Life at a Grand Tour can be tough on the riders. It’s not just the three weeks of riding flat-out for up to 200km a day, and the crashes, and the abusive fans, and the intrusive journalists – it’s the food. A pro rider can burn up to 8,000 calories on a tough stage of the Tour, which requires a lot of food to replace. It’s three to four times what the average person will burn and consume in a day, and it can’t just be any old food. Pros need to fine-tune their diet to ensure they have enough energy to race without putting on any unwanted extra weight, and they need the correct balance of nutrients and vitamins to repair muscle damage and recover from fatigue.

That’s where the team chef comes in. Their job is to combine the right ingredients into something that will appeal to hungry (and possibly fussy) pro riders. Hannah Grant has been chef to pro team Tinkoff-Saxo, home of Alberto Contador and Peter Sagan, for the past five seasons and has created a wealth of recipes that tick both the nutrition and taste boxes. For her, proper race fuel is about preparing and cooking from scratch, using quality ingredients and avoiding refined and processed products. Get that right, she says, ‘and things will start to fall into place’.

All the recipes and photography featured on these pages are from 'The Grand Tour Cookbook' by Hannah Grant - the Tinkoff-Saxo team chef. You can find out more and order the book from musettepublishing.net

• 500g minced beef or veal
• 4 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 shallots, chopped
• 5 cloves garlic, crushed
• ½ bunch thyme
• 3 sprigs rosemary
• 1 tablespoon dried oregano
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 100ml balsamic vinegar
• 70g tomato purée
• 3 tins chopped tomatoes
• 3 bay leaves
• 2 star anise
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1. Peel and chop the shallots and garlic. Rinse and drain the thyme and rosemary. Brown the meat in olive oil over high heat, season with salt and set aside.
2. In a thick-bottomed saucepan, sauté the chopped shallots, garlic, thyme, rosemary and oregano in olive oil. Stir until the shallots are tender but have not browned. Add the honey. When the honey starts to bubble, add the vinegar and reduce by half.
3. Stir in the tomato purée and bring to an even heat. Add the browned meat, tinned tomatoes, bay leaves and star anise. Quickly bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Remove the thyme, rosemary and star anise, and season with salt, pepper and balsamic vinegar. Serve with freshly cooked pasta and parmesan.

Benefits

Over the last 20 years there has been consistent evidence for the beneficial impacts of carbohydrate loading on prolonged cardiovascular exercise. The bolognese sauce makes it easier to ingest huge helpings of pasta – wholemeal is best, as it’s a complex carbohydrate high in fibre. The fibre regulates digestion while the carbs are steadily converted into muscle glycogen overnight. The tomato-based sauce not only offers a host of vitamins but also supplies the phytochemical lycopene, which is instrumental in maintaining a strong immune system – important for anyone doing a lot of riding or training. Beef mince contains the necessary protein and fat for optimum muscle repair and function, and also provides iron, an essential mineral that helps red blood cells transport oxygen from the lungs to hard-working muscles.

• 200g gluten-free oatmeal
• ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ¼ teaspoon each ground ginger and nutmeg
• 50g sunflower seeds
• 3 tablespoons chia seeds
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 100g fresh blueberries
• Honey

1. Bring 700ml water to a boil with the spices, sunflower seeds and chia seeds. Add the oatmeal and cook the porridge, stirring constantly.
2. Turn down the heat and let the porridge simmer until it has the desired consistency. Add more water 
3. if needed. The result is best when you use a mix of fine-rolled (instant) oats and coarse (steel-cut) oatmeal.
4. Season the porridge with salt and serve with the rinsed blueberries and honey. If that day’s training is going to be particularly tough, you can add 1 teaspoon organic unsweetened protein powder.

Benefits

Another meal high in complex carbohydrate and fibre is ideal for supplementing glycogen stores that have been stocked the night before. Oatmeal is digested slowly so helps preserve muscle glycogen by maintaining consistent blood glucose levels. The sunflower and chia seeds provide vitamins and minerals but primarily supply essential fatty acids. At sub-maximal exercise intensities, fat is an important energy source that is used in conjunction with carbohydrate to fuel muscles. Blueberries top up the micronutrient hit and provide antioxidants, which counteract damaging free radicals that are naturally produced during exercise.

• 500g pudding rice
• 1 tin coconut milk
• 3 tablespoons brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• Pinch salt

1. Boil the pudding rice in 700ml water and the coconut milk. Turn down the heat, cover and leave to simmer. Stir regularly.
2. When the rice is soft and the liquid has boiled away, stir in the brown sugar, cinnamon and salt. Transfer the pudding to a resealable plastic container lined with cling film, seal and refrigerate overnight.
3. The next day, cut the rice cakes into convenient sizes and wrap them in foil for easy transportation on the bike. These are great examples of the kinds of ride snacks that pros can expect to find in their musettes along with the usual bars and gels.

Benefits

Mid-ride, you need easily digestible, energy-dense food. Palatability also becomes an issue as the body’s tastes change dramatically during exercise, shifting towards milder, more diluted flavours. Soft rice cakes are ideal in this sense. White rice is high on the glycaemic index so provides energy quickly and, being a completely natural food, is processed by the body with minimal gastric disruption.

Coconut milk contributes healthy fat that supplements the carbohydrate energy but also aids cell repair and maintains muscular function. Cinnamon has been shown to regulate blood glucose so adding this ensures that glucose levels don’t spike dramatically. The mellow flavours make the cakes easy to consume and open to flavourful additions, should you fancy exercising your creative prowess.

• 1 litre tomato sauce
• 2 red onions
• ½ bunch oregano
• 50g capers
• 100g Kalamata olives, pitted
• ½ bunch chervil
• 500g pasta
• 4 tablespoons olive oil
• Salt and freshly ground pepper
• 100g parmesan 

1. Peel the onions and cut into ½cm rings. Sauté in olive oil until tender. Rinse and chop the oregano. 
2. Mix the onion, capers, olives and oregano with the tomato sauce, bring to a boil and reduce the heat. Leave to simmer for 15-20 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, boil the pasta in a large pot of salted water. Serve the pasta with the sauce, fresh chervil, pepper and plenty of grated parmesan.

Benefits

The body is at its most nutrient-receptive immediately after exercise, as it seeks to recover from the exertion and replenish energy stores. Another nutrient-rich tomato sauce, with olives and salty capers, effectively rehydrates the body. In the rush for the finish line, the body is operating at an intensity where glycogen is quickly used up, so the pasta steadily refills these energy stores.

• 165g soft dates, pitted
• 120g toasted hazelnuts
• Juice and zest of 1 organic orange
• 50g cocoa powder
• 1 pinch salt

1. In a food processor, blend the dates to a purée. Add the hazelnuts, orange juice and zest, cocoa powder and salt. If the mix is too dry, add a little more orange juice.
2. Press the brownie mixture into a tin and chill for at least 1 hour in the fridge before serving. Can be served with fresh apricots.

Benefits

Training and riding use up a huge amount of calories, so hunger can creep up on you at any time. These brownies offer a satiating treat without the empty calories of, say, a Victoria sponge. Dates contain minerals, fibre and plenty of natural sugar, while the hazelnuts are packed with healthy fats and B-vitamins, which, among a host of other benefits, help to convert that sugar into energy.

• 1 chicken (1.2-1.4kg)
• 4 tablespoons honey
• Juice and zest of 2 organic lemons
• Extra lemon zest for serving
• ½ bunch fresh rosemary 
• 50ml olive oil
• Salt
• 500g new potatoes
• ¼ bunch parsley

1. Wash the rosemary, tear the leaves off the stems and chop. In a bowl, whisk together the honey, lemon juice, lemon zest, rosemary, olive oil and salt. Put the chicken in a plastic bag and pour in the marinade. Firmly rub the marinade into the meat. Close the bag and let the chicken marinate for at least 1 hour or preferably overnight.
2. Preheat the oven to 175°C. Place the chicken directly on a rack over a roasting pan and roast until the juices run clear – about 60 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, scrub the potatoes and toss them in olive oil and salt. In the roasting pan under the chicken, add the potatoes so the juices from the chicken drip over them and roast for 30-35 minutes. Rinse, spin and chop the parsley. Serve the chicken with potatoes and sprinkle with chopped parsley and lemon zest. 

Benefits

As well as adequate carbohydrate intake, getting enough protein is crucial to proper recovery. Chicken provides a high-protein, low-fat choice for dinner, and the lemon and rosemary add vitamins and stop the meat from being bland – the enemy when large quantities need to be consumed. All protein is low on the glycaemic index and chicken is slow to digest, so throughout the night muscles are steadily supplied with amino acids – the building blocks for muscle repair.

