the names of Paris-Roubaix victors past. So it’s in the company of Lapize, Merckx, De Vlaeminck, Moser and Boonen that I make my modest entry onto the fabled track, and while my name will not be joining theirs on the stones of Roubaix, at least I’m a little closer to appreciating the mettle required to gain such an honour. 

sport.be/parisroubaix

Paris-Roubaix 2016: Race report

Orica-Greenedge's Mat Hayman won a vintage edition of Paris-Roubaix on Sunday, in a career-defining moment for the 37 year old, participating in his 15th Paris-Roubaix, and only a matter of weeks on from breaking his arm at Omloop Het Nieuwsblad.  

The early breakaway took a long time to form, with a furious opening couple of hours full of attacks and counter attacks, which consistently pulled back those trying to escape. But after 60km a move eventually went clear, and it contained none other than eventual winner Hayman.

Team Sky and Etixx-QuickStep led the damage limitation behind, and it was due to their being at the front of the peloton that left them better off after a succession of crashes during the early sectors. Better off than Cancellara and Sagan, that is, as both were held up and were destined never to see the front.

Crashes and attacks in the lead group saw it split and regroup, until eventually a quintet of Ian Stannard, Tom Boonen, Sep Vanmarcke, Mat Hayman and Edvald Boasson Hagen formed on the Camphin-en-Pevele sector. Vanmarcke tried to go clear on the Carrefour de l'Arbre - the last five-star instalment - but was slowly towed back by Stannard and Boonen.

Attack after attack in the closing stages showed nothing more than the fact that nobody had an ounce of strength left, with each hauling effort as slow-motion and ineffective as the next. Hayman and Boonen looked to have a reasonable gap, but Vanmarcke appeared as they entered the velodrome, and in the end it was Hayman who triumphed in an excruciating 5-up sprint to the line.

Boonen was denied his record 5th win, and Australia rejoiced in the delirium of Hayman's unbelievable victory.  

Orica-Greenedge Backstage Pass

Every episode of Paris-Roubaix has its own story, its heroes, its plot twists, its triumphs and tragedies.

As I was snoozing on a TGV passing through northern France recently, I began to imagine how this year’s race might pan out, but in my sleepy mind it became a bone-shaking dash through the history of the race, assembled from all its greatest moments.

As the fug clears, I see nervous riders roll out of Paris – or is it Chantilly, or Compiègne? 

At this early stage the bunch sticks close together. There’s Fabian Cancellara close to the wheel of Roger De Vlaeminck, and Rik van Looy chatting to Johan Museeuw, while Eddy Merckx and Tom Boonen move to the front of the pack, only to be interrupted by Maurice Garin crashing into two tandems, one being ridden by his own pacers.

As with every Paris-Roubaix, the first bit is somewhat uneventful, right up to the point when the cobbles come into view.

Then: boom! Actually, make that Boom: Lars goes on the attack in the Arenberg, narrowly avoiding a sprawling Philippe Gaumont and Museeuw.

Bernard Hinault is forced to shoulder his bike past the race director’s car. And is that Greg LeMond with suspension in his front forks?

With 85km remaining four Mapei riders break clear – including Museeuw, making light of a gashed knee.

On the attack

It’s left to Cancellara to attack from distance while, behind, nothing can split Boonen and De Vlaeminck.

Poor Kurt-Asle Arvesen, though, seems to be missing a saddle. He should think himself lucky: at Mons-en-Pévèle there’s horror on George Hincapie’s face as his steerer tube breaks, detaching his bars.

The sprawling American brings down Cancellara who in turn is bunny-hopped by Peter Sagan. 

With 40km to go, Museeuw defies what is clearly gangrene – he’ll have to have that leg amputated if he’s not careful – to ping clear. He’s joined by Hennie Kuiper, in spite of two earlier crashes.

It’s Carrefour de l’Arbre time as Cancellara speeds ahead (in his team car), Leif Hoste is knocked down by a motorcycle and Thor Hushovd crashes.

And then – calamity for Hinault! The Badger is floored by a dog called Gruson... or is that the name of the cobbled sector? Merckx also appears to be human after all, his six-minute buffer fading fast.

Entering the final 6km both Kuiper and Museeuw flat – the latter while pointing to his leg.

Niki Terpstra attacks from a chasing group of 10 riders that features Bradley Wiggins, Geraint Thomas, the black and white figures of Charles Crupelandt, Octave Lapize and two Pelissier brothers, Peter van Petergem, big Magnus Backstedt and – struth!– it’s only flamin’ Stuey O’Grady!

Josef Fischer’s massive early lead of 25 minutes comes to nothing after separate incidents involving a horse and some cows.

Henri Cornet, his mouth full of dust, passes Johan van Summeren, reduced to riding on his rims after a flat.

Hinault crashes for a seventh time with a few clicks to go while the returning Thomas Wegmuller appears to have a plastic bag jammed in his derailleur.

Outside the velodrome at Roubaix there’s pandemonium when André Mahé is directed the wrong way by a gendarme.

Miraculously, three Mapei riders once again lead the race. It’s going to be an easy win.

But no! Sean Kelly, invigorated by heavy rainfall, comes round the outside and is ready to celebrate... only to be denied by Aussie veteran Mat Hayman who Zwifts past with a broken arm.

Then, confusion: Fausto Coppi has launched an appeal. Just as the organisers contemplate gifting the win to Fausto’s brother, Serse, I’m woken as the train rattles across a particularly bumpy stretch of tracks, rain lashing against the window in this bleak region of northern France.

And passing through a level crossing I spot two impatient cyclists throwing caution to the wind and clambering through the barriers.

You know what, I could have sworn they were Van Petergem and Hoste.

One October day in 1969, late in the evening, Bob Gore took out his professional frustration on an unsuspecting length of polytetrafluoroethylene (or PTFE as it’s better known).

Having spent fruitless months trying to stretch the material without it snapping, as the story goes, Gore gave a heated rod of PTFE an angry, forceful tug.

To his amazement it stretched tenfold in length, and in those few seconds he had changed its already miraculous qualities dramatically.

It was the birth of a new material called ePTFE (‘e’ meaning ‘expanded’), which became Gore-Tex, and which has been keeping cyclists dry for decades.

I’m standing in a 10m tall glass chamber, and several tonnes of water are about to come crashing down onto me to reinforce how effective that 50-year-old experiment is today.

It’s all in the interest of science. Alex Metcalfe and Jurgen Kurapkat, heads of sales and communications at Gore, are putting me on the front line of its waterproof testing process. 

‘All of our prototypes have to prove their performance for the intended use in the rain room using a variety of tests,’ says Kurapkat.

‘That’s why we have these nozzles all around, to test the products from all angles in a cycling position.’

Mind the gap

Kurapkat advises me to do up the zip fully, pull the hood tightly over my head and avoid any gaps between trouser and jumper.

‘Otherwise the rest of the day will be a little bit uncomfortable for you,’ he says with a smile. Beneath the thin Gore-Tex fabric I’m wearing the only set of clothes I’ve brought for this trip, and it will be a long way home in a soggy cotton jumper if the test goes badly.

Having only met Kurapkat and Metcalfe 10 minutes ago, I start to wonder at my judgement of their characters, and consider whether soaking a visiting journalist might be a regular bit of fun for them.

Above me, what begins with a trickle of water leads to a torrent and I feel myself beaten with a dense rain.

Gore has emulated perfectly that rare sort of rain that simply soaks through most clothing. My face feels like a waterslide.

When the ordeal stops I shake myself free of the bulbous droplets that sit on the surface of  my jacket and tentatively remove the Gore-Tex garments.

To the delight of the team there’s not even a single drop of water on my clothes. 

‘Each rain chamber is different all over the world,’ Kurapkat tells me. ‘But we have standardised equipment and processes so everything experiences this same test.’

Walking through Gore’s vast complex in Feldkirchen-Westerham, south of Munich, gives a glimpse of the company’s scale.

‘We are nothing,’ says head of design Clemens Deilmann, referring to the cycling division. ‘We are not even 1% of the company. Huge industries are supplied with our stuff – we are marginal.’ 

The facility here is geared towards cycling and running wear, which comes together under the umbrella of the Gore Fit Team.

It’s a massive building but represents only a fragment of WL Gore & Associates, its 10,000 employees and £2.4 billion in annual revenue.

But Gore’s presence in the cycling market has changed things more than one might think.

Science of soaking

Chemistry isn’t always in the forefront of our minds when it comes to buying cycling gear, but ePTFE, Gore-Tex material, made waves that are still rippling though the cycling market.

Of the many diverse uses for ePTFE (see p103), Gore-Tex’s outdoor and sports clothing is possibly the most iconic, thanks to its ability to repel water while still being permeable to air.

The ‘breathability’ of the fabric comes down to a series of pores that are 1/20,000th of an inch in diameter – too small for water molecules to penetrate but large enough to release air, water vapour and sweat from within.

It quickly found favour with walkers and mountaineers – and then came the Giro.

The Giro jacket was the Big Bang for Gore Bike Wear. It was created in 1985 out of the frustration of one Gore employee named Heinrich Flick.

He and a team of Gore employees were active cyclists and eager to see Gore-Tex technology put to use in the cycling market. 

While we sit in a reception room, as if by magic Flick pops up on the massive screen as part of a lengthy company infomercial.

He begins to tell his tale: ‘We wanted to sell the fabric to cycling brands but they didn’t want to buy it from us as they didn’t see the advantage that we portrayed,’ says the on-screen Flick.

With no cycling brands eager to push the costs of their clothing up four-fold, Gore decided to seize the reins and produce its own jacket. 

When it came out in 1985, the Giro Jacket cost DM200 – about £160 in today’s prices – and was thought too expensive for any retailer to consider.

Having dropped a few samples with a couple of retailers, it was less than 10 days before Gore received orders, and within three months it had sold 500 jackets.

It was a standout success, and generated enough excitement for Gore to launch a cycling division. 

Watching the film, it’s intriguing to see clothing that looks two decades ahead of its time being worn by kitsch 1980s cycling stars.

The aesthetic wasn’t helped by a crotch strap that ran between the tail and front of the jacket – quickly phased out following crashes from snagging on the saddle – but it kick-started a revolution in waterproof fabric in cycling. 

The premium waterproof jacket, now revived as the Gore One, remains its flagship, but even with Gore’s space-age material (quite literally – it has been used in NASA space suits) being waterproof, it still requires a lengthy process of design and validation.

‘With every garment that’s made out of Gore-Tex and claims to be waterproof, we have to prove that it’s waterproof,’ says Metcalfe. ‘That’s why we have the Rain Tower.

‘We keep one of these sealed garments, then the rest goes into production, and when people have a complaint we can investigate the difference between what we have as a sealed garment and what was produced.’

More than a slogan

Cheaper brands boasting ‘waterproof’ performance is a bugbear for Gore. ‘It’s significant that a garment is allowed to carry the black diamond of Gore-Tex. Waterproof is more than just a marketing slogan.’

Of course, Gore-Tex now is not the same as of old – it’s undergone a great deal of modification and fine-tuning.

‘Gore-Tex is still our trademark and still our patent, but we’ve continued to develop it as we’ve gone forward. It’s not like we’re stuck 40 years ago,’ says Metcalfe.

Yet while Gore-Tex is the real star of the show for Gore, it’s the lesser-known Windstopper fabric that has really infiltrated the cycling industry.

Castelli’s Gabba jersey is one of the success stories that uses Gore’s Windstopper. The Gabba utilises a Windstopper membrane and a water-repellant DWR spray treatment on the face fabric.

Any Gore-Tex clothing is actually a combination of three fabrics, all provided by Gore. First is the backer, which sits next to the skin, then the membrane – the Gore-Tex material itself – and a face fabric. 

The backer is necessary as while Gore-Tex is biocompatible (it’s not harmful to living tissue) it can feel rough and uncomfortable directly on the skin, while the face fabric offers extra insulation, durability and the ability to sublimate the fabric with a colour or pattern, which can’t be done with pure Gore-Tex.

‘We provide the complete material. It’s down to the brands to design the cut, zipper and any additional fabrics,’ Metcalfe says.

Despite the buzz around new all-weather clothing from other brands, Metcalfe points out that this is all old news to Gore.

‘We launched our first Windstopper jersey in 1997. We launched our first waterproof short-sleeve jacket, the Xenon, in 2008. So we’ve pioneered Windstopper or Gore-Tex jerseys for many years.’

The Gorey detail

Like many clothing brands, most ofGore’s cycling kit comes from factories in eastern Europe and the Far East. Producing with Gore-Tex is no trivial matter, though. Factories have to gain accreditation to use the material. 

‘The facilities are third parties who have to qualify for our standards and then they get a licence for Gore-Tex and Windstopper,’ Deilmann tells me.

The material is tracked carefully in certain countries to ensure no extra stock is kept for unauthorised military or aerospace use.

While production takes place all over the world, it’s here in Bavaria where Gore’s cycling products are designed and all Gore cycling fabrics are tested to a degree that few of us would conceive of when choosing one jersey over another.

The Rain Tower that drenched me earlier, and the neighbouring Storm Cube that emulates high winds, use advanced mannequins to detect where wind and water might get through. 

Testing is taken very seriously, partly on account of the prestige of the wider company. ‘If we have an aerospace contractor or surgeon using our jersey or jacket and they’re not happy with the brand, another division of Gore might lose out on a huge contract,’ Deilmann says.

There is a meticulous, clinical approach to testing the finished garments as well as the fabric itself.

‘You can put huge pressure on that,’ Deilmann says as he stands in front of a set of fabric tubes beating up and down to an almost comical rhythm.

He points to a machine beside it pumping huge pressures of water onto a patch of clothing. ‘This is made to test the seams – telling us if the seam sealing machine is working right, and the temperature being used is right, rather than a focus on the material itself.’

This pump will generate a waterproof rating for a garment, measured in metres.

‘The official definition of being waterproof is actually to a depth of just 1.3m, which is really low,’ Deilmann says.

This waterproof rating is based on the measurement of pressure created by a height in metres of water in a 10cm diameter cylinder.

Gore-Tex has an 18m rating, meaning you could fill a 10cm diameter, 18m high tube of Gore-Tex fabric with water without the fabric leaking, so while many items may claim to be waterproof, it’s only a relative measure of water resistance.

‘Even if it’s Gore-Tex but not taped then you know it’s not going to do the job,’ Deilmann says. Taping – covering the sewn seams with Gore-Tex tape – is a big part of Gore’s technical repertoire, and has evolved quite a bit since the original Giro jacket with its heavy 2cm wide tape.

To perfect that taping process, Gore does as much simulation of the production process as is possible here in Germany.

Guided by hand

The atelier, a sewing room in Bavaria, works as both a model production facility and a prototype lab. Sewing and taping is the most technical process, performed by a sewing machine heated to 400°C but guided by hand.

As a designer, Deilmann’s most ambitious plans often come awry when it comes to the practicalities of production. 

‘Working out the necessary pressure, the heat, the tapes and the way of handling the material is all part of what happens here. That feedback is key to letting our partners know if a design works in production,’ he says.

I can’t help but wonder, with the engineering power of a multi-billion-dollar industry behind it and dozens of patents, why Gore doesn’t pull up the drawbridge and keep the waterproof world of cycling for itself. 

‘Stimulation of the market is the main goal for us,’ Deilmann says. ‘For instance, we do Windstopper garments and people become aware of it, then Castelli or Specialized decide to use that material for something that will be used in professional racing.

‘For Gore that’s the best thing that can happen.’

It’s funny to think that a man tugging at a polymer 50 years ago, and an employee keen on cycling 20 years later, have made such a difference to the technology that allows us to cycle in comfort.

Leaving the sparkly white corridors of Gore’s German complex, I wander out into the Bavarian countryside – and into an onslaught of torrential rain.

This year’s Paris-Roubaix boasts more than 50km of cobbles, which is precisely why this classic race in northern France is described as ‘The Hell of the North’.

For manufacturers and teams it’s one of the highlights of the calendar. It’s also a platform to showcase new technologies designed to help bikes roll smoothly over the pavé.

It’s why Pinarello created a suspension system at the top of the seatstays on its K8-S and why Specialized introduced its ‘FutureShock’ suspension betwixt head tube and stem on its latest Roubaix. 

But is there any scientific evidence to suggest whether these and other similar innovations have real merit and, if so, which is more important: damping at the front of the bike or at the back? 

Monitoring vibrations

‘We’ve loaded our bikes with sensors when recceing a race like Roubaix to add empirical data to the feedback we get from riders,’ says Carsten Jeppesen, head of technical operations at Team Sky.

‘It’s why many riders will choose rear suspension and also why, for instance, they wouldn’t go for front suspension, which some have tried but have found just too foreign.’

Jeppesen also notes that riders choose a longer wheelbase, which goes to explain the thinking behind the Pinarello K8-S, with it’s springy rear end and longer wheelbase than the F10.

But it’s not very scientific. We’re after independent, verifiable evidence, and rather surprisingly for a sport where data is king, only one independent study exists examining the vibrations emanating from the Roubaix cobbles.

Scientist and cyclist Sebastien Duc took part in the 2015 Paris-Roubaix Challenge, an amateur event that takes place the day before the pro race. The 1.80m, 68kg Duc aimed to measure not only the scale of vibrations created by the cobbles but also where on the bike and body they’re at their peak.

‘I loaded my Specialized Roubaix Expert with two tri-axial accelerometers – on the stem and seatpost – and set the tyre pressure at 5 bar [about 73psi],’ Duc says. ‘I then measured the RMS, VDV and vibration level…’

OK, stop right there – explanation required. In this oscillating world, RMS (Root Mean Square, measured in m/s²) is essentially the average vibrational value, in this case of a ride on the cobbles, while VDV (Vibration Dose Value, m/s^1.75) represents the cumulative value. Vibration level is oscillations per second, or hertz (Hz).

Collecting all the data after the event, Duc discovered that during his 139km-long, 15-cobbled-sector ride his speed varied from 19.1-27.8kmh; his heart rate fluctuated between 122-155bpm; his cadence was between 79-87rpm; and power output varied from 167-235W. 

‘According to RMS and VDV values, vibration exposure is more intense at the hands than at the cyclist’s seat, regardless of the speed or difficulty of the cobbles,’ Duc reveals.

For reference, ASO categorises the cobbles by difficulty from two-star (relatively easy) to five-star (bone-shattering), and this year has introduced colour-coding to make it easier for TV viewers to identify them .

‘Over the four-star sections, RMS equated to 35m/s² at the stem compared to 28m/s² at the seatpost.’ In the workplace – say ploughing a field on a tractor – anything over 10m/s² is deemed dangerous. 

So that’s it. Sky’s Jeppesen is wrong and manufacturers should focus their efforts at the front of the bike instead of the rear. Of course, it’s not that simple.

‘The frequency of vibration levels was actually higher at the seatpost,’ says Duc. ‘Over the three-star stretches of cobbles, 30Hz at the seatpost compared to around 20Hz at the stem.’ 

In short, the vibrations at the rear were less intense but more frequent.

Sparseness of studies

So far, so inconclusive. We needed more data, but Cyclist had to be creative. Cue research by Paul MacDermid of Massey University, New Zealand, who compared the vibration impact of road cycling to off-road cycling.

His research wasn’t on cobbles, but MacDermid says he can make a good estimate of the results based on his own data.

Take the RMS value. On MacDermid’s tests, the left-arm accelerometers measured 18m/s² and 27m/s² for road and off-road; at the seatpost it was 12m/s² and 18m/s².

MacDermid says cobbles would generate similar vibration proportions and that subjects would have to generate around 30% more power to maintain the same speed, which is significant as power is related to vibration.

‘This is based on Training Peaks data from Mat Hayman’s 2016 win, when in the Arenberg Forest his average power went up by 44% and his heart rate by 20% [compared to earlier in the race],’ says MacDermid. 

Of course, Hayman’s increase in effort can’t entirely be attributed to the extra vibrations stimulated by those cobbles – it’s safe to assume Hayman also put the hammer down in a section notorious for making or breaking the race.

But if we broadly apply that 30% increase to cobbles and the increased vibrations, we’re looking at RMS values of over 30m/s² through the handlebars and over 20m/s² through the saddle.

So it would seem that again, up front is the area that requires greater damping focus. ‘You could certainly argue that, because propelling the bike over the bumps will elicit more upper-body movement,’ says MacDermid.

‘That’s supported by further data we have which shows on uphill sections at speeds of around 16.5kmh, vibrations were typically greater through the bars and arms than through the seatpost.’

His figures alter, however, when the road tilts downhill: ‘We performed another study looking at the effects on the bike when heading down over 13cm steps.

‘The results showed that the seatpost and ankle took the greatest battering with handlebars a close third.’

Built for the cobbles

It’s inconclusive whether suspension would be better employed at the front of the bike or the rear, but it could be the case that neither has quite as much influence as the riders themselves.

‘A study in France showed that the heavier the rider, the lower the Vibration Dose Value,’ says MacDermid.

Essentially the 80kg-plus guys naturally dampen the vibrations more than the 60kg guys.

And another French study showed that a rider’s posture also has a significant influence on the VDV, in particular the position of the forearms and wrist angles, and that optimised bike geometry can reduce this figure by up to 50%. 

There’s also the issue of riding style, says Jeppesen: ‘As an example, if you look at Fabian Cancellara, who’s smooth on his bike, he’d probably experience fewer vibrations than someone like Ian Stannard, who’s more about brute force and stomps the pedals.’ 

So there you have it. When the pro riders hit the Arenberg at this year’s Paris-Roubaix, some of them will appreciate extra damping at the bars, while others will be happy with suspension at the rear (and all will go for wider, softer tyres than usual).

But the winner will most likely be the one who simply knows how to ride the cobbles best. After all, last year’s winner, Mat Hayman, was on a Scott Foil – an aero bike that makes few concessions to comfort.

So far in my life, road cycling has not been a violent sport. No one has headbutted me in a sprint finish or thrown a bidon in my face, and thankfully I haven’t crashed too often.

Instead, like most riders, smoothness has been what I’ve sought, whether it’s with a fluid pedal stroke, a creamily well-executed shift or a perfectly rounded hairpin.

Yes, I occasionally punish my legs and lungs on big hills, but for the majority of my time on the bike the world glides by without too much struggle.

That’s exactly what it’s like now as we cruise though a small French village, sleepy on a Saturday afternoon.

William, Alex and I cycle along chatting, with nothing more than the occasional manhole cover to warn each other about.

There’s the hum of tyres on tarmac, the gentle zizzzzz of a freehub as we coast towards a junction, the mellow arc as we swing right down a side street… and then there they are, 100 yards ahead of us, uneven and unyielding.

Some of them are wet and glistening, some of them are unseen, covered entirely by mud. We’re about to hit the cobbles.

The chatting stops, we line out, crank up the pace, take a deep breath and try to stay relaxed as the first impact looms. The violence is about to begin.

Image 13 of 20

Image 13 of 20

The romance of Roubaix

I think we all have fantasies about what sort of rider we might be if we were professional.

Some will dream of soaring on Alpine passes, going for a stage victory in a Grand Tour, while others will transform every sprint for a 30mph sign into a charge down the Champs-Élysées.

But for me and my relatively slow cadence, the dream while slogging away on the turbo trainer or into a wintry headwind has always been to imagine that I could one day be powering across pavé, perhaps on a lone escape while the remnants of a peloton tried to hunt me down all the way to Roubaix (their chase would be in vain, obviously, since we’re dreaming).

In short, I have always wanted to ride the cobbles of the Spring Classics and in particular those of Paris-Roubaix.

You really should be careful what you wish for – particularly when it’s so accessible. Lille is just an hour and 20 minutes on the Eurostar from London and the journey, even on a Friday night, really couldn’t be much more stress-free.

William picks up me and photographer Paul from the station and drives us to his house, where he proceeds to introduce us to a selection of extremely potent Belgian beers (including his own, named Malteni in deference to Eddy Merckx’s old team). 

As an Irishman who moved to France 15 years ago he has the most fantastic conglomeration of an accent.

He came to Lille with intentions of racing at an elite level on the Continent with the Roubaix team, but got a job in engineering almost immediately and has raced for fun ever since.

He now runs Pavé Cycling in his spare time at the weekends (along with Alex, who will be joining us in the morning), taking people out to experience the cobbles of Roubaix and Flanders.

He’s currently coming off the back of a fairly full 'cross season and looks worryingly fit and mysteriously unaffected by the beer. 

After a couple of looseners while supper’s cooking, we reassemble the bike I’ve brought with me, rejecting the standard wheels in favour of a set of beautifully butch box-section Vision Arenberg rims complete with distinctive 27c Vittoria Pave Evo CG tubulars.

Image 7 of 20

Image 7 of 20

The tubs are more for durability and grip than anything else, but they should also help cushion the blows of the cobbles a little, and I have a feeling I’m going to need all the help I can get in the morning.

After a good night’s sleep, bikes and camera gear are loaded into Alex’s wife’s Citroen Berlingo. We head south towards the village of Haveluy, from where we will follow the last 70-ish miles (106km) of the 2013 Paris-Roubaix route (bear in mind the actual race clocks up nearly 260km), taking in 18 sections of pavé before we end up in the Roubaix Velodrome.

This is the first time that any of them have tackled the cobbles this year as their winter has been as miserable as ours, but it’s still plenty cold enough to justify overshoes and leggings. 

As I fiddle with quick releases and water bottles I realise I’m actually quite nervous. The idea of trying to pilot skinny tyres (27c or not, they still look skinny) over cobbles and stay upright suddenly seems very daunting.

For the first time since I was wearing short trousers and attempting to guide my blue bike the length of my parents’ garden (start at the shed, round the paddling pool, avoid the apple tree and push on for the fence at the end) I’m genuinely concerned about my ability to cycle and stay upright.

What if my bike-handling skills aren’t up to snuff? What if I fall off? What if I can’t get going again? So much doubt. 

Luckily the plan is to tackle an easier section first, but as we head down the road towards it we’re faced with a sea of muddy water.

Although this wouldn’t normally stop proceedings, it would compromise the photos somewhat if we’re all a light shade of brown from the word go.

So we head to the second section of pavé, which just happens to be the most fearsome of them all – the Troueé d’Arenberg.

Trench warfare

Now I’m really nervous. My first taste (hopefully not literally) of cobbles is going to be the famous, full-on, five-star stretch through the Arenberg forest.

It’s a section that was suggested by Jean Stablinski, who raced professionally in the 1950s and 60s and also worked in the mine that lies deep below the forest.

The Arenberg Trench is seen as the first big test of any Paris-Roubaix and the pros approach it in a headlong downhill rush at 60-70kmh.

We’re not quite doing those sorts of speeds as we ride past the brooding remains of the mine on the outskirts of Wallers, but I still feel like we’re going too fast. 

‘Try to hold the bars loosely,’ says William. ‘Stay in the drops or on the cross bar. Not the hoods.’ I nod, and try to ease my vice-like grip.

After the vast open horizons of the rest of this part of France it feels claustrophobic heading towards the darkness of this narrow, foreboding corridor into the forest, and although the 2.4km passage between the trees is arrow straight it also looks never-ending. 

There’s a barrier across the entrance to stop traffic so we have to squeeze round the end and then hop up onto the cobbles.

Instantly the bike seems to take on a life of its own beneath me and I feel like I’m being pummelled.

Image 2 of 20

Image 2 of 20

I aim straight for the pronounced crown of the road where it should be smoother, but it’s narrow and feels like cycling a lumpy tightrope.

Instinct and fear makes me attempt to look at the cobbles about a foot in front of the wheel but my vision is so blurry at this distance I’m forced to look up and further ahead. 