• 4 egg whites
• 250g cane sugar
• 1 teaspoon raspberry vinegar
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 110g ground almonds
• 200ml whipping cream
• Seeds of 1 vanilla pod
• 200g fresh strawberries
• 50g fresh blueberries
• 50g fresh raspberries

1. Preheat the oven to 150°C. Whisk the egg whites to soft peaks with sugar, vinegar and salt. Fold in the almond flour and divide the mixture into four equally sized portions on a baking tray lined with greaseproof paper. Bake for 30 minutes.
2. Whip the cream lightly with vanilla seeds. Rinse the berries and remove the tops from the strawberries. Cut into a combination of halves and quarters.
3. Top the meringue with whipped cream and berries, and serve straight away.

Benefits

Dessert is a useful way to ensure energy requirements are met – and it also alleviates food boredom, which can be bad for morale and ultimately performance. The sugar provides plenty of carbohydrate and the cream supplies saturated fat, which is essential when recovering from exercise as it increases testosterone levels, in turn facilitating tissue repair. The mixed berries cover all vitamin requirements and deliver more antioxidants – something an active cyclist can’t get enough of.

Just two hours into our 130km bike ride around the jagged rock spires and twisted pinnacles of the Italian Dolomites, which will culminate in a sweaty siege of the forbidding 2,236m Passo Giau, Vincenzo Nibali launches an unexpected attack. It all happens in a dazzling blur of Astana blue. The first I know about the 2014 Tour de France champion’s surprise cameo in Cyclist magazine’s latest adventure is when my local Italian ride companions Klaus and Roberto start bellowing ‘Vincenzo!’ and rubbernecking towards the left of the road.

The hullabaloo shatters what until then had been a tranquil, early-morning spin along the sun-dappled slopes of the 2,244m Passo Sella. And sure enough, here comes the Italian cycling idol, unmistakable in his sky-blue Astana kit emblazoned with the green, white and red hoops of the Italian national champion, trailed by his sinewy mountain-slaying lieutenants Michele Scarponi and Tanel Kangert, and with an Astana-branded support car growling just behind.

Fortunately Nibali is attacking in the opposite direction to us. As we spiral downhill at 50kmh, he is blasting skywards, out of the saddle, eyes fixed on the tarmac, chest heaving. Juan, our photographer, who is travelling in a support van along with a driver, orders a rapid U-turn and starts pursuing Nibali, the paparazzi instinct which lurks in every photographer unleashed in a frenzy of hanging-out-of-the-window snapping. My own instinct to try to chase after them evaporates in nanoseconds with a self-admonishing shake of the head and a realisation that it is only 10am and I must already be acutely dehydrated.

Half an hour later, when we reassemble for a round of espressos in the valley town of Canazei, Juan reveals that Nibali, showing a classy touch of professionalism, had waved him past to take a few photos, then accelerated around some tight hairpin bends and disappeared out of sight, as if saying, ‘You’ve got what you want. Now leave me to suffer in peace.’ Our van, says Juan in disbelief, was doing about 25kmh uphill at the time.

World class heritage

There can be few better seals of approval for the high-mountain region of Alta Badia in the Italian Dolomites than the fact that one of only six riders in history to have won the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia and the Vuelta a Espana uses it as a mid-season training playground. But even without the Nibali commendation the savagely beautiful mountain landscapes would be enticing enough. A UNESCO World Heritage site, the Dolomites are a rugged realm of stark, serrated mountains, glacial landforms, echoing valleys and pristine meadows festooned with bluebells and edelweiss. The Swiss-French architect Le Corbusier described the spiked chains, which erupt out of the earth like the plated spine of a stegosaurus, as ‘the most beautiful work of architecture ever seen’.

A buzzing ski mecca in winter, the region’s mountain roads and sharp gradients become ideal training terrain for cyclists in the summer months. And Alta Badia’s lofty location between 1,300m and 3,000m offers an attractive blend of luminous mountain sunshine and mild, altitude-diluted temperatures. A particularly appealing trait of the Dolomites is that climbs are open and expansive: roads rarely disappear under a tree canopy for long, so cyclists can perpetually gaze at the towering cliffs and peaks.

Hotels in the area tend to roll out the red carpet for cyclists too, with riders treated as valuable summer guests, not mud-soaked imposters. Our ride started at Hotel La Perla in Corvara, which is nestled in Val Badia at the foot of the horse-shoe-shaped Sella Massif. To put us in the right mood, the hotel features a ‘Pinarello Lounge’ containing bikes including Bradley Wiggins’ yellow 2012 Tour de France-winning Pinarello Dogma and Miguel Indurain’s iconic 1994 Espada time-trial bike. Locals tell me Italian sprinter Mario Cipollini often visits in winter, always immaculately dressed and rarely lacking female company.

Beginning the ascent

As you would expect in a region popular with skiers, hikers and mountaineers (the legendary Everest climber Reinhold Messner is from the area and honed his skills in the Dolomites), there is a bewildering array of climbs to choose from. ‘When you ride your bike around here, the first thing you do is go up,’ says Klaus, one of my ride partners for the day and the owner of the Melodia del Bosco hotel in nearby Badia. ‘When I go from the ski season to the cycling season, it is always a shock.’

We are also joined by Roberto from the local tourism board. ‘I’m not so fit right now,’ he declares when we shake hands in the hotel car park. But as he has the diminutive frame of Nairo Quintana, I know I’ll be the one suffering today. As well as tackling the Passo Giau, which was once described as being ‘like a slap in the face’ by Italian pro Ivan Basso, we will also battle the 2,057m Passo Fedaia, the summit of which is adorned by the sparkling waters of the Lago Fedaia, a location for scenes in the 2003 remake of The Italian Job. ‘We can stop for some pasta there,’ says Roberto, reassuringly. ‘This is an important part of the Italian cycling culture: to ride, to talk, to eat, to enjoy.’

I’m not going to argue with that philosophy, but before we can think about spaghetti we must cross the Passo Gardena and Passo Sella. Fresh and fun but with a surprising kick, the 2,121m Passo Gardena feels like the glass of fizzy Prosecco before the hearty primo and secondo of the Fedaia and Giau later in the day. The climb involves a 9.6km ascent out of Corvara and crosses meadows dotted with clusters of pine trees, piles of fire wood and mountain chalets, before delivering you to the pass 599m above. The tarmac is smooth, the gradients are a gentle 6.2% (aside from the 9-10% ramps after 1.5km and 7km) and the sunshine toasts my arms as we climb ever higher into the famous gnarled peaks of the Dolomites.

The descent to the base of the Passo Sella lasts for 6.2km. The most exciting part is when the meandering hairpins are interrupted by a fast, straight dash beneath the shade of a vertiginous stone wall, dotted with patches of snow, which is appropriately called Parete Fredda (Cold Wall). The wall is so high and steep the road below never sees sunshine, and I can feel my arms tremble as we plunge into the icy air. Like any Englishman drunk on the sight of the sun, I had rather naively ignored Klaus’s suggestion to pull on a gilet, and am soon relieved to dive deeper into the valley where I can feel my limbs defrosting.

The road to the picturesque Passo Sella rises 373m over 5.45km at an average of 6.8%. The leg-shredding parts come in the middle section, where the road hits 9%, but the climb is mellow. As we ascend we drink in sweeping views of the mountain scenery. Today the protruding grey fingers of rocks are glowing white in the fierce sunshine. The saw-tooth peaks of the Sella Massif loom to our left. There is something almost reptilian about the cold, serrated ridges of the Dolomites that seem to lash and scrape against the summer sky, conjuring up images of lizard tails and crocodile teeth. At the summit I take a moment by myself to enjoy the sight of these cloud-piercing pinnacles bursting out of the valleys below.

Determined not to suffer another chilly descent, I unpack my gilet and set off.  We’re not far into the winding 450m drop from the Passo Sella to the valley town of Canazei before Nibali makes his unexpected appearance. It’s a reminder that the Dolomites have been an important part of the fabric of professional cycling in Italy since 1937, when the Giro d’Italia first ventured into the region. The mountains have appeared in the race more than 40 times and their peaks have regularly claimed the Cima Coppi – the title given to the highest point of the Giro course.

Reaching the oasis

Powered by espresso and Coca-Cola following our rest stop in Canazei, we begin the slow, steady eastward assault of the 2,057m Passo Fedaia. In this direction the climb averages 4.4% over 13.9km but we are now riding through the midday sunshine. Rivulets of sweat are bursting out of my helmet and my knees are glowing the colour of the maglia rosa.