As we head under the iconic metal bridge that spans the cobbles like some industrial ‘Welcome to Hell’ banner I’m not sure how I can keep going.

I feel like a passenger as the bike jumps around wildly, my head a noisy blur from the battering, but with every gained yard there’s a dawning realisation that, despite being tense with terror, I haven’t actually fallen off yet, so I relax a fraction and try to push on.

William passes me and shouts, ‘Use a bigger gear,’ which flummoxes me because, such is the assault on my hands and arms, I hadn’t even thought about my legs and pedalling up to this point. 

I try to do as he says and change gear to slow my cadence but even this proves a nightmare because the bars are jumping around so much that I can’t find the small lever behind the brake.

I seem to be stabbing wildly with my index finger while still clutching the drops – it’s like trying to thread a needle on a boat in a storm.

Even when I do eventually find the lever and push, I’ve no idea how many gears I’ve ended up changing because you can’t hear the delicate clicks in the cacophony. 

By the end of the 2,400 metres my arms are completely pumped and there’s a buzzing numbness in my hands from the vibrations.

Despite the cold I’m also boiling hot from the effort. After a moment to check my brain hasn’t rattled clean out of my ear holes we set off on a blissfully smooth road towards the next section and I find I’m smiling and chatting excitedly about the madness of what I’ve just survived.

The next section, Pont Gibus with its famous broken bridge, is one that’s been reintroduced for 2013 after a five-year absence.

After surviving Arenberg, this four-star section feels almost manageable and I attack it with much more confidence and speed.

The cambers and subsidence are wild in places but I’m enjoying – yes, actually enjoying – this section. 

A bit more respite on the road and then, just as the lactic acid is receding, we dive onto another stretch.

My rear wheel slips alarmingly coming into it and as we head out through the bleak, ploughed fields the pavé of this sector is frequently covered in patches of thick slimy mud.

Image 10 of 20

Image 10 of 20

A group of cycling fans, Les Amis de Roubaix, look after the cobbles and repair the really badly damaged sections, but for most of the year the cobbles’ only groundsmen are the local farmers whose tractors and trailers shape the sections of pavé during their daily routine – exacerbating the crown here and ripping out a pothole or two there.

At this time of year the agricultural traffic naturally brings the mud with it too, which has the benefit of filling in some of the holes but, as I’m finding, the mud also makes traction tricky.

William tells me the worst thing to do is to try to coast through a muddy section – you must keep pedalling. Even when you’re slipping around try to keep turning the cranks and push through it.

As the morning slides past I realise that my legs feel good and with each section I’m growing in confidence.

I’m learning to switch my hands from the drops to the tops (but not the hoods) every so often just to send the pain to different muscles, and I’m much more relaxed now too, which helps.

There is something immensely satisfying about moving across the tops of the cobbles at pace. Each bump saps a little crumb of speed so it’s imperative I combat this by driving forwards with each pedal stroke.

It’s a bit like the gritty futility of battling into a headwind, except because you know that each section of pavé is relatively short and the hard effort will be finite you can push yourself that little bit deeper.

The final surge

‘You see the red farm across there?’ says Alex. ‘That’s the end of Mons-en-Pévèle.’

This is not good news, because a) Mons-en-Pévèle will be the second of our triumvirate of five-star sectors, and b) the red farm looks a worryingly long way away.

At 3,000 metres it’s not only rough (it’s where George Hincapie, then of the Discovery Channel team, snapped a fork steerer and crashed heavily in 2006) but also one of the longest sections, and it’s where I feel fatigue creep in as I bounce around trying to pick a line through the carnage.

I’ve used up a lot of nervous energy learning to ride the cobbles so far during the day, and because I was staying understandably tense during some of the earlier sections, my arms, hands and shoulders (not things I’d normally worry about on a ride) are all starting to pay the price.

And of course it’s a vicious circle, because the more I weaken, the more I feel the need to cling on.

It’s worth mentioning too that while I have the luxury of picking whichever line looks the least horrific, most of the riders in the Paris-Roubaix race won’t be that lucky.

They will be jostling for position, having to hop around to hold a wheel or avoid a crash, or worse still simply being forced to just stay where they are and deal with whatever nightmares come at them.

As we go through the day, Alex and William seem to be forever saying things like, ‘This is where Frank Schleck broke his collarbone when the Tour used this section,’ or, ‘That’s where Chavanel crashed.’

It’s sobering stuff that keeps me alert, but they also say things like, ‘This is where Cancellara attacked,’ and ‘Boonen won the race in this section,’ which inspires me to dig a little deeper. 

Occasionally, William and Alex also make comments such as, ‘This next section starts off uphill,’ or, ‘I don’t like that bit because of the climb.’

Image 6 of 20

Image 6 of 20

This never fails to perplex me because every time I look around, the fields of northern France seem to stretch out like the proverbial pancake towards the horizon.

Bedfordshire isn’t exactly hilly but compared to this it feels like the Pyrenees. The biggest hills we encounter all day are the bridges over the autoroutes, yet when I check my Garmin at the end of the day I discover that we’ve ascended over 700 feet.

I can only assume that it’s got confused and added up all the bouncing up and down over the cobbles.

To be fair, I’m quite confused too, because the path to Roubaix does not run straight and true. Instead we’re weaving back and forth, east then west to take in different sections of pavé.

There’s no wind today, thankfully, but if there was I would never be able to guess which way it was going to come from next. The ride is a strange mixture of rural French serenity interjected with cobbled brutality.

It’s a bit like watching a nice gentle episode of The Great British Bake Off that keeps being interrupted by Gordon Ramsay storming in to yell expletives at everybody. 

I swear too as we hit a right hand bend slightly too fast and my front wheel slides off the crown and nearly folds underneath me.

With more luck than judgement the bike stays upright but it doesn’t help my heart rate.

There’s a veritable quagmire of mud on some sections and I start to realise that Arenberg was actually in quite good condition, partly because it’s largely closed to traffic.

Not that you’d want to take your own car down most of these sections anyway, as the Berlingo keeps proving; its underbelly sparks off the stones as it bottoms out. I wonder if Alex’s wife knows this is what it’s being used for?

The bikes, now plastered in mud, have taken a serious beating during the day too. Initially it’s terrifying hearing the chain slap and feeling the battering the frame’s taking but I’m getting used to it. I’ve treated mountain bikes more gently in the past.

The last five-star section is the Carrefour de l’Arbre and by the time we begin bouncing across the pavé I’m really suffering.

With its bleak long straights through featureless fields there really is no place to hide and I feel horribly exposed as every lumpen jolt resonates through already aching muscles.

We turn the sole 90° corner with a watery sun finally breaking through beneath the clouds as it sets.

Then I just keep looking towards the famous lonely bar standing on the horizon at the end, desperately willing it to get a little closer and for the thumping to stop. 

I can honestly say those 2,100 metres are every bit as tortuous as any steep climb I’ve ever cycled, and when I get to the end it actually hurts trying to uncurl my fingers from around the handlebars.

The name ‘Hell of the North’ actually came from the appearance of the devastated northern French landscape after the Second World War, but for any pro who has to ride this for 260-odd kilometres at breakneck pace, it must genuinely feel like descending into Hades. 

The last real section of pavé can be eased slightly by jumping from one side of the road to the other and using the flatter sections on the apexes of corners, but that takes some effort and I also need to watch for occasional bits of traffic (unlike pretty much every other section).

Then it’s just the run in to Roubaix, down the long straight avenue towards the Velodrome. 

If you were on a lone escape and being hunted down, like Johan Vansummeren being chased by Fabian Cancellara in 2010, this stretch must feel as if it takes an eternity.

But that’s why I love the self-contained, winner-takes-all nature of a one-day race. There’s no room for conservative tactics – you’ve got to bury yourself in the pursuit of glory because by the time the sun
goes down someone will be the victor. 

Such commitment should be rewarded with a proper final flourish and Paris-Roubaix gets it. The Velodrome seems so smooth after all those cobbles, but it’s a fantastic finale.

Image 16 of 20

Image 16 of 20

It’s a while since I’ve ridden on banking and it seems really quite steep, but it’s fun and somehow we cajole tired legs into a bit of a sprint to the line.

I really do urge every serious rider to go and experience some muddy, scary, violent, ancient farm tracks in northern France.

It’s a unique experience and one that should be on your list every bit as much as the Tourmalet or Ventoux. 

How much did I love riding the cobbles? Put it this way – as I sit here typing this my fingers still ache so much that it is a very real effort to fully clench my hands into fists.

The agony of it is still tangibly fresh… and I can’t wait to go back.

Dear Frank

A friend is proposing a trip to ride the cobbled roads of Roubaix. It sounds like a terrible idea – while I enjoy watching the pros do it, I’ve no desire to risk blisters, frostbite and broken bones myself. Could you explain the appeal?

Jon, by email

Dear Jon

I’ve always felt that I’d be a natural at riding the cobbles, the same way I’ve always been sure that had I been born into the Star Wars universe I’d be a Jedi.

We hold these sorts of beliefs about ourselves steadfastly through the mounting lack of evidence to the contrary.

As it turns out, I was right about the cobbles. A youth spent riding rigid mountain bikes over single-track trails and road bikes over gravel roads in northern Minnesota was just enough to make the cobbles of northern France seem that much less terrifying. My Jedi reflexes helped too. 

I’m not sure where you live, but I’m guessing it isn’t in Flanders, otherwise you wouldn’t be asking this question.

You’d be asking a question more like, ‘Why do non-Flemish riders notice rain and wind? And why are they all so soft?’ 

Most of us think of Flanders as being a region in Belgium, but the historical country of Flanders flows over into northern France.

The roads on which Paris-Roubaix in France is held are every bit as Flandrian as those that host the Ronde van Vlaanderen and the other cobbled Classics in Belgium.

Country borders, as it turns out, were drawn by politicians not cyclists.

The cobbles you find in these regions are nothing like the ones you may have seen in city centre alleyways.

Savage cobbles

These are savages. On my first trip to Flanders, a friend and I followed a cobbled lane on foot out of Lille city centre to an old ruin of the original walled fortress.

This cobbled lane was so rough that our feet hurt from walking over them. We shuddered at the thought of riding a bike over such roads.

Later, we were surprised to discover that the cobbled lane we had walked on was smooth compared to the roads of Paris-Roubaix.

In other words, your apprehension is well-founded. What I can’t understand is your reluctance to experience what it’s like to ride them, even if you hate it.

I’ve been out to the cobbles a few times now, and there is no denying it, they’re terrible. To begin with, the cobbles are as irregular as they are rough.

The gaps between them are inconsistent and span from one to several centimeters. The gap is normally filled with a blend of dirt and shit.

We imagine it’s more dirt than shit, but the data is inconclusive. The bike follows a seemingly random trajectory as the wheels are deflected by the stones.

Counterintuitively, the slower you ride, the more the bike is thrown about, yet the more the stones throw you about, the more power it takes to maintain your velocity.

Every cobble is like a boxer punching a bag, forcing your bike to slow down.

Your power is what overcomes the slowing effect of the relentless boxer beating away at your wheels. The question is: are you the boxer or the bag?

The rider, then, has two strategies from which to choose. First, ride as fast as possible to force the wheels to bound along the cobbles like a stone skimming water.

The faster you go, the smoother the ride. The second is to ride in the gutter where you can escape the stones for the comforts of smoother dirt.

The problem with the gutter is that it’s filled with mud, dirt and abrasive runoff that can cause a puncture.

Judgement call

For the professionals, the two strategies are balanced through an alchemy of experience, judging their strength and weighing the risk of puncturing in the gutter.

Based on the condition of the pavé and the strength of the rider, you will see the pros opportunistically choosing between the crown and the ditch at either side.

To ride the cobbles is to hold a savage duality in your heart: when you’re on a secteur, all you can think of is getting to its end as fast as possible.

The relief your body experiences when the intense vibration stops and you return to smooth tarmac is among the most visceral feelings the human body can experience.

Yet the thrill of feeling your bike descend into a chaos of movement at full speed at the entrance of the next secteur is indescribable.  

The thrill of riding them, especially the thrill of transitioning on and off the secteurs, is an itch that continues to need a scratch. It is unlike anything else you will experience on two wheels.

Liège-Bastogne-Liège draws the curtain on the Spring Classics and the first part of the season, being the final instalment of a series of races that run from February until April.

It also comes as the last race in a micro-season known as the Ardennes Classics, which consists of three race: Flèche Wallonne, the Amstel Gold Race, and Liège-Bastogne-Liège. Some also count the smaller race of Brabantse Pijl as part of this category too.

The Ardennes of Belgian Wallonia and Dutch Limburg, where the races are held, provide an opportunity for the climbers primarily, but riders that fit the puncheur mould can also do well, with short to medium climbs of differing gradients proliferating throughout all three races. 

Liège is the hardest of the three, over 250km in length and often with as much climbing as a hard Tour de France mountain stage. A worthy end to the spring season.

Read on for all you need to know about the 2017 Liège-Bastogne-Liège men's and women's races.

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017: Key information

Date: 23rd April 
Start: Liege, Belgium
Finish: Ans, Belgium 
Distance: 250km
UK television coverage: Eurosport

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017: The route

The 2017 Liège-Bastogne-Liège route has now been confirmed and will cover 258km. The route will start in Liège, ride out to Bastogne, and then return to Ans, slightly to the north-west of Liège.

The Ardennes classics differ greatly from the cobbled classics because the difficulty comes not from the poor road surfaces but from the elevation.

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017: Teams

WorldTour teams

A2gr La Mondiale (Fra)
Astana Pro Team (Kaz)
Bahrain-Merida (Bhr)
BMC Racing Team (USA)
Bora-Hansgrohe (Ger)
Cannondale-Drapac (USA)
FDJ (Fra)
Lotto Soudal (Bel)
Movistar Team (Esp)
Orica-Scott (Aus)
Quick-Step Floors (Bel)
Team Dimension Data (RSA)
Team Katusha-Alpecin (Sui)
Team Lotto NL-Jumbo (Ned)
Team Sky (GBr)
Team Sunweb (Ger)
Trek-Segafredo (USA)
UAE Abu Dhabi (UAE)

Pro Continental wildcard teams

Cofidis, Solutions Crédits (Fra)
Direct Energie (Fra)
Roompot Nederlandse Loterij (Ned)
Sport Vlaanderen-Baloise (Bel)
WB Veranclassic Aquality Protect (Bel)
Wanty-Groupe Gobert (Bel)
Aqua Blue Sport (Irl)

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017: Riders to watch

Alejandro Valverde

Alejandro Valverde is a hot favourite, having won Liege three times before, as well as Fleche Wallone four times. The Ardennes are seemingly made for the Spaniard, and he'll be targetting a fourth victory at Liege for sure, which would be a feat only bettered by Eddy Merckx. 

Romain Bardet

Liege is the Monument that Grand Tour specialists probably have the most chance of winning - even more than Il Lombardia. But, as proven by Chris Froome, one day racing is a very different beast, and one that young Frenchman Bardet seems to harness well. He's been up there in Lombardia and Liege before, and with the right hand played could quite forseeably win Liege in 2017.

Dan Martin

After his blistering late attack (in company of the infamous panda) and solo win at the 2013 Liege, Martin went into 2014 as hot favourite, but a crash in the final corner scuppered his race, while in 2015 a crash at the foot of La Redoute again put him out of contention. Martin was consistently strong throughout 2016, and will no doubt be training hard for the Ardennes come spring.

Julian Alaphilippe 

Dan Martin's Quickstep teammate Julian Alaphilippe is just 24 years old, but has consistently lit up the racing in recent years, and already placed 2nd at Liege once and at Fleche Wallonne twice. Will 2017 be the year that those 2nd places become victories?

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017 Women's race: Key information

Date: 23rd April
Start: Bastogne, Belgium
Finish: Ans, Belgium
Distance: 135.5km

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017 Women's race: Route 

Liège-Bastogne-Liège 2017 Women's race: Profile

Liège-Bastogne-Liège: History

Liège-Bastogne-Liège, sometimes known as La Doyenne, is one of the five Monuments of cycling and is technically the oldest, having first been run for amateurs in 1892. 

The first edition actually went from Spa to Bastogne and back over 250km - of the 33 starters only 17 finished. It was one by Léon Houa in 10 hours 48 minutes but the remaining 16 riders trickled in over the next five hours. Two years later, in 1894, the race was held for professionals and Maurice Garin, the first winner of the Tour de France, finished fourth. After this the race disappeared for 14 years before returning in 1908 when the start and finish were moved to Liege.

Liege really began to capture the minds of fans in the late 1960s and 1970s during a period of domination by Eddy Merckx. Merckx won Liege five times, three of which were consecutive. Merckx claimed his fifth and final win in 1975, making him the only person to date to win La Doyenne five times.

Due to the April date the weather can be very changeable and the 1980 edition is perhaps the most well known due to the heavy snowfall that befell the race, ultimately earning the nickname ‘Neige-Bastogne-Neige’ [neige being snow in French]. Bernard Hinault won by 10 minutes, but only 21 riders finished out of 174 starters. Hinault later claimed that it took over three weeks for the full movement to return to his right hand.

In 1990 the management of the race was moved over to the ASO, which resulted in a complete revamp of the route. The start/finish was moved out of Liege to Ans and five new climbs were added.

The race has had its fair share of controversy, most recently in 2010 when Alexander Vinokourov outsprinted Alexandre Kolobnev for victory. It was controversial not only because Vinokourov has just returned to racing after a doping ban but also because Swiss magazine L’Illustré claimed he had ‘bought’ the win. It published emails between the two riders that suggested Vinokourov paid Kolobnev €100,000 not to contest the sprint. The investigation is still ongoing, but Kolobnev is potentially subject to a €150,000 fine. 

Liège-Bastogne-Liège: Famous editions

1969 – first Merckx victory 

By 1969, Eddy Merckx had been a professional for eight years but had yet to win at Liege. ’69 had been a great year for Merckx as prior to Liege he had won every major classic in the calendar apart from Paris-Roubaix. With just under 100km to go to the finish Merckx broke clear on the Stockeu and caught two of his team mates, Roger Swerts and Vic Van Schil, who had been in the early breakaway. Swerts was eventually dropped, so Merckx and Van Schil rode to the finish together. Merckx wanted to give the win to Van Schil but Van Schil insisted Merckx claim it. This was the first of five victories – a record that still stands.

1980 – Hinault in the snow

The 1980 edition of Liege is perhaps the most well known due to the appalling conditions that the riders had to endure. A blizzard began within minutes of the race starting and after an hour only 60 riders, approximately one third of the starters, were still left in the race. Two riders broke away and had a lead of just over two minutes by Le Stockeu but were caught by Hinault and two other chasers on the Haute Levée. With 80km to go Hinault attacked again and, after seven hours of racing, finished in Liege 10 minutes ahead of the second place finisher Hennie Kuiper. Hinault suffered frostbite in his right hand and he claims it took over three weeks for movement to return.

1985, ’86 and ’87 – the Argentin years

Liege-Bastogne-Liege in the mid-1980s is remembered for the complete domination of Moreno Argentin. Argentin, also known as ‘Il Capo’ [The Boss] was a one-day specialist that had great success in the Ardennes classics. What makes his wins most special is the calibre of rider he defeated: Sean Kelly, Stephen Roche, Phil Anderson, Guiseppi Sarroni, Greg LeMond, Robert Millar – the list goes on. Argentin ultimately went on to win the race a fourth time in 1991. 

2011 – Philippe Gilbert 

2011 was Philippe Gilbert’s year and he topped off a storming ‘Ardennes week’ with his win at Liege, making him one of only two people to ever do the triple – Amstel Gold, La Flèche Wallone and Liege (he also won Brabanste Pijl too). The win was especially sweet as he displayed his complete dominance over the race. Gilbert broke away with the two Schleck brothers with approximately 20km to go. Everyone expected the two brothers, who were teammates, to work together to beat Gilbert but he put the power down on the final straight and dropped them both to become the first Belgian winner since 1999.

Liège-Bastogne-Liège: Sportive

Henry Catchpole

The voice on the other end of the phone is friendly and helpful: ‘Which course would you like to do? The short, the middle or the long?’

I consider for a moment: ‘Oh, better do the long one. Won’t really be Liège-Bastogne-Liège otherwise, will it? More sort of Liège-somewhere else-Liège.’

‘Jolly good,’ says the voice, ‘I’ll put you down for the full 273km. See you in April.’

As the line goes silent I can’t help but think he just said ‘273km’. I get out my calculator. Multiply by 0.621 equals… a very long way in imperial too. It’s 170 miles when all is said and done. I have a quick Google on the Sports Tours website, and then the sportive’s official website just to make absolutely sure there hasn’t been
a mistake, and then sit down and contemplate the fact that I might have just casually bitten off more than I can chew. 

Slow start

Several weeks later I draw the curtains at 5.30am and look out of the hotel window. Liège is a mass of indistinct dark blue shapes in the inky dawn but I can dimly make out the slowly moving water peloton that is the river Meuse. It’s raining. And it’s cold. The sort of Saturday morning to crawl back under the duvet. I force down two of the three pastries I bought from a Belgian petrol station the preceding afternoon and contemplate what lies ahead.

I wheel my bike through the hotel foyer, cleats gingerly clip-clopping on the smooth slippery floor. Although there are lots of other cyclists in the hotel, it’s remarkably quiet. The start times for the shorter distances are a little later and it seems most people have been sensible.

The weather is foul but not snowing as it was in 1980, when Hinault took a famous victory in the pro race and only 21 riders finished. As the cold air hits my few bits of exposed skin, turning them instantly as white and pimply as a plucked turkey, I set off into the dark streets, heading for the start line a couple of minutes away. About a quarter of an hour later I cycle back past the hotel on the other side of the road. Turns out the start line is in the other direction. Still, always good to do a bit of a warm up before a long ride.

I don’t hang around for long at the start line. Everyone is leaving in dribs and drabs, but a group forms at a red traffic light a few hundred metres later. I look around at the bunch of a dozen or so other riders and spot the Italians (mahogany tan, stylish in a slightly fluoro way), the Belgians (tough, Flanders Lion somewhere on their kit) and one chap who for some reason I just know is British. He looks not unlike Ian Stannard – a man for long miles in rough weather if ever there was one. Then, after a bit of questioning, he reveals he’s an Ironman triathlete. That seals the deal – here is a man, Simon, who knows about pacing and endurance. He will definitely make it to the finish, so if I can stick with him I should too. He has unknowingly just cursed himself with having me as his shadow for as much of the day as I can manage.

We wind out of Liège remarkably quickly but any thought that the hills are all in the return leg from Bastogne are quickly dismissed as the road tilts upwards. The climbs aren’t steep and it’s easy to settle into a rhythm, but they do drag on, so the kilometres don’t tick by quite as quickly as I’d like. The split for the shorter 156km route comes early – too early to consider ducking out from the original plan – and as I roll past the turning I’m committed to the full route. 

The big push

We’re heading due south to Bastogne and this outward leg of 112km is seemingly entirely into a headwind, which makes it important to take shelter while I can. Neither Simon nor I want to be wheelsuckers, so we do our time with our noses in the wind, but we’re glad to settle back into the draft when we’ve done our share.

A couple of times I find myself momentarily latching onto faster riders, but I rein myself in as I feel my heart rate rising and drift back to Simon, who is proving very good company. For starters we admire the countryside that we’re passing through, because despite the weather the Ardennes region is undeniably beautiful.

Although the outward hills take a while to conquer, the benefit is that the descents are equally long. We’re soon passing the Bastogne Barracks, a museum run by the Belgian army. The town played a crucial part in the Battle of the Bulge in the Second World War, the 101st Airborne division becoming encircled by the counter-attacking Germans. Besieged in the town over the Christmas of 1944, they were asked to surrender by the Germans, to which Brigadier General McAuliffe simply and famously responded: ‘NUTS!’. They were eventually relieved by General Patton’s Third Army on Boxing Day.

Today when we reach the Bastogne feed station the streets look like they’re still running with blood, but thankfully it turns out to be a minor leak from the big vat of raspberry energy drink. In some ways Bastogne does feel like the halfway point of the ride that the name would suggest. In terms of distance it’s not, but it’s as far south as we’ll go today and we’ve been riding into a stiff headwind so both mentally and physically it feels good to leave the town behind.

After a few minutes we turn off onto a much smaller road, which winds through a beautiful pastoral landscape. Simon and I sit up a bit, ease the shoulders and settle back into the plan. Not long afterwards we’re into the first of the climbs that define the Liège-Bastogne-Liège route. I’ve seen so many pictures of the Côte de Saint-Roch that it’s a strange experience seeing it for real.

In all the images, the space between the houses is crammed with the brightly coloured backs of professionals bobbing up and down on the insanely steep gradient. Today it’s a touch more drab and the cyclists are ascending in a more ragged fashion. Because I’ve only ever seen the first bit of the climb, I take a gamble that it’s only short and attack it hard. After a few hundred metres I realise I’ve made a mistake, because although the terraced houses have petered out and the gradient has eased from the high teens, there still seems to be some way to go. I push on until the summit because there’s nothing else to do, but my quads are screaming by the time I top out under a large aerial mast.

I release myself from the pedals and enjoy a brief slump onto the top tube. Simon is a disappointingly short distance behind me and we set off again as the cold wind whips across the open fields. Glancing at the sticker showing me the distances to all the climbs I’m pleased to see that I’ve got just over 40km to let my legs settle down and flush the lactic clear.

Digging in

All too soon the Cote de Wanne is on us, and although it’s 2.2km long the gradient isn’t so severe. Unfortunately just 8km later is the Stockeu and that really is a beast. Even worse, it’s the first of four officially timed climbs, which is like a red rag to a bull. From the moment I round the sharp right turn onto the narrow road I decide to give it everything.

The gradient reaches 21% and there’s no hiding from that sort of slope. I grind past quite a lot of people in the next six minutes, but it’s not pretty, and the website later records that I bag a reasonable 116th place out of 1,474.

If the climb up is mentally tough, the descent isn’t much better. It’s narrow, bumpy and wet and the idea of travelling down it in a race with a jostling peloton is quite terrifying. 

The next surprise to hit us is a section of cobbles. It’s a shock to the system, but thankfully it only lasts for a short distance as we leave Stavelot, and it’s not long before we’re at the foot of the day’s longest climb, the Col du Rosier.

At 4.5km it takes a while to tackle, but it’s not actually difficult, averaging only 5.7%. However, by the time we join the N633 on the other side, Simon and I have both started doing calculations, because he’s got a flight to catch and I have got a similar appointment with a Eurostar. We decide that with the 200km barrier broken it’s time to put some effort in.

It’s about 10 minutes later when I look back and realise Simon isn’t on my wheel. I consider stopping but my legs feel good and I even go straight past a big group without stopping to enjoy the tow. Then it’s time to set about the route’s most famous climb: La Redoute. It’s already lined with caravans as people bag their spot for the professional race the next day. Small camping chairs are set out and a few warm-up beers are being consumed, so riders get the odd cheer of much needed encouragement.

Initially the 1.6km climb doesn’t seem too fearsome, but it’s the second half where things start to hurt. With the gradient peaking at 20%, my upper body struggling almost as much as my legs as I lever myself up the climb, I wonder if 200km was too early to let myself off the leash.

Onwards to glory

I force down a final waffle in Sprimont and push on for Côte de la Roche-aux-Faucons safe in the knowledge that the Redoute is behind me. Unfortunately the Roche-aux-Faucons is even worse. It is the same length as La Redoute, but with a flat section (cruelly too short for any meaningful recovery) in the middle.