We climb through a natural amphitheatre of snow-covered rock faces, occasionally diving through festive pine forests or dipping beneath the cool shade of mountain tunnels. Eventually the azure water of Lago Fedaia appears up ahead like a tropical oasis. The surface is shimmering in the intense sunlight. A few solitary tourists line the edge of the water, fishing, sunbathing, or cooling their feet.

The Passo Fedaia sits at the northern base of the colossal Marmolada, which at 3,343m is the highest mountain in the Dolomites. The white tongue of the Marmaloda glacier unfurls down the side of the mountain. A bridge stretches across the lake and at the end are a cluster of restaurants and cafes. Roberto has promised us a plate of pasta and more so we head inside and tuck into mounds of steaming spaghetti, juicy steak and salted potatoes.

Replenished and ready for more climbs, we clip in and head off for our appointment with the fearsome Passo Giau. For those with a penchant for suffering, it’s better to do this route in reverse, taking on the westward climb of the Fedaia, which averages 7.5% and was once labelled ‘probably the hardest climb in Italy’ by double Giro champion Gilberto Simoni. There is a 3km drag where the gradient hits 18%. ‘It is so painful,’ says Klaus, wincing at the memory. ‘The hardest thing is that the road is straight so it feels like you aren’t going anywhere.’

Of course what makes for a punishing climb also makes for an electrifying descent, and my brakes are almost flaming by the time we reach the ski resort of Malga Ciapela. During the long, straight dash downhill I have to yank on my brakes to stop myself inadvertently overtaking a motorbike at 70kmh.

Klaus pulls over to the side of the road to show me an enchanting natural gorge far below called the Serrai di Sottoguda. The secluded trail out of the gorge and into the mountains is so steep you are only allowed to cycle uphill, but it is a popular leisure route with mountain bikers and hikers. In winter the waterfalls around the trail freeze and ice-climbers hack their way to the top.

Perhaps foolishly, I had convinced myself that the Passo Giau was only a few kilometres away but I’m soon caught out by the sharp rise from the riverside town of Caprile to the mountain commune of Colle Santa Lucia. It looked like a small bump when I had examined the map at breakfast, but is in fact an ascent of over 400m. By now the afternoon sun is brutally hot and my energy levels are dwindling.

The climb itself is strikingly scenic, soaring from the chalets of Caprile on the banks of the boulder-strewn Torrente Cordevole to a stunning white church that clings precariously to the side of the mountain at Colle Santa Lucia. By the time I reach the foot of the imposing Passo Giau near Codalonga I’m already in ruins. I take a well-deserved breather beneath giant, raptor-proof fencing designed to hold back rocks falling from the cliffs above. 

The Giau is a silent, brooding hulk of a mountain that’s guarded by 29 hairpin bends. It has a fearsome reputation in the cycling world. The 10km climb involves 922m of relentless, thigh-stabbing ascent at an average gradient of 9.1%. From the second you start the climb until the divine moment you finally reach the summit there is no respite. On its first appearance at the Giro of 1973 the Italian newspaper La Stampa described it as ‘so high, so muscular and so dark’. When French rider Laurent Fignon tackled it at the Giro of 1992 he lost 30 minutes and was so crippled by the experience he even had to be pushed on the descent. 

Suffering alone

I know I will struggle so I tell Roberto and Klaus to feel free to go off ahead. ‘I’ll only slow you down! Save yourselves!’ I yell. And so I commence 90 minutes of solitary suffering, inching up the road at shamefully slow speeds. After weaving around the lower flanks of the mountain I see the Italian duo disappear into a tunnel up ahead, but by the time I edge around the corner in pursuit they’ve vanished. I’m pedalling so slowly it feels like my chain is coated in a thick layer of glue which is slowly hardening in the late-afternoon sunshine.

The hairpins on the Passo Giau are all numbered (tornante 1, tornante 2…), which feels either inspiring or depressing as your mood fluctuates. I spend the whole climb fantasising about bubbling, salami-topped pizzas, bowls of pasta smothered in rich beef ragu and the fruity aftertaste of a fine Italian wine. When I catch up with Klaus and Roberto (a more accurate account would be that they were waiting for me) they look similarly traumatised.

About 2km from the summit of the Giau, the stark majesty of the climb begins to wash away the pain. The pass lies in a vast mountain pasture at the foot of the even higher 2,647m Nuvolau Alto peak. All around us are sharp columns of rock that jut out of the ground like knives, swords and bayonets. The beauty of the terrain seems to pull you uphill, while gravity does her best to slap you back down. By the time I see the sign for tornante 26 the end of the ordeal is in sight. I arrive at the summit, panting and drenched in sweat.

The top of the pass offers a panoramic view of the entire mountain region. Klaus points out many of the distant peaks on the horizon that we crossed earlier in the day. The Giau was the Cima Coppi of the Giro in 1973 and 2011 and it’s easy to imagine the vast empty space teeming with cycling fans cheering riders over the pass. Today we’re alone but for some ageing motorbike tourers.

Picture perfection

The descent of the Giau is broken up by countless hairpin bends so we decide to maintain a steady pace and recover our energy ready for the final major pass of the day – the Passo Falzarego. Named after the treacherous King of Fanes (Falzarego is formed from the words ‘falsa rego’ or ‘false king’) who was turned to stone for betraying his people, it rises for 12km to a height of 2,105m. After the drunken twists and turns of the Giau, the Falzarego seems to slice straight through the landscape in long, straight surges.

From the Falzarego the climb continues further up past the mirrored surface of a high-mountain lake to the 2,168m Passo Valparola. Here we encounter a large film crew hiding a collection of new cars beneath giant blankets in preparation for filming a TV advert. The footage of the new cars twisting along the mountain roads will no doubt be gracing our screens later in the year.

Arriving back in Corvara after a day of fine cycling, with the iconic peaks of the Dolomites glowing in the evening sunshine, it’s easy to see why the Alta Badia region entices so many visitors. As Reinhold Messner once declared of the Dolomites: ‘They’re not the highest but they are certainly the most beautiful mountains around the world.’ Hollywood film makers, global car corporations and Vincenzo Nibali wouldn’t disagree.

Logic suggests that if you want something to slice through the air quickly, you make it thin and sharp – like Concorde. It was shaped like a dart while other passenger planes were bulbous, and as a result it could cross the Atlantic in under three hours. Much the same thinking went into early generations of deep section aero wheels: thin, deep V-sections tapered to a sharp edge, which gave the impression of slicing through the air with maximum efficiency. It made intuitive sense, but times have changed.

The cutting edge of wheel design now is, well, less cutting and more blunt. Edges have been softened and rims widened to the extent we are now being told that fat, rounded rim profiles are the best wind-cheating shape for all-round performance. So what has happened?

Hed winds

The original proponent of the wider rim shape was Hed Wheels, with its founder, the late Steve Hed, driving much of the thinking in the 1980s. When Hed launched its chubby, wide-profiled aluminium alloy Ardennes wheelset in the mid-2000s, recommending it be paired with 25mm tyres rather than the ubiquitous 23mm, many expressed disbelief that this could be a quicker set-up. At the time, technical details were sketchy. It seemed as though Hed was seeking better tyre stability for more cornering control, along with decreasing the chance of pinch flats on rough terrain, yet the initial research in the 80s had also shown that wider rims could be faster aerodynamically. Then, when the Hed patent was up in 2009, the door was opened for a wave of innovation.

Michael Hall, director of advanced development at wheel manufacturer Zipp, says, ‘For years the industry chased overall drag efficiency [the fastest results in wind-tunnel testing] with little regard to how well those components performed on sub-optimal, real-world days. In the real world, riders have to deal with everything their environment throws at them. For our Firecrest wheels, launched in 2010, we shifted our focus and the resulting products sought to be more stable and predictable in any wind direction than that of our previous generations.’

Kevin Quan, director of engineering at Knight Composites, goes into more detail: ‘The way we design is from the trailing edge, meaning the rear half of the wheel.’ That might sound counterintuitive given it’s the tyre and leading edge of the rim that hits the wind first, but Quan says, ‘Our research shows that when the wind hits a tyre at a yaw angle [any angle other than straight on] it’s going to detach [lose its smooth flow over the rim], so the aerodynamic shape at the front of the rim isn’t doing a lot – it’s almost always stalled.’ In other words, there’s no point in prioritising an aerodynamic shape at the front.

Aero benefits

To understand how a wider rim can improve aerodynamics rather than increase drag, we need to consider the fact that the air we are riding in doesn’t behave in a consistent manner. Even on a calm day, the air is a swirling, complex mess. What aerodynamic science has come to realise is that optimal fluid dynamics – the way air interacts with the shapes and surface textures it comes into contact with – boils down to reducing friction.