It’s near the top of this pig of a climb that I find myself cycling alongside a chap on a Trek Madone. He is tanned, but slightly weathered and has a tough, climber’s physique. At a guess I would say he was late forties. I haven’t chatted to anyone since the split with Simon but we fall into conversation (if you can call it that – I haven’t got a lot of spare breath). He lives in Paris. This is the first year he’s done the full route. He is the CEO of ASO. Hang on a minute…

Yes, that ASO. Of all the people I could have struck up a conversation with I have picked Yann Le Moenner, the man who is in charge of Liège-Bastogne-Liège, along with other races such as Paris-Roubaix, Paris-Nice and the Vuelta a Espana. Oh yes, and the Tour de France. Needless to say he’s an interesting fellow to talk to as the scenery around us gradually turns from beautifully rural to strikingly industrial.

Then he punctures in the outskirts of Liège. I provide tyre levers and a pump, and notice that pumping up a tyre after 250km of riding is an effort. Then there’s a cheer from down the street. It’s Simon, and he has a gas canister. Hoorah. Onwards together to Ans.

Fans will be familiar with the final drag up to the left-hand corner before the finish line of Liège-Bastogne-Liège. It’s easy enough that even I can tackle it in the big ring, so I feel vaguely pro. There’s an empty grandstand on an otherwise very prosaic and very wide street where tomorrow there will be a throng to greet Alejandro Valverde when he takes victory in the pro race. But this finish line is not the end of the ride for us because the sportive adds another 9km back to the start. Mercifully it’s downhill, but spitefully there is some pavé to shake the final shreds of strength out of tired arms.

You could certainly get a flavour of La Doyenne by doing one of the shorter routes, but for the full understanding of why it’s a Monument, you need to do the full distance to feel the fatigue from those 20% gradients. As we cross under the inflatable arch and hear the beeps on the timing mat signalling the end of the 273km, it feels like quite an achievement. We exchange email addresses, shake hands and then two of us head off for home, while the other sets about organising the world’s oldest bike race the following day. 

A ‘circus’ raced by ‘animals’ orchestrated by ‘sadists’ and tended by ‘convicts’, Paris-Roubaix has been called everything from the Hell of the North and Queen of the Classics to ‘bullshit’ (we have Bernard Hinault to thank for that one).

It’s a brutal 260km that sets out from Compiegne, 80km north of Paris, at speeds the late Wouter Weylandt described as ‘a bunch sprint in a major Tour’, traverses the rutted agricultural byways of northern France before winding up in a king-making, often heart-breaking one and half laps of the Velodrome Andre-Petrieux.

If there’s a cycling equivalent to the Grand National, Paris-Roubaix is it. Each year there are busted clavicles, shattered wrists, popped kneecaps and in 1998 Johan Museeuw nearly had to have his leg amputated, so riders and manufacturers have done their utmost to soften the savagery with improvised modifications and specially designed components, giving rise to the term ‘cobbles bike’.

There have been wooden rims, spoke-tying, sandpaper on bottle cages, foam-wrapped handlebars, 60° seat tubes, elastomer damping… the list goes on. 

Innovation reached a crescendo in the 1990s when all manner of suspension technologies were introduced, but those bikes often failed to deliver – or failed altogether – and barring one or two experimental examples, teams seemed content to resume normal service on bikes with wider tyres, double-taped bars and close-ratio gears. 

With the advent of carbon, things briefly ratcheted up in the cobble bike stakes when Specialized presented the ‘Zertz inserts’ Roubaix in 2004, then Trek rebuffed the challenge with the similarly elastomer-damped Madone SPA (Suspension Performance Advantage) a year later.

But while the Roubaix ploughed on, the SPA never went into production. For a time the Cervélo R3 demonstrated that all you needed to win Paris-Roubaix was clever carbon engineering, but eventually Trek rejoined the party in 2012 and kicked it all off again with the Domane, whose rear-damped chassis helped propel Fabian Cancellara to Strade Bianche victory on its first official outing, then conquered Roubaix and Flanders a year later.

The arms race was back on.

Today there’s a slew of bikes that could call themselves cobbles-specific, or at least, cobbles-adept: the Lapierre Pulsium, Pinarello Dogma K8-S, Bianchi Infinito CV, Look 695, Cervélo R3, to name a few.

However, three bikes stood out to us, each for very different reasons. So we thought we’d put them to the test, and what better place to do it than their spiritual home? Bring on the cobbles.

With me on today’s ride are Rob and Sam, both Cyclist staffers, and strapped to the roof of our borrowed Peugeot 2008 are a Specialized Roubaix Pro Di2, a Trek Domane SLR 7 Disc and a Cannondale Synapse Hi-Mod Disc Team. 

Rob’s rationale for choosing the Domane is pretty simple: he rode the original in the Paris-Roubaix sportive in 2013 and wants to see how this new version compares.

Rob recalls how he saw Cancellara at the end of the pro race that same year: ‘Two soigneurs literally had to carry him to his chair.

He looked properly dead behind the eyes. Someone eventually plucked up the courage to ask him how he felt, and he just replied, “I’m f****ing f****ed.” Then they carried him away.’

Cancellara had just won a third Paris-Roubaix, preceded by triumphing in the Tour of Flanders a week earlier.

No wonder he was royally done in, but one can’t help but wonder how much more he would have suffered without the Domane underneath him – and perhaps how much better he would have felt afterwards had he been on this new iteration, which now boasts Trek’s IsoSpeed damping front and rear, as well as disc brakes.

Both my Specialized Roubaix and Sam’s Cannondale Synapse can boast similar winning pedigree, although I can’t help reminding Sam of what it says on my top tube: ‘2008, 2009, 2010, 2012, 2014’, in reference to the number of wins the Roubaix family has notched up at its namesake race. Sam retorts that this new Roubaix model hasn’t actually won anything yet, but still, it would be a foolish man to bet against it this season. 

Specialized has completely overhauled the bike. Gone (almost) are the Zertz inserts, elastomers that sat in various holes in the stays and fork legs, which did very little by all accounts (it’s said it was the holes themselves that added the compliance – the elastomers were just there to stop consumers baulking at the idea of seeing daylight through their tubes). 

Instead, Specialized has introduced the Future Shock, a sprung cartridge that sits between the top of the head tube and the underside of the stem, offering 20mm of vertical travel, while at the rear is its CG-R seatpost, replete with zigzag bend and Zertz insert to allow it to flex by a claimed 18mm.

It’s lengthy too, which it needs to be as the frame is compact and the post is clamped well below the top tube, again for comfort. It’s interesting to note that without the Future Shock (189g), this is Specialized’s lightest-ever frame at a claimed 700g.

Stacked up against the Domane and Roubaix, the Synapse looks positively traditional, and worryingly unsprung. But Sam has reasons for choosing it beyond its 1980s-cool chrome lettering.

Rush of blood

Within seconds the full brain-jarring force of the cobbles is upon us and I can see the Domane literally spring into life under Rob’s weight.

Viewed from the side the whole rear end seems to be bending, but a closer look shows it’s actually an illusion. The only thing bending is the back half of the split IsoSpeed seat tube. 

Trek has also applied its IsoSpeed concept up front too, with the fork steerer given room to flex in the head tube thanks to bevelled bearing seats, but it hasn’t forgotten about tweaking the rear IsoSpeed system.

Whereas before the amount of flex was predetermined, the new Domane features tuneable – and greater – flex.

A slider in the seat tube can be repositioned up or down – up for a stiffer rear, down for more compliance. 

Rob has gone in his words ‘full boing’, and it shows, much to his delight.

‘I can barely feel a thing in my backside,’ he says without even a flicker of schoolboy innuendo. 

Sam is in similar schoolboy mood, and his bike choice is revealing itself. Built like a Belgian, he decided he was up for accepting a possible beating in exchange for a quick, lithe machine, and as if to prove his point he moves off the crown of the road – which judging by the oil streaks has claimed more than the odd car underbelly – nips onto the muddied cobbled shoulder and ploughs past Rob with a shout that one can only assume was ‘sucker’, but it is windy.

I give chase and the Roubaix gives plenty back. Everything about me is rumbling, one of my bottles flies out of its cage and yet my upper body, arms and hands feel relatively untroubled by the kerfuffle below.

Heroes and villains

While the Domane wears its tech on its sleeve, the Synapse’s happens under the paint and by way of some interesting tube shapes.

There’s a hollow at the foot of the seat tube, and the stays bend and twist in a design Cannondale calls SAVE (Synapse Active Vibration Elimination).

The top tube slopes significantly compared to its racier older brother, the SuperSix Evo, meaning there’s a large amount of seatpost jutting out to offer flex. Crucially, though, that seatpost is 25.4mm in diameter, much narrower than the 27.2mm or 31.6mm posts that adorn most bikes.

Cannondale says the carbon fibres in the seatstays twist in a helix, which means each fibre is longer than if it just ran straight, and as such vibrations have to travel a longer path into the frame, dissipating much of the energy before it reaches the rider.

Given Sam’s continued progress it seems the Synapse designers have done a sterling job. The section of cobbles we’re on – officially called Beuvry-La-Foret but locally referred to as Marc Madiot after the double Paris-Roubaix champion – was only recently unearthed, then extended, by les forcats du pavé, ‘the convicts of the road’, who repair the cobbles and hunt for new stretches every year. 

Thanks to the convicts’ work, Secteur Marc Madiot is now a 3/5-star difficulty, 1.4km sector with a false flat and some shallow turns, which the Synapse is making look easy.

It’s the lightest bike here so no surprise on the slight ascent, but it’s the ease with which it seems to be holding onto the road as Sam pushes a huge gear through the corners that is surprising. It looks like a pretty normal race bike, but it looks perfectly at home here.

The cobbles finally give way to smooth tarmac, permitting a chance to breathe and take stock. According to Sam, the Synapse is in its element in large part because of the Schwalbe Pro One tubeless tyres.

Both my Roubaix and Rob’s Domane have tubeless-compatible wheels, but only the Synapse came with tubeless tyres. Sam has ridden these roads before too, on a set of clincher Continental GP4000 IIs, and believes the tubeless comparison is like ‘night and day’. 

‘The tyres are 28mm but they’ve come up much bigger because of the wide wheels,’ he says. Rob suggests his 32mm Bontrager R3 tyres are giving him the same level of comfort and grip, but he does concede that on the smooth bitumen they feel somewhat sluggish.

Tyre pressure is undoubtedly coming into play here – both are running sub-80psi, but the difference is the Schwalbes are that much narrower and lighter than the Bontrager, ‘but I can still run them this low without worrying about pinch-flatting’, Sam adds. 

On another bike I might be jealous, but as we thunder onto the climax of our ride, the Arenberg Trench, the Roubaix once again proves it’s not just a fancy lick of paint. 

The big one

At five stars and 2.4km long, the Arenberg is a formidable foe. It may be a stretch to say Paris-Roubaix’s winners are decided here, but the contenders are certainly identified.

Even though for safety’s sake we agreed we weren’t going to race each other today, it seems sacrilege not to go at the Arenberg full bore, so I bite the bullet and hit the drops.

Everything starts rattling and my eyes feel like a pair of those joke glasses with the springs, but once I’m over the shock there’s a glorious moment where I can feel the Roubaix skimming the tops of the cobbles like a ballerina on a building site.

The rear end has come into its own and I can feel it moving in a way similar to the Domane, and while the Future Shock is bottoming out repeatedly, my hands feel solid enough on the bars that I’m able to unfurl a finger to change gear.

The hits become bigger as I lose speed, and by the end Rob has taken me by two bike lengths and I’ve tied for second with Sam.

As we pull up Rob’s doing that maddening casual whistling thing, like it’s been nothing, but I can tell his wrists are bothering him. The front end of the Domane seems no match for my Roubaix in the comfort stakes. 

Just to be sure, Rob and I swap bikes and hit the cobbles again. He concedes the front end of the Roubaix is significantly more forgiving, and I try to convince myself that makes me the true winner.

But aboard the Domane I just can’t shake how incredibly smooth the rear end is. It is simply without compare.

In the interests of fairness we both offer our bikes up to Sam, but he declines. Apparently the Synapse is all the bike he reckons is needed for rides like Paris-Roubaix.

‘It’s just quick and racy, and with the tyres I reckon it’s comfortable enough. I’m not sure I’d want to ride it here if I owned it though. No matter what you’ve got, new bikes get old quickly on the cobbles.’ 

Trek Domane SLR 7 Disc, £4,800

Rob’s summary

‘I rode the original Domane in 2012 on the Paris-Roubaix sportive. That bike was awesome on the cobbles, and this new one is even better.

'There’s more flex at the rear and it’s tuneable, so you can make it stiffer for normal road riding. I wouldn’t want it any less than on maximum boing-setting for Roubaix, though.

'Hovering slightly to pedal, like the pros do, is difficult, whereas on the Domane I could just sit and spin happily. If there’s a downside it’s that the rear is so effective it highlights the harshness of the front – it’s more comfortable than before thanks to the IsoSpeed in the head tube, but the damping isn’t in the same league as the rear.

'Despite that, of all the bikes here the Domane makes the most sense to me.’

Model: Trek Domane SLR 7 Disc
Frame: Domane 600 Series OCLV Carbon
Fork: Domane Full Carbon Disc, E2, thru-axle
Groupset: Shimano Ultegra Di2 6870
Shifters: Shimano R785 Di2 hydraulic 
Brakes: Shimano RS805 hydraulic
Chainset: Shimano Ultegra, 50/34t
Cassette: Shimano Ultegra, 11-32t
Wheels: Bontrager Affinity Comp Tubeless Ready Disc, alloy
Tyres: Bontrager R3 Hard-Case Lite, 32mm
Handlebars: Bontrager Pro IsoCore, carbon
Stem: Bontrager Pro, alloy
Saddle: Bontrager Affinity Elite, titanium rails
Seatpost: Bontrager Ride Tuned carbon seat mast
Weight: 8.33kg (size 56cm) 
Contact: trek.com

Specialized Roubaix Pro Di2, £6,000

James’s summary

‘The Future Shock suspension meant the initial ride feeling was very different to anything I’d tried before and, to begin with, not entirely to my liking.