When it comes to airflow, there are three broad categories. The first category is ‘laminar’ airflow. This is the most desirable state for low frictional losses and it refers to the air moving in smooth, straight or curving lines. When it encounters a moving object, laminar airflow separates, slides around the object, then resumes its flow on the other side with minimal fuss.

If you compare tyres with different widths but identical specs – same compound, profile and inflation pressure – in terms of rolling resistance wider is faster.

The second state is ‘turbulent’. As the name suggests it refers to muddled air that is far from smooth flowing, although it can have elements of both ‘laminar’ and ‘stalled’ air within it. The reasons for the turbulence can be many: perhaps it’s a windy day, or you’re following another rider closely, or there are cars and lorries passing by. These sub-optimal conditions are sometimes called ‘dirty’ air, and it’s the most common state we ride in.

The third condition is ‘stalled’. This is when the air is no longer flowing, but is eddying in different directions at once. This state causes the greatest amount of friction and as such has the greatest effect on slowing a rider down.

What all this means is that while it’s great to have a wheel and tyre combination that works well in laminar flow, as you get head-on in a wind-tunnel, what is of greater benefit in real-world scenarios are wheels and tyres that work well in turbulent air. The most successful modern designs actually aim to take air that is turbulent and reduce its drag – to clean up the dirty air. This is one of the reasons why thin, sharp wheel rims are being replaced by wider, rounder rims – the new designs are simply faster at cutting through the messy air that riders encounter on most real-world rides. But there is another major reason why rims are getting wider, which is rolling resistance.

Contact sport

The shift to wider rims is partly the result of a simultaneous move towards wider tyres. Where 23mm tyres used to be the norm, more riders and manufacturers are opting instead for 25mm, and occasionally even wider.

‘Continental’s research shows a 25c tyre has 10-15% less rolling resistance than a 23c tyre,’ says Quan. ‘Continental showed that if you have a larger tyre the contact patch, instead of growing longer, becomes shorter but wider, so the actual surface area on the road remains the same at the same pressures.’

This is backed up by tyre manufacturer Schwalbe’s findings. Product manager Marcus Hachmeyer says, ‘If you compare tyres with different widths but identical specs – same compound, profile and inflation pressure – in terms of rolling resistance wider is faster. If you imagine your bike and rider parked on a sheet of glass and that you were looking up from underneath at where the tyre meets the glass, you’d see two distinctly different shapes. On a narrow tyre the shape would be long and thin, an oval. On a wider tyre that contact patch would be shorter and fatter, more of a circle, and in that way fewer of the threads that make up the side wall and help create rolling resistance are used at any given moment, and friction is less.’

That’s all very well, but why not simply fit wider tyres to narrow rims? When the rim is narrow, the tyre forms a ‘lightbulb’ shape when viewed in profile – pinched where it hooks into the rim, and bulbous away from the rim. With a wider internal rim, the tyre forms more of an inverted ‘U’ shape, which helps create a rounder contact patch with the road and subsequently less rolling resistance.

The internal width of road wheel rims – the distance between the two hooked flanges that seat the tyre bead – has until recently been around 14mm. On the first crop of wider rims, that space grew to more like 16mm, and now manufacturers are taking them wider again. Bontrager’s latest Aeolus TLR D3 range, which was launched earlier this year, expanded that width from its previous D3 at 17.5mm to a massive 19.5mm, a substantial increase in percentage terms. A word of warning comes from Michel Lethenet of wheel manufacturer Mavic, though. ‘Both elements [tyre and rim] ideally need to be designed to match perfectly to enhance the system. If not, it makes no sense with the rising inertia, rotating weight and aero drag to just use a wider tyre. Plus there’s the safety aspect to think about if you consider the opposite scenario – a narrow tyre used on an excessively wide rim. This may have a high risk of the tyre not seating correctly and potentially blowing off.’

Safety with something as vital as tyres is paramount, and Quan adds, ‘Currently 17-18mm [internal rim-bed width], seems fine, but any wider, say up to 20mm, and we’re getting into uncharted territory. At the moment we haven’t seen any adverse effects, but it’s not yet really been seen in the mainstream.’ 

Handle’s Messiah

Just to prove wheels are perhaps the most complex of problems for engineers to tackle, there’s another vital consideration in the design brief: handling.

‘It’s a hugely important factor,’ says Simon Smart, technical director of Smart Aero Technology and designer of Enve Composites’ aero wheel system (Enve SES). ‘If we go back seven years, athletes would come to the wind-tunnel and we’d identify the fastest wheelset for them. But we found that often in the real world the wheels were slower. This wasn’t because the wind-tunnel was wrong, it was simply because the riders couldn’t keep a straight line when racing because the wheels lacked stability.’

Part of going fast is being able to maintain control, so if a wheel lacks stability in crosswinds or turbulent air, the result is loss of confidence to go fast and performance inevitably suffers. ‘For me, riding stability was the big thing missing from wheel performance, and I knew that if we could develop a more stable front wheel then even if it proved slightly slower in the wind-tunnel I knew it would be faster in the real world,’ says Smart. ‘That’s why I embarked on the development programme with Enve, with handling as the number one priority.’

All of this points to the fact that the wheel and tyre must work together as a complete package for an optimal solution, not only in aerodynamics but also in stability at speed, predictable handling and lower rolling resistance. In light of this, will we see wheel manufacturers working more closely with tyre manufacturers in the future?

In the case of Bontrager, they are already one and the same. Ray Hanstein, Bontrager’s wheel product manager, says, ‘Our wheel and tyre engineers are considered the same. Wheels and tyres are so entwined that you cannot develop one to its potential without having an intimate understanding of the other. These guys work in the same room, ride together, take lunch together.’ It’s a similar story at Mavic and Zipp, which make their own tyres as well as wheels, so can create precisely paired products. The big question left to answer is: have we reached the pinnacle? Smart says, ‘Designing rims is quite a challenge, but exciting. In the last five years frame designs have changed a fair bit, and it’s things like allowing for wider tyres that has given us the freedom to explore even wider rims. As with most things, there’s a point of diminishing returns, but I don’t think we’ve peaked yet.’

Ultimately, wider tyres and correspondingly wide wheel profiles are the way the industry is heading, and the right choice for riders if you want maximum gains in the kind of conditions we all experience day to day, with predictable handling to boot. The science backs it up, so it might be time to reject the narrow view and go wide.

If you ride a bike you know all about the effects of wind resistance. When riding at speed on the flat, aerodynamic drag contributes up to 90% of the overall resistance to forward motion. That’s because the blunt and irregular shape of a bike and rider is inherently bad at passing smoothly through air, meaning that any improvements in aerodynamics can make a big difference to saving precious energy and increasing speed. As a result, manufacturers spend massive amounts of time and money on aerodynamic testing, claiming for instance that kit that is 10% more efficient, could save you 20 seconds over a given distance or give you an advantage equivalent to five watts. Cyclist wanted to see if these claims could be substantiated in the real world, and not just in a wind-tunnel.

To carry out our own investigation we’ve come to the Hillingdon Cycle Circuit in west London. The plan is for resident bike tester James to complete five sessions of three laps at a metered and consistent effort of 300 watts using a different piece of aerodynamic kit each time. We take the time of each session to determine the aerodynamic effectiveness of each item, and then put them all together to ascertain the cumulative effect. The components we’re swapping out are wheels, bars, helmet and skinsuit – in other words the ones most likely to be changed by an average road rider in search of better aerodynamics. Although there are some variables that mean our testing isn’t wholly scientific, our plan certainly appeals to Reynolds’ director of technology and innovation, Paul Lew.

‘This kind of testing doesn’t happen enough,’ he says. ‘It’s a great way to test aerodynamics – the problem is that it is just too expensive to control the variables in the real world to the same extent that you can control the more limited number of variables in a wind-tunnel. It would be too challenging to achieve the level of reliability that most engineers would be comfortable putting their name too. You guys aren’t engineers though so don’t need to worry, and I see value in this type of testing.’ So with the validation of one of the most respected names in cycling aerodynamics, we get cracking.

Wheels

James’s first three laps are completed on Mavic R-Sys SLR wheels, Giant Contact SL bars, Sportful’s Pro Race jersey and Super Total Comfort bibshorts and a Giro Aeon helmet – all kit with no aerodynamic pretensions. These three laps average 2m 33s, which we use as a control time against which to compare the laps with our aerodynamic adjustments.