'On flat roads the Roubaix felt a tad mushy up front. Hitting the cobbles, though, it all made sense as the Future Shock filtered vibrations from big hits like someone had swaddled both of my arms.

'The back half of the bike was less forgiving (although still more compliant than a normal road bike), which made the bike feel disjointed at first, but I got used to the sensation and was left marvelling at just how effective the Future Shock is.’

Model: Specialized Roubaix Pro Di2
Frame: Roubaix Future Shock, thru-axle
Fork: Roubaix disc, thru-axle
Groupset: Shimano Ultegra Di2 6870
Shifters: Shimano R785 Di2 hydraulic
Brakes: Shimano RS805 hydraulic disc 
Chainset: Specialized Pro 50/34t, carbon
Cassette: Shimano Ultegra 11-32t 
Wheels: Roval CL 32 Disc, carbon, tubeless
Tyres: Specialized Turbo Pro 26mm
Handlebars: S-Works Hover Carbon
Stem: S-Works SL, alloy
Seatpost: Specialized CG-R, carbon
Saddle: Specialized Phenom Expert GT, titanium rails
Weight: 7.83kg (size 56cm)
Contact: specialized.com

Cannondale Synapse Hi-Mod, £6,000

Sam’s summary

‘The Synapse shows you don’t need gimmicks – just a bendy seatpost and tubeless tyres. I’ve ridden these cobbles before on 28mm clincher tyres, and the ride quality was far better on tubeless.

'Still, you can’t take anything away from the frame. I’d put money on the tube shapes as being the Synapse’s real assets  – having ridden one without tubeless tyres and with alloy wheels the bike is still far more comfortable than, say, Cannondale’s all-round racer, the SuperSix.

'It couldn’t compete with the plushness of the Domane’s rear end or the bounce of the Roubaix’s front, but the Synapse was more agile and responsive than the other two.’

Model: Cannondale Synapse Hi-Mod Disc Team
Frame: Synapse Disc Hi-Mod Save Plus, quick release
Fork: Synapse Disc Hi-Mod Save Plus, quick release
Groupset: Shimano Dura-Ace Di2 9070
Shifters: Shimano R785 Di2 hydraulic
Brakes: Shimano R785 hydraulic, 140mm rotors front/rear
Chainset: Cannondale HollowGram SiSL2, 50/34t
Cassette: Shimano Ultegra, 11-28t
Wheels: Cannondale HollowGram Si Carbon Clincher Disc
Tyres: Schwalbe Pro One tubeless, 28mm
Handlebars: Cannondale C1 Ultralight, alloy
Stem: Cannondale C1 Ultralight, alloy
Seatpost: Cannondale Save, carbon
Saddle: Fabric Scoop, titanium rails
Weight: 7.65kg (size 56cm)

cyclingsportsgroup.co.uk

Energy gels are something of a miracle food. They pick you up when you’re flagging, increasing blood sugar levels and helping prevent muscle damage and fatigue. But it’s not all good news: they can also cause upset stomachs, and once you’ve started taking them you might not be able to stop. Judging how to use them and when to take them is a fine, if slightly wobbly, line. 

So how do they actually work? In the interests of not needing an energy gel to read this, we’ll keep it simple: amylase, an enzyme in the mouth, starts breaking down the starch and the gel then moves into the small intestine where another enzyme, pancreatic amylase, finishes the job. Transporter proteins in the gut cells absorb the glucose molecules, allowing the sugars to pass into the blood and the liver. 

‘The sugars are chopped up and they give off energy to your cells,’ says sports nutritionist Drew Price. ‘If demand from the body is high they’ll pass straight out again.’ 

It all happens fast. ‘It should take 10 to 15 minutes. The effects are pretty immediate,’ says Tom Newman, founder of Capital Cycle Coaching.

British Cycling coach Will Newton is slightly more conservative: ‘Many experts say 20 minutes but people metabolise sugar in different ways so you’re best off experimenting to find out when you need to take it.’

And Price takes a different view again. ‘It depends on the gel, how fuelled you are to begin with, how much power you’re laying down and other factors such as how much water you’ve taken on. Not drinking enough water will slow stomach emptying, so the gel sits in the stomach waiting to be absorbed. But anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour.’

‘It still takes time to digest, and if you’re on the rivet you’ll struggle to do that quickly,’ Newton agrees. ‘Blood is diverted away from the digestive system, which will be compromised.’

Then there’s the question of how long it lasts. ‘Again, you can’t be precise because everyone is different,’ says Nigel Mitchell, head of nutrition at Cannondale-Drapac. ‘But 20-30g of carbs will sustain a 70kg athlete at race pace for 20-30 minutes.’

When and how often? 

So now we have an idea of how they work, and how quickly, the next question is when you should think about taking one. ‘Timing is about knowing what the danger signs are – mainly not getting to the point where you’re really hungry,’ says Newton. ‘It’s about listening to your body. If you notice that you’re starting to think about food, you probably need to eat. If you reach the point where you feel cold, shivery, hungry – that really hollow feeling in your stomach – it’s too late.’

Newman agrees. ‘If you feel good and you’re going uphill you expect to be able to lay down power. If you’re starting to run low on energy something doesn’t feel right. That’s fatigue creeping in. Don’t wait any longer – ease off, take a gel and wait for it to kick in.’

‘I’d use a gel only when racing,’ says Newton. ‘Use it strategically. There could be a big climb coming up and you know someone’s going to attack, so you want some easily available sugar to help you dig really deep.’

‘UK races rarely last for more than four hours, so you shouldn’t need too many,’ Newman says. ‘You may not need any if you’ve fuelled up with a good breakfast and you’re well hydrated.’

‘If you’re a fat-adapted athlete, you will need to use energy gels only very sparingly, if at all,’ says Newton. ‘Fat-adapted’ means burning stored fat during the day and relying on fat, more than carbohydrate, to fuel exercise. It’s achieved by eating a lower-carb, higher-fat diet and training in a fasted state. 

‘Fat-adapted athletes can operate at a higher level than sugar-burning cyclists,’ Newton adds. ‘Most people burn sugar at around 80% of their maximum heart rate, but studies have found that fat-adapted athletes are still burning fat at up to 89%. If you can do that you can go for a four to six-hour training ride without ever needing a gel.’

‘Prevention is better than cure, though,’ adds Mitchell. ‘You might want to train in a depleted state to increase adaptation, but you don’t want to race depleted. Take on 60-90g of carbs per hour and practise in training with a mix of drinks, bars and gels.’

All in the mind?

There is another benefit, even before you’ve digested the gel. ‘They have a psychological effect,’ says Newman. ‘You might want to take four gels on a four-hour sportive and have one every hour. You’ll really look forward to the last one because you know you’re near the end, so it will give you fresh impetus.’

Don’t leave it too late though, or you’ll end up like Chris Froome on Alpe d’Huez during the 2013 Tour de France. Froome incurred a 20-second penalty for breaking the rule that says riders can’t take on energy in the final 20km of a stage, and he took it so late that he didn’t have time to digest it. But there is one argument in his favour. 

‘He was struggling because his blood sugar had dropped,’ says Mitchell, who was Team Sky’s head of nutrition at the time. ‘As soon as he’d had the gel his style picked up – even before the energy had hit his bloodstream. Your body feels the benefit as soon as you put a carb solution in your mouth. Your body anticipates the carbs and gears up for it. This has an immediate impact on performance.’

Still, Froome’s jelly legs and vacant eyes were a salutary lesson in not leaving it too late. However, on the flipside of that, how soon is too soon? If you’ve ever raced, there’s a fair chance you’ve seen rivals necking gels before the start, no doubt in anticipation of being ready for a fast getaway. 

‘I’d never take a gel before a race,’ says Newton. ‘You shouldn’t need to if you’ve done a decent warm-up, even if you go off hard, because your body will have 1,500-2,000 calories of glycogen stored in the liver and by warming up you’ll start to mobilise it.’

‘I’d only recommend taking a gel pre-race if it’s in the evening,’ Newman adds. ‘If the race starts at 7pm you might not have eaten anything since lunchtime, which means you need a boost. But you shouldn’t need to take one on the morning of a race if it starts early.’

As with so much of training, fuelling up is a matter of learning what works for you. ‘Everybody’s different, and we need to learn – or relearn – to listen to our bodies,’ says Newton. ‘We get so hung up on gadgets and the “science” we’re fed that people have stopped doing it. Choose an approach and stick to it. Have faith in what you’re doing. People try to second-guess themselves on race day and they’ll try something different to try to find an edge – and that will only end in tears.’

Bespoked - the UK Handmade Bicycle Show - returned for another year in its native Bristol, and one thing's for sure, the quality and depth of the independent framebuilding industry just gets better and better

This year saw the return of Ricky Feather (from Yorkshire) and Rob English (raised in the UK, now in Oregon), two high-profile builders absent from the show in recent years, but who had clearly been busy in the intervening periods. They joned a plethora of new builders such as Donard (Ireland) and Mawis (Germany) and old hands such as Swallow (Shropshire) and Legend (Italy).

The standard was exceptionally high, and if there was a theme this year it was builders leaning towards the practical, whether that was wider tyre clearances, integral mudguards and racks, frame pumps or even complete onbaord tool boxes. We were honoured to be asked to judge the competition, so along with a host of superb looking builds in the gallery, click through the gallery to find Cyclist's top three road bike picks.

I’m standing on platform 22 at Osaka’s City Station and something is clearly not right. The railway guards pace the platform trying to retain an air of cool but the simple fact is the bullet train to take us to Shimano’s factory in Shimonoseki, Japan, is running 45 minutes late. 

Surely heads will roll. Large snowflakes are falling onto the tracks and the indicators are blaming the weather for the delays to a rail system renowned for its to-the-second timing.

The wrong kind of snow, it seems, affects more than the beleaguered UK commuter. 

Once on board, the bullet train is fast – Strava clocks it at a max of 375kmh – but it’s nearly 600km down the coast to Shimonoseki and we’re way off schedule.

As such, the factory tour turns into such a flying visit – ‘you have 12 minutes to eat lunch’ – that we barely see anything before we’re whisked back to the station so as not to miss our return train.

This is only one part of a trip that should allow me to see the whole Shimano set-up, including the Shimonoseki factory and the new Sakai Intelligent Plant (SIP) and Manufacturing Technology Centre (MTC) in Osaka.

While it’s a shame the first part has been so unrevealing, I can’t help but wonder how much Shimano really wants outsiders to know anyway.

Our tour seems to be cunningly arranged to show us much while revealing very little.

Cutting edge

It’s no surprise that Shimano was founded in Sakai city in the Osaka Prefecture. The region is renowned for its steel manufacturing and in particular the production of specialist knives.

In 1543 the Portuguese landed in the port and began trading guns and tobacco. The tobacco leaves required a certain kind of knife – like a tall cleaver – and local blacksmiths set about making them.

They developed a network of small artisan shops that focused exclusively on different parts of the knife-making process, such as grinding, handle making and engraving.

Although produced under many different brand names, the knives all used the Sakai Wazashu seal of quality.

Thus Sakai City became synonymous with quality knives. You could call it the Sheffield of the East. 

Inside the Sakai Intelligent Plant we see lightboxes displaying beautiful arrangements of each part that goes into a Shimano pedal, brake, or shifting system.

It’s all very shiny and pretty, but we’re here to see the production process in action, so the excitement rises as we’re led to the factory floor.

Except it’s not quite the floor itself, but a walkway 10 metres above the ground built for factory tours.

It offers a bird’s-eye view, while keeping nosy journalists a safe distance from where the real work goes on. 

The inside of the huge building reminds me of a villain’s lair from a James Bond movie. Everything is spotless; large machines whir; workers in overalls and hard hats go about their duties, overseen by a room full of men staring intently at monitors.

I fully expect to see Blofeld looking down from his control room while stroking his white cat. 

I take out my camera, but I’m asked politely to put it away. I should have remembered my tie-pin spy camera.

The building is pristine like an operating theatre. The SIP is where the high-end componentry such as Ultegra and Dura-Ace is made, and most of the work is performed by automated machines.

Even the essential labour of transporting raw material around is done by robot forklifts, which dance around each other in perfect harmony. 

The men at the screens are the nerve centre of production, from where all work is programmed. They can even perform tasks in other Shimano factories overseas remotely.

You can read more about our visit to Shimano on the next page

Room with a view

At the end of each walkway is a viewing room with a video screen to demonstrate the process and a wall unit containing components in the various stages of their production from a lump of cold aluminium to a gleaming Dura-Ace crank. 

From our high vantage point we can see sprockets and other drivetrain pieces being spat out of the machines every five seconds.

In Shimonoseki about 80,000 to 150,000 cranks can be made per month, but according to global marketing manager Manabu Tatekawa that number can be upped if the demand exists. 

In lieu of being able to get up close with a camera to the manufacturing, I start to quiz Tatekawa about the Shimano way of working.

‘New technology is made in Sakai City and then copied and pasted to our various factories worldwide to produce the same thing,’ he says.

‘So even though we ship out to China and other locations to reduce manufacturing costs we retain the Japanese tradition of high quality.

'At Shimonoseki we have all processes under one roof, from getting the raw materials to cutting them to forming, machining and finish and shipping.

'Every process is really flexible. We could be making Nexus hubs one day and swap to front chainring assembly the next.’ 

Metal gurus

Tatekawa tells us Shimano uses only metals from Japan because that way it can be confident of the quality and how each particular metal behaves under manufacturing processes. 

‘We trust what we know,’ he says. ‘We have factories in China but we import Japanese aluminium and steel rather than source locally.

'It’s not the case that a lower-grade groupset will necessarily have lower-grade materials. It really depends on the end use.

'A mid to low-range group may be on a bike that will be outside in all weather with low maintenance and it has to be very durable.