The first alteration is to switch to Bontrager Aeolus 5 TLR deep-section wheels. Deep-section wheels have shorter spokes that disturb air flow less than standard wheels, plus the deeper rims also encourage a laminar (smooth) airflow over their surface. Lew explains that at certain yaw angles, good aero rims can use wind like a sail on a boat, creating forward thrust that opposes drag. James’s average time for the three laps is 5s quicker per lap (2m 28s) than the control time – a 3.3% improvement. This doesn’t seem as big as we were expecting, but Lew isn’t surprised. ‘The sail effect of deep rims works best with consistent side winds, for example on an out-and-back TT course. On a short race circuit the corners change the angle of the wind too much for them to have such a dramatic effect.’

Aero bars

The next step is to swap out the traditional bars to flat-top Enve SES aero road bars. The Kamm-tail shape of the tops presents minimal frontal area to the wind, so has the effect of neatly parting the air to reduce the pressure differential that causes pressure drag – a key factor in total aerodynamic drag. 

The average lap time with the Enve bars is 6s down on the control at 2m 27s – a 3.9% saving. This surprises us, as we hadn’t expected the small difference in bar shape to have such an effect on aero drag, but the improvement in speed wasn’t all down to the bars’ aerodynamic cross section. They are narrow along the tops and flare out at the drops, so while the overall width is the same, the tops present a smaller frontal area. Plus the shape of the drops encourages the rider to adopt a narrower, more aerodynamic position. 

Simon Smart, founder of aerodynamics company Drag2zero, helped develop the bars. ‘Changing from a more upright position to a lower position gives the biggest reduction in drag,’ he says. ‘The extra watts saved from good aerodynamics is easily greater than the gains you’d get from the best winter’s training you could do.’ 

Helmet 

As the rider’s head is one of the areas most exposed to airflow, manufacturers now produce aero-road helmets designed to direct airflow efficiently to minimize turbulence while still having a few cooling vents. This has lead to recent claims of impressive aero gains, with Giro claiming its Air Attack is 17 seconds faster over 40km than its Aeon helmet. With Specialized’s Evade on his head, James clocks average laps of 2m 31s – a 2s difference to our control time. When extrapolated, this would lead to a saving of roughly 26s over a 40km ride. 

Lew explains this impressive level of time saving is likely due to James’s relatively high speed. To maintain a 300 watt output he was travelling at around 38kmh, and the benefits of improved aerodynamics increase exponentially with speed. ‘If you were to plot a graph with drag on the vertical axis and velocity on the horizontal axis, you wouldn’t see a straight line – you would see an exponential curve upwards,’ says Lew. ‘Drag starts to increase significantly over 30kmh, so above that velocity aerodynamic gains really show.’

Skinsuit

Our last piece of aero kit is a Santini Speed Shell skinsuit. Lew and Smart agree that because the body is the biggest singular mass it contributes the largest proportion of the drag. A skinsuit removes the surface ripples caused by seams and garment overlaps, so we are expecting quite a large effect on aerodynamics. Yet we find only a 0.8% time saving, with James setting average laps of 2m 32s. While still a decent saving when extrapolated to a longer distance, it is less beneficial than the other items in this test. This could be attributable to the fact that James’s standard jersey and bibshorts had a fairly racy cut with minimal excess fabric. 

Other benefits of skinsuits, such as the compression they exert on muscles, have been shown to reduce fatigue but only after longer distances than we were riding here. A final point worth mentioning is that in contrast to the other components that can be reshaped to minimise drag, a skinsuit can only work to reduce what’s known as ‘direct friction’ and does not alter the shape of a rider’s body. Direct friction is a secondary component of aerodynamic drag and is much less significant than frontal area and profile. 

The full aero 

James completes his final three laps kitted out with all of the aero gear. Together they allow him to cleave 10s off his control lap average at the same power output, lapping at an average of 2m 23s. This total saving of 6.5% would be worth a significant 2m 27s over 40km. Predictably this result is slightly less than the sum of the individual gains due to the exponential increase of drag with speed, plus the complex way in which multiple aerodynamic elements interact. The whole rider and bike works as a system and it’s not simply a case of adding one element to the next and expecting them all to behave as if in isolation. Many experts in the field say component integration is where the big future gains lie.

Even though our test wasn’t as stringently controlled as a laboratory experiment, it revealed consistent trends supporting the efficacy of aerodynamic kit in a real-world setting, and showed that the recent obsession with aerodynamic gains is well founded. Smart agrees: ‘Once you’ve trained your body to a good level it’s hard to find that much more, but aero kit is a viable way to get faster.’ Although Smart and Lew warn that the lack of repeatability with our test should make us cautious about coming to concrete conclusions about the comparative merits of the various pieces of aero equipment, both agree that the kit would be beneficial. 

‘Whether your test controlled enough variables or had a large enough data set to make a buying decision based on the results is a decision for your readers, but I predict that the overall trends displayed would change little if the data set was increased.’ A wind-tunnel you say? Who needs one of those?

The Etape du Tour, the annual amateur event that follows one of the key mountain stages of the Tour de France, lends us mortals a rare opportunity to make direct comparisons between the pros and ourselves. This year’s Etape route was the 138km alpine stage 19, from Saint-Jean-de-Maurienne to La Toussuire-Les Sybelles, which included an ascent of the fearsome Croix de Fer.

The first rider across the line in the amateur sportive was France’s Jeremy Bescond in 4h52m44s. Five days later Vincenzo Nibali took the spoils as the Tour passed through, covering the stage in 4h22m53s at an average speed of 31.5kmh – that’s 11% quicker. Of course Nibali had the assistance of his team and other riders around him (although on this occasion no obvious use of the team car’s wing mirror), but on the flipside, Bescond was himself a pro rider until recently, as were a good chunk of the top 10 finishers in the Etape.

However, fifth overall in the Etape was France’s William Turnes in the 40-44 age category, and he’s likely to be the first real amateur to cross the line, finishing in 5h02m56s, 15% slower than Nibali. The last place finisher on Stage 19 of the Tour was Katusha’s Jacopo Guarnieri, in 4h53m23s, 12% slower than Nibali and perilously close to being excluded by the stage time cut-off. To put this into context, Guarnieri is a sprinter who was doubtless conserving energy for the final yards in Paris, and who already had over 3,000km of racing in his legs. Yet he still managed to complete the course nearly 10 minutes ahead of the best-placed amateur rider who was no doubt giving everything he had for a single day.

A decent club level, amateur cyclist, equates to 60% of Dumoulin’s output over a similar duration.

The last male finisher at the Etape took 12h46m07s, nearly three times longer than Nibali, but perhaps a more representative measure of the average rider would be to take the half way point (the median) of the finishers. That was the rider in 4,986th position, David Hall, who finished in 8h49m07s – 101% slower than Nibali. By this account, we might say that pros are, on average, twice as good as the rest of us. But there are other ways of measuring ability… 

Superhuman physiology

Completion times give a good indication of relative performance, but what about comparing our physiology with the pros? VO2 max is a measure of the maximum amount of oxygen you can use each minute. Theoretically, the more oxygen you can use, the more energy you can generate to fuel muscles. It’s measured in millilitres per kilogram of bodyweight per minute (ml/kg/min).

‘Your average sedentary office worker comes in with a VO2 max at the 30-40ml/kg/min mark,’ says Matthew Furber, senior sports scientist at the GSK Human Performance Lab in London. ‘Once you reach around 60, we’re talking category 3 riders, maybe category 2. Cat 1 riders are usually over 70 and beyond.’ So what about the pros?

Greg LeMond registered 92.5ml/kg/min, going some way to explaining how the American legend racked up three Tour de France titles. Even more impressive is Norwegian cyclist Oskar Svendsen, who registered the highest-ever VO2 max across any sport in 2012 at 97.5ml/kg/min. Some other famed names and their VO2 maxes: Lance Armstrong 84, Miguel Indurain 88, Thor Hushovd 86. If we consider our cat 3 rider with a VO2 max of 60 as ‘Mr Average’, the top pros (at around 80) have an advantage of 33% in oxygen processing terms. But having a high VO2 max value alone is not enough to be a star rider. WattBike creator and sports scientist Eddie Fletcher says, ‘What’s more important is how long you can sustain a high percentage of your VO2 max.’ Which brings us on to threshold.

A rider’s lactate threshold is the maximum steady-state riding intensity they can maintain without a significant build up of lactate. In other words, it’s the tipping point beyond which your body will rapidly fatigue to exhaustion. Professor Inigo San Millan compared the blood lactate figures of riders ranging from junior cyclists to amateurs to world-class. The data revealed that at a power output equal to 3 watts per kilo (W/kg), amateurs produced 37.5% more lactate, but nudge the power up a bit to 3.5W/kg and suddenly the figure jumped to 62.5% more. At 5.5W/kg (that’s kicking out 412W for a 75kg rider) the grimacing amateurs were producing 77% more lactate than the pros.

Power, power, power

Measuring physiological prowess in the lab is one thing, but when it comes to making comparisons out on the road, it’s all about power output. Even more so since the media storm surrounding Chris Froome’s second Tour victory, which saw Team Sky release his power files to provide greater transparency about his performances. Froome’s data reveals an average power output of 414W for 41m28s, equating to 5.78W/kg, with Froome weighing 67kg. Team Sky’s head of athlete performance, Tim Kerrison, also revealed that Froome regularly exceeds a 30-minute power output of 419W (6.25W/kg) and for 60 minutes he would expect to ride at or above 366W (5.46W/kg).

Also in the spotlight recently were statistics from Tom Dumoulin’s impressive Vuelta a Espana performances. Dutch Newspaper AD published an article revealing power statistics for key stages of this year’s race. Stage 6 showed Dumoulin rode an average of 508.2W over a climb lasting 5m55s, equating to 7.0W/kg.

Let’s give all these figures some context. Box Hill in Surrey is the most popular Strava segment on the planet, and to place in the top 10% of Strava times you will need a time ahead of Roki Read (who sits around 4,800th place). A decent club level, amateur cyclist, Read’s time of 7m09s at an average 310W equates to 4.19W/kg – that’s 60% of Dumoulin’s output over a similar duration.

If you fancy yourself as more of a sprinter than a climber, then German powerhouse André Greipel has been recorded to peak at more than 1,900W during a sprint and can hold an average in excess of 1,000W for 30 seconds. The more aerodynamic Mark Cavendish has been said to hit around 1,600W in the charge to the line. It sounds like a lot, and it is. Cyclist’s resident crit racer Peter Stuart (a former GB rower) hits a peak of 1,050W in the sprint (55% of Greipel) and can hold 600W for 30 seconds (60%).

So how much better are the pros? It depends on which metrics you use, but a competitive amateur is doing very well if they can get within 60% of the world’s best. That last 40% may involve a considerable amount of marginal gains.

I’m sitting on a train, heading from London to Colwyn Bay in North Wales, looking at pictures of an incredible selection of cars on a mobile phone: a couple of tuned-up Jaguars, a green McLaren, a Mercedes, a new Land Rover. The mobile is not mine, and the cars never will be. They all belong to the man who, by chance, is sat down next to me: Mark Cavendish.

And so, my journey round the country following the brilliant circus that is the Tour of Britain begins by shooting the breeze for three hours with one of the greatest Britons to ever pedal a push-bike. We talk openly about lots of things that I won’t share here, but I also get plenty of vital help with my homework on the other riders he’ll be racing with, ahead of the two-hour team presentation I’m on my way to host.

With names we all know like Sir Bradley Wiggins, André Greipel, Edvald Boasson Hagen, Alex Dowsett and Peter Kennaugh joining Cav on stage, as well as plenty of the domestic stars of bike racing I know and admire, I quickly realise I haven’t actually signed up to work – it is instead a completely different way of life for the next eight days. Rightly, people refer to being ‘in the bubble’ as the whole caravan works its way around the country. For a genuine fan like me, who just happens to be lucky enough to work as a journalist and presenter on television, it is intoxicating from the off.

With a huge team involved in putting together the live coverage for the whole world (over 100 countries show the race) and also highlights for ITV, we quickly fall into a daily rhythm. In my team Skoda, I have ex-pro and Olympian Rob Hayles as well as our producer Paddy. We meet for breakfast, then head to the start of that day’s stage, where we’ll hook up with the rest of the crew and try to grab interviews with the riders round the team buses. I also meet up with former national champion Kristian House to record his thoughts for the highlights show.

Once done, Kristian goes off to race on the bike and we’re racing in the car – legally, of course – to get to the finish line. Depending on the length of the stage, and with a lot of roads closed, time is of the essence. With all the broadcast trucks already set up at the finish, Rob and I go on-air at 1pm to introduce the live coverage, before the legendary voice of Hugh Porter takes over commentary to the finish line, along with Brian Smith as a pundit.

Minor details form enduring memories. There’s the Lancashire town of Colne, awash with as much yellow as you’d ever see at any Tour de France finish

Once I’ve finished chewing over the day’s racing with Rob, we’re off-air. I pick up on camera with Kristian ‘The Dude’ to get his insights from inside the peloton – Wiggo and Cav constantly taking the mickey out of each other, riders asking others what their bikes are like as they could be racing on them in a new team next season, the detailed story of crashes that our cameras can’t pick up, the hierarchy in a breakaway where experience can count for more than brute strength.

Once recorded, I write and record a quick summary of the day’s race for the following day’s show, and then we’re on the road again, maybe for two or three hours, before we get to a hotel near the following day’s start. Then it happens all over again.

Minor details form enduring memories. There’s the Lancashire town of Colne, awash with as much yellow as you’d ever see at any Tour de France finish; the wind turbine in the Northumberland town of Blyth that turns out to be the first one Colombian sprinter Fernando Gaviria has seen; and the puzzled look on Tyler Farrar’s face as a large cheese – a stilton – is awarded to him for being the most combative rider on stage three.

Future stars begin to emerge. Welshman Owain Doull ends up on the podium for Team Wiggins, delighted to get a regular lead-out from his decorated boss. Team GB riders Tao Geoghegan Hart and Alex Peters mix it with the best of them. Gaviria out-sprints Greipel the Gorilla to properly mark his arrival on European roads.

The only potential downside of the whole shebang was not being able to ride my own bike for a week. I say potential because on the magnificent final circuit in London, I actually managed to whizz round with three motorbike outriders.

With famous addresses like Whitehall, The Strand and Piccadilly Circus closed to traffic but already lined with thousands of people, I just had to go full-gas. As I pushed myself to go faster, I couldn’t help but grin. Yes, I was exhausted from the long week on the road, but it wasn’t really work. It was just one of the best fun and most satisfying things I’ve experienced.

You can follow Matt Barbet on Twitter @MattBarbet

In Stage 2 of this year’s Tour de France, Mark Cavendish finished a frustrating fourth in the sprint for the win. Insult was added to injury immediately afterwards when his bike was inspected to check whether he had a motor fitted. Many people thought it ridiculous and demeaning that such an investigation was required, but the potential for cheating with hidden motors is real. They do indeed exist, and we’ve got one.

There are various ways in which motors can be integrated into a bicycle. They can be placed in either the wheel hub or at the bottom bracket. Hub motors, though, are complex and bulky items – certainly not fitting within a svelte carbon hub. So, if one of the goals is concealment, that leaves us with a cylindrical motor inserted into the seat tube, and this technology has been around for some time.

The Vivax-Assist is the descendant of the Gruber-Assist motor, an ingenious device launched in 2008 that turns a bevel gear fastened to the crank axle and gives a power boost of around 100 watts. The new Vivax-Assist is quieter, with a more compact and well-hidden battery. Whereas the main battery used to sit in a large seatbag, it is now located in the bottle, although the motor also has an internal battery that can power a bike for 60 minutes. The power switch, previously secreted under the saddle, is now housed at the bar-end.

Some might think it odd that the UCI should be seriously concerned about this technology being used in the pro peloton, but in recent months the authorities have been taking it extremely seriously.

Motor doping

In the infamous CIRC report into doping in cycling published in March, a section on page 85 was dedicated to ‘technical cheating’. Part of that page read, ‘The Commission was told of varying efforts to cheat the technical rules, including using motors in frames. This particular issue was taken seriously, especially by top riders, and was not dismissed as being isolated.’

Consequently, the UCI has raised the fine for contravention of Article 1.3.010 (forbidding electrical assistance) to a new maximum fine of 1 million Swiss francs (£674,000) and began implementing regular checks on bikes in the pro peloton. Why all the suspicion, though?

But there are plenty of riders in the pro ranks who, if they used this motor, would boost their wattage enough to leave Froome in the dust.

One of the most famous rumours of motorised assistance surrounded Fabian Cancellara in 2010. Italian journalist Michele Bufalino posted a video alleging Cancellara’s hand movements and rapid accelerations were indicative of someone using a motor. Another Italian, ex-pro Davide Cassani, examined the Gruber-Assist system to demonstrate how it could be used by the pro peloton. Commissaires inspected Cancellara’s bike and no sign of a motor was found, nor was the specification of his bike suitable for the motors available. Cancellara replied to the accusations by stating they were ‘so stupid I am speechless’.