'At the high end there is no compromise because it is about racing and performance, so we use a lot of titanium and high-grade aluminium.

'There is no compromise at that level because it only takes a centimetre to lose a race.’

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Would Shimano consider carbon fibre groupsets? ‘We can make an aluminium crank that equals the performance of any carbon crank,’ says Tatekawa.

‘We don’t need to charge more to the consumer. Lower cost and better performance is our goal.

'You can make a black crank and chainrings and put a sticker on to make it look like carbon, but it’s not all about looks.

'In our tests we achieved 98% efficiency in power transfer from the pedal to the ground.’

It’s plain that Shimano is in no hurry to embrace the black stuff, and Tatekawa gets equally animated when I bring up the subject of disc brakes: ‘Everyone is talking about disc brakes on road bikes now.

'They think we can simply transfer our mountain bike disc brake mounts to the road bike, but they are so different.

'The mountain bike has a big, fat and stiff leg but the road bike fork leg is thin and the power transfer is very different, so a completely new mount had to be designed.’ 

Tatekawa explains that each new Dura-Ace groupset is the result of four years’ design and testing, and once launched it’s back to the drawing board to start a new one from scratch. 

‘Every four years the technology gets updated and redesigned. We don’t make any compromise to lose a few grams. We now have Dura-Ace and Ultegra with Di2. Not 105 yet.

'We keep getting asked but we need to get it exactly right. Of course, we buy the batteries and other parts from outside, but since 2009 we were searching for the right electric cables and couldn’t find any.

'We asked every company – Sony, Panasonic, Phillips – to produce a waterproof cable for us and they said no way. So we made the right cable ourselves. That’s our passion.’

Asked who he rates as rivals, Tatekawa gets philosophical: ‘For me the biggest competition doesn’t come from other bicycle component makers, it comes from Xbox, Nintendo and PlayStation – things that keep people inside their houses when they could be outside riding and feeling the benefits.

'We want people to get outside and enjoy nature.’

Lost in translation

Will Shimano go wireless in response to SRAM’s revolutionary eTap shifting system? Road brand manager Takao Harada steps in to give a typically Shimano-esque answer: ‘We have been using cable shifting for many years now.

'Our professional riders all say they are satisfied with the cable shifting of Di2 and we will continue that way.

'Professional cyclists are slower to uptake new changes because they are the ones that use the equipment day in, day out, and need to have confidence in it.

'We need to show them what is possible and eventually they may change.’

I’m not sure if that’s a yes or no. Similar vagueness meets the next enquiry about electronic shifting filtering down into the groupsets below Ultegra.

‘It is a dream for us to make our systems electronic,’ Harada says enigmatically.

And Shimano doesn’t count out a 12-speed groupset some time in the future, but don’t expect a clear answer either on when that might be.

‘They are definitely a possibility,’ says brand manager Tsutomu Muraoka.

‘But we need to build a new platform for durability. It is a dream for us to make this available to riders, and certainly not out of the question.’

By the time my tour is over, I feel I have seen some fascinating things, met some interesting people and been treated with great respect.

It’s certainly an honour to be allowed to visit Shimano, but I’m not sure I’m any wiser as to the company’s methods, its ethos or its plan for the future.

Perhaps that’s the point – you don’t become the biggest name in the cycling industry by giving away your secrets easily.

All images courtesy of Offside/l'Equipe 

Greg Van Avermaet (BMC) won the 2017 Paris-Roubaix on Sunday after a hot, dusty, record-breakingly fast edition of the Queen of the Classics. 

While the cobbles remained dry, the unseasonable heat and a obligatory Roubaix crashes turned the race into a war of attrition, with all of the favourites having to deal with a range of mishaps on the way to the velodrome. 

As well as the final instalment of the cobbled Classics season, the race was the last as a professional for Tom Boonen, but despite the will of the entire cycling world, he wasn't able to make it into the group that would eventually contest the win - later finishing 13th.

It was the Belgian Van Avermaet who eventually emerged as the victor, after breaking away with Sebastian Langeveld (Cannondale-Drapac) and Zdenek Zybar (Quickstep Floors) before outsprinting them to the line. 

In this gallery, courtesy of the French newspaper l'Equipe, we take a look back at a race that served as Tom Boonen's last, and a Monument that confirmed Van Avermaet as a modern day Classics superstar.

Name: Greg van Avermaet
Nickname: Avi, GVA
Age: 31
Lives: Dendermonde, Belgium
Rider type: Classics specialist
Professional teams: 2006 Bodysol-Win for Life-Jong Vlaanderen; 2007-2010 Silence/Omega Pharma-Lotto; 2011- BMC
Palmares: Tour de France: 2 stage wins (2015, 2016); Tirreno-Adriatico 2016; Olympic Road Race 2016; Paris-Roubaix 2017, Gent-Wevelgem 2017; Omloop Het Niewsblad 2016, 2017; E3-Harelbeke 2017; Tour of Belgium 2015; Tour de Wallonie 2011, 2013; Paris-Tours 2011; Vuelta a Espana points jersey 2008

In cycling, you lose a lot more races than you win and that’s always been true for BMC’s Greg van Avermaet, who became known as Mr Almost between 2012 and 2014 after scoring numerous top 10 finishes but rarely converting them into victories.

However, that changed in 2016 when he donned the Tour de France’s yellow jersey for the first time, holding it for three days after victory on stage five.

He then went on to take Gold in the Road Race at the Rio Olympics, tackling a course that featured technical twisty descents made dangerous by wet conditions.

And in 2017, he’s added to that already impressive foundation and kicked on. He outsprinted Peter Sagan to take victory in the spring Classics season-opener Omloop Het Nieuwsblad for the second year running before tasting further success at E3 Harelbeke. He was bested by countryman Philippe Gilbert at the Tour of Flanders, but turned that disappointment on its head a week later by claiming victory at the Queen if the Classics, Paris-Roubaix.

Let’s find out what makes him tick...

1 Build your self-belief

WHAT? Being a constant also-ran can be debilitating for anyone’s confidence but like many professional athletes, Van Avermaet tuned into his own self-belief to push himself one step further and win.

‘I always had the feeling that I had it in me and finally it came out,’ he said after winning gold in Rio, and after a cracking 2016, his self-belief has paid dividends.

Van Avermaet can attest to the truth that in cycling it’s normal to lose a lot more than you win. ‘There are a lot of downs, it’s good to have a few extra ups,’ he said.

HOW? According to a 1994 study on behavioural conditioning when learning (Learning, Remembering, Believing: Enhancing Human Performance), self-confidence is not necessarily a motivational perspective but a judgement about capabilities for accomplishment.

Avi, like many other pros, is incredible at what he does because he’s able to move on after a loss. For many athletes the best way to fan the flames of self-confidence in the wake of a defeat is to work on physical and technical improvements.

So if you’re a bit slow, work on building that power, if you fade at the end of rides, look to build up your endurance. By learning from your failures you can identify areas of improvement and in doing so create a mental outlook that means you’ll have greater confident in your own ability.

2 Help your fellow riders

WHAT? Being one of his team’s many co-leaders, Avi is lucky enough to have a team help him achieve his goals, but when the time is ready he is there to offer a helping hand, too.

When riding in the Tour of California in 2014, Avi was coming off another spring Classics season as Mr Almost but he repaid the faith his team had placed in him.

‘This is all for the team, they supported me pretty well in the Classics so if I can help Tejay [Van Garderen] it would be good.’

It’s a trait he’s also displayed when racing for his national team, with years of pulling for the likes of Philippe Gilbert and Tom Boonen. In 2016, he finally got his chance and secured one of only two gold medals for Belgium at Rio.

HOW? When riding with friends, don’t sit at the back of the group. Help out by pulling your fair share of miles at the front, or risk being labelled a ‘fred’, a cycling-specific insult that’ll see you cycling on your own in future.

By being seen to be empathetic and helpful – by, say, helping a fellow rider who’s fallen behind because of a puncture – you’ll also find others will be more willing to help you out, too.

3 Build power, climb hills

WHAT? A Classics specialist like Van Avermaet needs to be a ‘puncheur’ – a strong rider who loves rolling roads with short but steep climbs. Former Head of Sports Science at the Belgian national team, Daniel Healy, spoke about their preferred training plan.

‘One session that has stood the test of time is 2 Phase Hill Repeats. This is simply a hill that is ridden at two different intensities,’ he says.

Fighting over the hills of Flanders is something a Classics specialist needs in his armoury, so Van Avermaet uses this drill to build his power.

‘The rider will enter the hill at endurance wattage then continue at the same intensity for the first half of the climb. At the mid-point, the rider will switch to a higher intensity and hold this all the way to the crest of the climb,’ Healy explained. Tough stuff.

HOW? If you have a power meter, this is a great way to chart your progress as you can measure your effort more accurately, whether that be endurance or tempo.

Otherwise using a heart rate monitor is useful. The 2 Phase Hill Repeat will push your physical boundaries but also your mental ones as motivating you to ride harder halfway up the climb can be pretty demanding. 

4 Learn from your cycling mistakes

WHAT? In 2014, in the final kilometres of the Omloop Het Nieuwsblad, Van Avermaet found himself at the front of the race with Team Sky’s Ian Stannard.

While Avi was the faster sprinter of the two, he didn’t account for Stannard’s strategical prowess. The Team Sky rider bluffed an attack on one side before quickly moving to the opposite side, catching Van Avermaet unawares and leaving him looking behind for the burly Brit.

By the time the Belgian lifted his head, Stannard was a bike’s length clear. Fast-forward two years to the same race and Avi found himself in a three-way fight with Peter Sagan and Luke Rowe. This time when he sprinted he didn’t look back, leaving the rest in his wake to seal the win.

HOW? If you’re a racer in a crit or track league, odds are you’re going to get multiple shots at the same course or track, making it easier to hone your tactics for the next time.

If you’re more of a sportive rider, you have to apply the principles more generally. If you’re unhappy with your ride, look at what went wrong and think about what lessons you can learn before the next one.

For example, moderate your pace in the early stages to save some energy for the finish. By reviewing past performances, we can better judge our future efforts. As Van Avermaet says, ‘More experience, taking better decisions, that’s what made the biggest difference. The power compared to other years is almost the same.’

5 Use carbon handlebars

WHAT? While many pros stick to alloy handlebars, Avi likes to go with carbon for its handling over rougher terrain. ‘It just feels better on the cobblestones in the Classics,’ he says.

Winning the major early season one-day races is the Belgian’s goal for 2017, so making sure his hands are as comfortable as possible is key. A decent set of handlebars is often an overlooked decision but can help provide more secure handling and, in conjunction with a bike fit, will make riding more comfortable overall by reducing the impacts of rough roads on the wrists.

HOW? The Belgian’s BMC team use 3T Rotundo PRO handlebars which come in at a cool £225, but if that’s a little out of your price range, the alloy version are a mere £65 by comparison. 

6 Play football

WHAT? Up to the age of 19, football was Van Avermaet’s preferred sport. ‘I was doing pretty well. It was my biggest aim to be a goalkeeper at the top level,’ he says, but after being demoted to his club’s reserves he felt a change of scenery was needed.

‘I started to do cycling, because my father and grandfather were cyclists, and yeah, it worked out well,’ the Olympic champ told us. Cycling is one of the few sports where you don’t have to necessarily start from a very young age as long as you have a strong base fitness which football will give you.

If things hadn’t have worked out in cycling would Avi have gone back to booting a ball about? ‘In my life, it’s all about sports. I always follow the football pretty close. If I wasn’t a cyclist, I would try to go further in football and still see if I could reach the highest level,’ he said.

HOW? A lot of pro cyclists play football in their down time. It helps sharpen endurance fitness, trim body fat, as well as help maintain a good power-to-weight ratio.

Football is a whole body workout, too, giving your upper body some much needed exercise that you don’t get on the bike. Play in goal like Avi and you’ll also work plenty of big muscle groups as you leap about. See thefa.com/get-involved for more details.

German brand Tune specialises in making the lightest bike components possible, but in the case of its Wasserträger 2.0 cage it actually added some extra weight.

‘Initially we had a cage that was even lighter, around four grams,’ says Harry Czech, international sales manager at the Black Forest company.

‘It basically looked like a figure of eight, just two bands of carbon and aramid polymer crossed over. 

‘Every cage was more or less unique because each was hand-laminated, but the bolt hole drillings were really bad and, to be honest, it was just so ugly,’ he adds.

‘Also if you spilt isotonic drink on it when you put your bidon back in, curiously it somehow reacted with the cage and glued the bottle in it.’

Tune decided to go back to the drawing board to design something more practical. The result was the Wasserträger Uni.

‘This was much more beautiful and the function was much better, but the weight had shot up to 19g,’ says Czech.

The Uni is still offered by Tune because, let’s face it, 19g for a bottle cage is hardly portly, but it is now superseded in the lightweight stakes by the Wasserträger 2.0, which Tune has managed to get down to a mere 9g. 

‘This was our real achievement,’ says Czech. ‘This second redesign has all the functionality and beauty of the Uni, but at a weight approaching that of our original cage.’

Czech explains the production methods that have made it possible to create such a light bottle cage: ‘We use the same method to produce our rims.

'Toray T700 fibre and resin goes in the mould and is pressed with a bladder at about 145psi. Then we bake it and when we extract it, it’s ready – a component that will last a lifetime, straight out of the oven.’

A high-quality cage with such a tiny weight penalty garners the attention of plenty of elite riders. Tune sponsors a number of pro teams and finds their feedback invaluable.

‘Our products go through rigorous real-world testing as a by-product of the sponsorship,’ says Czech.

Ultimately it’s this feedback that’s stopping Tune from going even lighter. Czech says Tune could get the weight down to 7g easily but doing so would start to compromise the durability of the product.

‘It makes no sense to us to make the cage worse for a 2g saving.’

So if opportunities to shed weight from your bike are getting ever more marginal, you might want to consider these.