Yet the concern has been raised at the highest level of the sport. ‘The UCI takes extremely seriously the issue of technological fraud such as concealed electric motors in bikes,’ the UCI said in a statement. ‘We have been carrying out controls for many years and although those have never found any evidence of such fraud, we know we must be vigilant.’ The UCI wouldn’t comment on whether it had reason to believe motors were being used in races, with UCI head of communications Sébastien Gillot stating simply, ‘It is our utmost responsibility to be vigilant, knowing that the technology exists.’

Whether the threat is real or unrealistic in the pro ranks, the technology is now available to all racers, amateurs and elite riders alike, meaning there’s the possibility that criteriums and TT races could already be infiltrated with stealthy users of electric motors.

‘There’s no way of me knowing. It could have already happened,’ says Steve Punchard, UK distributor of Vivax-Assist, when asked if the UK race scene is vulnerable to such cheating. He claims almost all of his customers have bought the unit with pure intentions – to keep up with club mates or spouses. ‘Most of my customers are coming up to retiring age,’ he says. ‘This system is really for the cyclist that wants to keep up with the people they’re cycling with now.’ The manufacturer, Vivax Drive, confirms that riders aged over 60 are the main customers for its motors.

Punchard describes one customer who raised his suspicion, though. ‘They bought a Vivax-Assist from me with the battery, but they didn’t even ask me for fitting instructions, so they must have known what they were doing.’

With so much speculation and suspicion surrounding these motors – much of it based on very few facts – we decided to try one out.

Pressing the button

Vivax sent Cyclist a Vivax Passione CF for test – a bike frame that has been custom built to fit the motor, although the unit can be retrofitted into many frames. The first impression was that the bike was a little heavy at 9.9kg, but no more than one might expect from an entry-level frame. Otherwise, the frame is completely normal in appearance and feel.

The Vivax CF is made of carbon but has a reinforced seat tube to accommodate the torsional force of the motor. ‘I don’t recommend fitting it to a random carbon frame as the seat tube has to be reinforced with Kevlar,’ Punchard says. ‘I’d guess that an average carbon frame isn’t strong enough as standard, but Vivax has fitted it to carbon frames and has had success.’

Punchard speculates that any pros using one of these motors in competition would need to have their bikes redesigned to accommodate the force of the motor, as well as account for the fact that it requires at least a 31.6mm seat tube.

With the Passione CF, the motor battery and control unit is concealed in the bottle. To activate the motor, the cranks need to be moving. Once up to a reasonable cadence, the rider presses the bar-end switch and the motor kicks in. It does create a whirring noise, which is noticeable when riding solo but is unlikely to be detected in the buzz of a large pack.

With 110 watts of additional power, the speed boost on the road is tangible. Some swift calculations indicate, however, that even with the extra 110 watts, Cyclist’s power output would still be too low to compete with the likes of Chris Froome, who pumps out 6.2 watts per kilo compared to our motor-assisted 5.8. But there are plenty of riders in the pro ranks who, if they used this motor, would boost their wattage enough to leave Froome in the dust. So perhaps it’s understandable that the UCI is worried, bearing in mind that the weight of the motor could probably still be accommodated within the UCI minimum weight of 6.8kg.

The potential for cheating with a motor is real but, having tested the system, we at Cyclist are not convinced that it is yet a problem in professional cycling. The Vivax-Assist is very good at what it was intended to do – offering assistance in maintaining a certain cadence and speed – but it is not a high-powered motor that will propel you to a consistent 50kmh.

Taking the unit around one of our local 6km loops on a windy day, we found ourseves a little faster than expected, but still around 30 seconds off our best time. Experience suggests that on a stiffer and lighter build we could have ridden every bit as fast without the motor. While there is an advantage, it probably wouldn’t account for the moped-like accelerations of Cancellara if he were not already producing near-moped-like power. Also, the workings of the motor are more complex than one might assume.

Rather than simply adding extra power, the motor works to maintain a pre-determined cadence. If the system has been programmed for 90rpm, it will work to keep the pedals at that cadence regardless of the power the rider puts in, meaning that in a low gear it will quickly stop assisting you once 90rpm is exceeded.

In too high a gear, though, the motor can become overstrained and produce less power. The trick is to move into a high enough gear for the motor to be working at its maximum capacity in conjunction with the rider’s own input. The cadence the motor targets can be set by holding the on/off switch for five seconds while holding a desired cadence. For the purposes of racing, this system would require regular adjustments to set the cadence to a useful level.

Then there’s the bulk of the system. A battery concealed in a bottle would not go unnoticed in the pro peloton, although a smaller, more covert system could be developed. ‘I think getting the motor smaller and lighter would be possible,’ Punchard says. ‘The system comes in three parts: the crank, the freewheel and the motor. So a smaller unit with only 80 watts could be used and that would still make a difference in a race. Then instead of having a 6mA battery you could have just enough battery power for 10 minutes or so.’

The boost is out there

Intriguingly, Vivax claims that the UCI has not contacted the company as part of its investigation into the practice of ‘motor doping’, but the technology is already in common recreational use with approximately 1,000 units apparently being sold each year, and some could easily have been modified.

Systems like the Vivax-Assist will no doubt become more prevalent and, with the automotive industry honing the sophistication and power of lithium batteries and electronic motors, the technology behind it is likely to take significant leaps forward in the coming years. With that in mind the UCI is right to be vigilant. It’s only a matter of time before the technology to effectively and discreetly cheat is with us.

They say the Devil himself built these roads. Legend directly links him to at least one stretch of today’s ride, the Devil’s Bridge, but his fingerprints seem to be all over the rest of today’s steep and undulating profile. We’re riding in the Cambrian Mountains, south of Snowdonia and north of the Brecon Beacons, and often nicknamed the ‘Green Desert of Wales’. Because of this, I had mistakenly thought it was going to be a flat plain of serene countryside.

So when I’m told by Ieuan, our guide for the day, that it’s a 10-mile climb out of Machynlleth, I genuinely think he’s joking. He knows the area intimately and is unlikely to be wrong, but I hadn’t heard of any UK climbs outside the highlands of Scotland that could claim this duration of incline. But here we are, 30 minutes into a 10-mile climb out of town. It also seems to have all the trimmings of a fully fledged Alpine mountain road, except that in place of a consistent 5% incline we’re being given back-to-back hits of 15% gradients, interspersed with false flats and fleetingly short descents. Therese, a keen time-triallist who is riding with me today, is already a little thorny as a result of my promises of a flat countryside cruise.

Machynlleth has vanished into the valley behind us and, as we emerge from the more forested slopes of the climb into open grassy hilltops, the steep 17% incline that will deliver us to the summit is just ahead. The road winds to the right around the hilltop and we’re hopeful that it conceals no further unseen ramps.

When we crest the final ascent, the view of the road ahead is mesmerising. It’s a perfectly surfaced and open descent that snakes just enough to keep things interesting. Yet we don’t seem to be losing all the altitude we’ve just gained so I’m confident that our gravity-defying efforts will be repaid in full later on.

Were not far from Dylife Gorge – considered by many to be the best viewpoint in all of Wales, if not the UK. Sure enough when passing along its banks we can’t help but stop to appreciate the scene. Welsh poet WH Davies once wrote, ‘A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.’ He could well have been at this very spot with his notepad and pencil. The gorge forms a perfectly symmetrical V-shaped valley winding down hundreds of metres in front of us, with hilly banks covered in heather making a contrast with the grassy plains below. It’s as British as a good view can be and we munch on a couple of flapjacks as we take in the panorama.

The undulating path

The approach to Llanidloes offers some striking scenery and thrilling descents. On any other day I would stop to snap pictures, but after what we’ve already seen and what Ieuan promises is ahead, it feels surplus to requirements. The descents are worth savouring, though. As we fly down to a bridge over Llyn Clywedog I see my speed hit 80kmh, but it’s quickly wiped off by the ramp that lurks on the other side, which rises straight up to 20% and makes my legs creak. Mercifully it’s only 700m long.

The rest of the journey to Llanidloes is easier going, with a long and fast descent into town, taking us to 170m above sea level, which will be the lowest elevation we’ll see for the rest of the day. It’s one of the few towns on our route so we take the opportunity to have a look around, with the highlight being the Market Hall that dates back to 1600 and looks more like a thatched cottage than a place of commerce.