Bear in mind that, according to a 1901 experiment by Dr Duncan MacDougall, the human soul weighs 21g – that’s a full 3g heavier than a pair of Wasserträger 2.0 bottle cages.

They may be expensive, but at least you won’t have to sell your soul.

Tune Wasserträger 2.0 bottle cages, €50.50 (approx £43) each, tune.de

When: Saturday 6th May 2017
Where: Bovington
Distances: 99 miles (Epic), 63 miles (Standard) or 36 miles (Short)
Cost: £35 (epic, standard), £26 (short); under-16s free
Sign up: ukcyclingevents.co.uk

What’s it all about?

The Jurassic Coast stretches from East Devon through to Dorset over 95 miles (not all of which you’ll have to ride) and is steeped in history – the geology itself stretching back 185 million years.

Corfe Castle, which features on the route, was one of the first stone castles in Britain, built by William the Conqueror a mere thousand years or so ago.

The landscape is also known for its testing and sometimes steep hills, and while admiring the scenery you’ll be tackling many of them on the three routes on offer: the 99-mile (160km) Epic, 63-mile (102km) Standard and 36-mile (58km) Short option.

Dorset’s lanes are picturesque and mostly traffic-free and quiet, making it a great area to ride. To add to the interest of the ride and area, the HQ is a little different too, being based at the Bovington Tank Museum.

Certainly unusual, it makes for another point of interest for your day or weekend if basing yourself down here, with over 300 vehicles in the collection and working examples of rare military vehicles.

What about those routes?

Starting at the Tank Museum, all three routes head out north, with the Standard and Short rides cutting west soon after.

The Epic continues north, away from the coast and with the legs warmed up on a few rises, hits the first proper challenge 10 miles in after Milton Abbas.

From here you have a succession of climbs as you drop back south for the next 20 miles. Next comes a relatively mild stretch of around 15 miles, so take it easy and enjoy the views.

The good news is that by the time the climbing starts again with a vengeance, you are over halfway in, re-joining the Standard route. The not-so-good news is that the Standard route riders have their own series of unrelenting hills to tackle and now you do, too.

At least you are all in it together, right?

As you continue south, the vistas will change to stunning sea views as you hug the cliffs along the coast, the short route cutting back inland as the rest of the riders continue on past Corfe Castle to the seaside town of Swanage, your turning point to head for home.

With another sting or two in the tail, you head back inland towards flatter land only to turn back towards the coast – twice. Fear not, though, as the HQ is just a few short miles away now with the promise of reward once you have defeated the Beast.

What do I get?

The Wiggle Jurassic Beast is run by UK Cycling Events, who have one of the largest and most well-respected sportive portfolios in Britain, so you are assured to be looked after.

The list of support and extras is too long to go into in detail, but the usual requirements of parking, HQ facilities, chip timing, feed stops, full route marking and mechanical/ medical/broom wagon services are all present and correct.

Add the finish-line medal and gift, and you can consider it well supported.

How do I get there?

Bovington Tank Museum is 30 miles from Bournemouth and 50 miles from Southampton, both to the east, and 65 miles from Exeter to the west.

Trains from London and Birmingham run as far as Bournemouth, with coach and bus services to Bovington.

Being in the centre of the south coast tourism area, there are plenty of places to stay, with numerous B&Bs to suit all budgets in the area and larger hotels in Wareham and Dorchester, both towns only six miles away.

If there’s a formula to explain a day’s cycling it would go something like this: pj = TW– P/A , where T is terrain, W is weather, P is number of people, A is land area and pj is pedalling joy.

Just like a bike manufacturer’s stiffness index for its latest round of carbon fibre, terrain and weather are totally arbitrary values based on the concept that ‘bigger numbers means better’, and are marked based on an unknown, ever-expanding scale (pj, however, is precisely measured on a scale of one to Esteban Chaves).

For example, my commute from the outskirts of London last Friday came in at -5,521 Chavitos. The terrain was ugly (3), the weather only broke from rain in order to briefly snow (-1), and the population density of London is 5,518 people per square kilometre. Cyclist won’t be doing any UK Rides around the East End anytime soon.

Conversely, as I look ahead to riding in the Cotswolds in two days’ time, the outlook is theoretically excellent.

Population density is one of England’s lowest at 73, it’s Britain’s largest Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (67), and the BBC Breakfast’s inimitable Carol Kirkwood reckons it’s going to be crisp, clear skies all the way (14).

I make that a promising 865 Chavitos. 

Weight of the Wolds

Thursday morning and the score has plummeted, and frankly I’m beginning to question Carol’s six TV Weather Presenter of the Year awards. 

We meet in the obligatory car park in Cirencester at a suitably unholy hour, ‘we’ being myself, my ride partner Dave, and Grant, a British Cycling regional events officer who has volunteered to drive our photographer around the route.

As Grant piles bananas and water into the car boot, Dave and I exchange kit choice chat, he noting my distinctly summery clothing, me his rain cape, legwarmers and conspicuously sponsor-clad bibshorts. 

The first few kilometres are even-tempered if not entirely flat, and decidedly straight – though Dave explains that’s no surprise given Cirencester evolved from the Roman settlement of Corinium.

It turns out Dave also knows a fair bit about the future as well as the past, and it’s not long before I’m flagging down the car to retrieve my rain jacket and rear light.

The skies, it seems, can bear their burden no longer, and thick sheets of drizzle unite the grey road with the equally grey sky. The decision to wear brand new white socks seems questionable.

With little of the Cotswolds’ beauty on show, conversation soon turns to life stories. Dave explains he’s an aspiring pro and Grant is his coach.

He got into road cycling a few years ago as part of a rehab programme to quite literally ‘get me back onto my feet’, having shattered both ankles in a motocross accident. 

‘My life aim is to ride the Tour of Britain,’ he tells me cheerily, and I wouldn’t bet against him. It seems not only is he a physically gifted rider, but a combination of inheritance and a very understanding partner means he only works two days a week and has the rest of the time to race and train.

I tell him it’s a good life if you can get it, although it seems the road has other ideas for us both. Well, me at least.

Without warning the road jerks itself skyward with 11% glee, and for a split second I feel like I’m going to stall, caught between the idea of changing down gears or getting out of the saddle.

But before I can make the decision, hill climb pride flicks my legs to autopilot. Dave has happily carried on cranking, and while I know it’s him leaving me not me leaving him, I still get the same sensation a fishing weight must get when it flies off into the distance to the sound of a spinning reel.

Click, click, kick, kick and I’m back next to Dave, who is oblivious to the fact he nearly dropped me.

I feign nonchalance but am secretly relieved when I spy a sign at the top of the ridge that warrants pulling over to read. For journalistic purposes, obviously.

The sign denotes the ‘Winchcombe Loop’, a 4,800km ‘leisure cycling route round Britain on lightly trafficked rural lanes… at nearly 1,000 feet above sea-level, Salter’s Hill provides fine views as a reward for the hard climb.’

I’d agree with all of that, save for the ‘leisure’ part, and the fact that even this high the otherwise glorious countryside looks the kind of drab landscape popular in nursing homes.

The rain and mist have muted the greens yet somehow managed to augment the browns, and even the trees look fed up. We agree a proper stop might be in order.

Goodbye, old friend 

By the time we finish the descent to Winchcombe my faithful old Cateye rear light resembles a red plastic snow globe. I do my best to extricate it from its bungee shackles to empty the rain out of the USB port, but it blinks twice and dies.

Still, there’s a cafe over the road Grant reckons is good, so we park up our bikes and head indoors for saffron-infused teacakes. It’s what dear old Cateye would have wanted. 

Generally speaking I’m not a stopper on rides – I find it hard enough to convince my legs to go the first time around – but Grant assures me it’s worth waiting for the weatherman to patch up the Cotswolds’ leaky roof.

The views back up the ridge are spectacular in the right weather, and the climb back up isn’t half bad either. 

I’m more than happy with the decision, and it gives us a chance to swap a few more stories over industrial bowls of tea.

Grant, I discover, is somewhat famous in these parts. He’s instrumental in the local race scene, both as rider and organiser, having helped instigate the Via Roma Twilight Criterium in Cirencester among other events.

As a paid up Continental pro he rode for Italian team Amore e Vita, which lays claim to being the oldest cycling team in the world (founded in 1948), nurtured a young Mario Cipollini and, rather fascinatingly, is backed by the Vatican and blessed each season by the Pope. 

Sufficiently satiated and pleased with the new pub quiz knowledge, we opt to give this riding malarkey another try, and by the time we loop back over the ridge it seems our luck might finally be in.

We pass through Stanton village, revered by period drama film crews for its quainter-than-quaint limestone cottages and total lack of anachronistic street lighting, and by the time we arrive at the foot of the climb up Snowshill, the sun hasn’t just put his hat on, but is veritably strolling to the beach with a towel tucked under one arm.

Our rather dubious morning is turning into a fine afternoon.

Warming tales

There have been several uphill surprises along the way today, in a manner more befitting the Lake District than the south west of England, but the ascent up Snowshill is more steady state than spiteful spike, averaging just under 6% over its 2.8km length. 

Buoyed by the sun we tap along in good time, and soon I’m hot enough to remove the remainder of my autumnal attire, prompting Dave to regale me with a story from a riding mate of his:

‘This guy used to ride with Wiggins when they were younger. One day the coach tells them they’re going on a training camp abroad and it’s going to be hot, so Wiggo being Wiggo gets in the sauna in just his armwarmers and legwarmers, saying it’s to “acclimatise” himself.’

With temperatures well into the teens I’m now happily acclimatised myself. Ask most cyclists why they ride and at some point they’ll tell you it’s because it offers a kind of meditative, mental clarity otherwise precluded by the modern world.

That may be, but for me, right now, it’s a sudden realisation that for the last hour I’ve not really thought about anything.

Since we left Snowshill I’ve been doing my best to take in the surroundings. But somewhere between the yellow-bricked houses of Guiting Power and the postcard-picture cottages of Bibury, I’ve lost myself in the road, my stem, my spinning feet, the sound of my breath and the ticking of gears.

It’s a wonderful feeling, and one that actually defies any formula. 

Cycling in good weather in a beautiful place definitely helps, but when I really think about it that all-consuming feeling of pedalling can happen everywhere from the daily commute to the Alps, and even, just occasionally, on the turbo.

So long as there’s a bike involved I reckon I’d be happy anywhere. But as we draw our ride to a close in the same Cirencester car park from which we set off, I know the Cotswolds, and such good company, definitely helped.

On top of the Wolds

Follow Cyclist's tour of the Cotswolds:

To download this route, click here. Leave Cirencester via The White Way until a crossroads marked Chedworth, then take a right. Pass through the village, loop round through Yanworth adjacent to the River Coln then follow the signs to Compton Abdale.

Follow the natural path of the road past Hazleton and Salperton, over the A436 and onto Salt Way. Either drop down into Winchcombe for a stop or continue north to Stanton.

From Stanton join the B4632 to Broadway then swing south onto Snowshill Road.

The climb segues into Buckle Street, which crosses the B4077. Take a right at the sign for Guiting Power, then it’s onwards to Hawling, a brief stint on the A436 then head south-east to Windrush via Turkdean.

Follow the signs to Eastleach, then Bibury, then join the B4425 back to Cirencester.

The rider's ride

S-Works Venge ViAS eTap Disc, £8,500, specialized.com

If ever there was a bike to do it all, it isn’t this one. But if ever there was one to put a guaranteed smile on your face, it is the Venge.

From standing starts to 40kmh-plus, everything about the bike is fast and, coupled with quick handling and an aggressive position, there’s little about this bike I don’t like.

Sram’s eTap and Quarq power meter are technical joys to behold – precise, intuitive and suffering no ill consequences in the wet, even if they do contribute substantially to the hefty pricetag. 

Admittedly with the hidden hoses and integrated cockpit the Venge is a fiddle to service, and it will bounce you around a bit on rougher roads, but the flipside is an ultra-clean aesthetic and an exhilarating ride feel.

I’d stop short at saying I’d want to ride it over cobbles, but with the short-nosed S-Works Power saddle and Roval wheels set up tubeless and happily running at 85psi, I found the Venge as comfortable as any other aero bike I’ve ever ridden, with the twist that it’s faster than pretty much any other aero bike.

The rider's kit

Lazer Z1 helmet

One of the early victims of Brexit, the Z1 has shot up in price, but has gained MIPS innards in the process and still offers an excellent fit and understated styling. Although perhaps less so in orange. 

£220, madison.co.uk

Sportful Fiandre Windstopper jacket

Kept me dry and noticeably warm for a garment so lightweight. The extra-long sleeves might look a bit Euro, but only add to the overall versatility of the Fiandre. 

£185, c3products.com

Katusha kit

A spin-off from the WorldTour team of the same name, the Superlight jersey and Icon bibshorts might polarise fashion opinion, but indisputable is the quality and race-ready fit. No gimmicks, it’s just very nice to ride in. 

Jersey £120, bibshorts £180, katusha-sports.com

Do it yourself

Getting there: There are regular trains from London and Birmingham to the Cotswolds, but no station in Cirencester. The closest station is Kemble (7km out), or travel to Moreton-in-Marsh and join the route midway through (10km out).

Train tickets from either Birmingham or London are £23-£32 return on weekends and take around an hour and a half. Or you could, of course, drive. 

Fuelling up: We stopped in Winchcombe at Food Fanatics, which was nice enough to let us take our bikes inside. Similarly there are many restaurants to choose from in Cirencester, with the King’s Head Hotel (kingshead-hotel.co.uk) being our pick of the bunch. You’ll not see a bigger cheese selection in all the land.

With thanks: Life on the road can be lonely, so we’d like to thank Dave Tilling for joining us on the ride, British Cycling’s Grant Bayton for chaperoning us about and Gary Smith at Via Roma for planning the route.

For more riding, events and coaching information in the Cotswolds and surrounding area, contact Via Roma Events & Coaching. Via Roma’s annual sportive in the Cotswolds will take place this year on 10th September.