It’s a pretty town but we don’t treat ourselves to a coffee, fully aware that we’re only 30km into today’s 142km ride. Predictably, the only way out of town is up. It’s a rolling ascent, but delivers a 2km stint at 7%, spiking up to 20% at its hardest points. Already the character of today’s ride is becoming clear.

We find some relief on the descent towards the tiny town Tylwych, where high hedgerows make for a nervy but exhilarating blast. A sharp left takes us over a bridge and into another 15% ramp, and this begins to feel like a theme park ride. As we climb out of the trees and hedgerows, the valley around us comes into view, with a steep mossy hillside facing us across the river. 

Panache and Elan

It’s now that we enter the Green Desert. It would be stunning if it was part almost any other landscape, but in such exalted company these beautiful rolling fields and pastures are a little underwhelming. Not that there’s much chance to stop and stare, because there seems to be no end to the 15% ramps and descents. But there is a carrot dangling just ahead.

The Elan Valley is home to a collection of vast reservoirs framed by some striking landscapes. In contrast to the rolling Cambrian hills we’ve just passed through it feels as though we’ve entered another continent. Surrounded by sharp cliffs and dramatic valleys, we decide this is a good place to pull up for lunch.

Elan village has a rich history. In the Historia Brittonum, written in the ninth century, it was mentioned as one of the ‘Marvels of Britain’, and is closely tied to the legends of King Arthur. In more recent history, the dramatic curves of its valleys were seen to offer ample opportunity for water storage, and in the 1890s they provided a water source for the heavily expanding industrial city of Birmingham. To this day the water still flows there along aqueducts.

For us the reservoirs offer a different kind of elemental relief in the shape of some pan-flat riding on the roads that border them. But our temporary reverie is brought to an abrupt end by a frame-bending 20% hairpin on the other side of Craig Goch Reservoir. Thankfully, with the road visible ahead of us, we can see that it’s a only a short stretch of climbing so we attack it in defiance of our full stomachs.

We’re rewarded soon afterwards by some of the easiest terrain of the day. We roll up and down alongside the River Elan through a lush valley. Constant undulations mean it’s not a fast road, but it has none of the savagery of the day’s previous gradients. We know, however, that the Devil’s Bridge is not far over the horizon.

Take it to the bridge

The renowned Victorian travelogue writer George Borrow is famous for his descriptions of Wales. ‘Though not very extensive, it is one of the most picturesque countries in the world, a country in which Nature displays herself in her wildest, boldest, and occasionally loveliest forms,’ he eulogised in Wild Wales.

Until today I would have dismissed that as exaggerated nationalist zeal, but riding out of Elan Valley I’m completely seduced by Wales’s unique charm. A low, golden light seeps over the rolling hills and the scenery has evolved from a grassy moonscape into a varied and intricate mix of conifers, deciduous trees and hills covered with purple heather.

We’re finally enjoying the rewards of our hard climbing, as some of the altitude we laboriously invested in this morning is being returned on a slow repayment plan of descent. The road cuts along the hillside with a mountain river flowing down to our left. The tarmac is immaculate and the rolling gradients and tight corners make the riding technical yet enjoyable. But the pleasure is tempered by the knowledge that the road will soon present a new test for the legs.

The descent flattens out and quickly turns upwards once again. A glance at my Garmin triggers a double take because I’m staggered that we’ve already clocked 2,000m of climbing in only 90km of riding. As we crest one lump after another, I keep assuring Therese that the next summit is bound to be the last, but I have a feeling her patience is running thin.

As we finally reach the highest point of our latest series of climbs the outline of the Cambrian Mountains ahead suggest we still have some work to do before the day is out. But for now we’re on the steep descent to the famous Devil’s Bridge, where three bridges have been built over one another, and all three remain in place. Legend has it that the first bridge was built by the Devil himself in the 11th century. The story goes that an old woman had spotted her only cow on the other side of a valley. The Devil appeared and offered to build a bridge to unite her and her cow, on the condition that he would take the soul of the first creature to cross his new bridge. But rather than give up her own or her cow’s soul, the crafty grandma hatched a plan, as described in folklore thus:

‘The crust over she threw, the dog after it flew, Says she, “The dog’s yours, crafty sir!”

Animal rights advocates may debate the ethics of her choice to sacrifice the soul of her dog, and philosophers may well question whether a dog has a soul, but it’s a nice tale nonetheless. As we descend at speed towards the bridge, it appears that the ‘crafty sir’ has played a trick on us too, as the smooth single-track road winds extremely quickly to a sharp right and a junction with the two-lane road that crosses the bridge. After the high drama of some screeching brakes and an elevated heart rate, I safely manage to bring my bike to a dead stop.

Crossing the bridge, we take in the view of the striking waterfall that cascades down into the river Mynach beneath. It looks more like the sort of natural feature you might expect to see in deepest Borneo, and it’s an ideal spot to momentarily rest our fatigued legs. Predictably, our relief is fleeting, and as we set off straight back into a 12% incline it feels as though I have the devil on my back.

From here we tackle a series of undulations that average out to a 3% incline up to the Nant-Y-Moch reservoir, with sapping peaks of up to 15% gradient. When we reach the reservoir all the effort seems worthwhile. In a trip with so much scenery, yet again we’re presented with a breathtaking panorama. Nant-Y-Moch has all the beauty of the Elan Valley, but with a rugged Welsh character reminiscent of a Scandinavian coastline. We ride beneath pine trees that cover the side of the mountain, while the other side of the reservoir is barren and bare. I comment to Therese that it’s the sort of landscape painting I’d quite like in my living room.

While the scenery is exceeding all expectations, the ride has become gruelling, but Ieuan promises that a fast descent to the coast awaits us just around the next ridge. Once we crest the final lump of Nant-Y-Moch, the Irish Sea slips into view, although we wouldn’t necessarily know, as a low sun has turned it into a pool of golden light. I feel compelled to stop and take a few phone snaps, even though I know our photographer is just behind with an arsenal of cameras. There are few other occasions, anywhere on Earth, when I’ve seen hills, sea and sky come together quite so perfectly, and I’m filled with a feeling of patriotism for our craggy British Isles that, until now, I had thought myself immune to.

Rarely have I ridden such undulating and challenging terrain in the UK. It even challenges the savage gradients of the Lake District or Yorkshire Dales – today’s profile looks like the jagged ramparts of a castle wall. Yet descending towards the coast, the sunset is reflecting off the sea, and I’m squinting to make out the contours of the road. I’m completely exhausted by the savage terrain, but also a little sad that this amazing day is drawing to a close.

Dear Frank

I didn’t feel like riding my bike this weekend. Is there something wrong with me?

Steve, by email

Dear Steve

Yes. But I’m going to need a lot more context to tell you precisely what’s wrong with you. You might not be Dutch, so that’s a start. You could try being more Dutch. Also, are you getting enough vitamin D? If you live in a rainy place like England or Seattle, where I live, you might need to take supplements or travel to Hawaii to get your mind right. 

I would concede that as much as I love Cycling, I find myself not wanting to ride a bike quite frequently. Our lives are busy, and the pull from familial and social life weighs constantly on our priorities to keep from riding. Cycling is hard, after all, and not riding is easy.

Whether I’m riding before or after work, the daily pressure of my profession weighs heavily. Riding early means putting off checking emails and returning calls while I slip into the early morning light. These rides come at the price of dredging myself from a warm bed in the early morning hours, when the sun is but creeping above the treetops to bathe the streets in a chilly pale light. 

Riding in the afternoon means kitting up after arriving home, postponing the precious little time I have to spend with my family. Work, as well as the trials of daily life, draws its pound of flesh from us, distorting the energy we require to ride. I find the daily trials will have an unpredictable effect on my riding – sometimes a hard day at the office will have me raring for a good fight on the bike, yearning to kick my own head in and burn off unheeded aggression. Other days, I resent the notion of suffering on the bike and look on it as a means for a relaxing spin. 

I am a better man when I ride my bicycle. I understand the balance of life more fully and leave many of the troubles and stresses of my life behind me when I come home from a ride. It’s often hard to remember these things in those moments when it feels so much easier to stay home curled up in bed or enjoying the comforts of my family. But normally as soon as I am out there with the wind in my face and feel the rhythm of the pedals, I am glad that I’m out and wonder at how I resisted this beautiful experience.

But not always. Sometimes the rhythm doesn’t seduce me, or the heaviness in my legs doesn’t go away. Sometimes this feeling persists for a day or two, sometimes longer. 

This can be for a number of reasons, from overtraining to burnout to simply being in a rut. Overtraining is the only one among those that is of concern. Training is designed to break the muscles down and, by giving them rest, rebuild them to get stronger over time. Overtraining means you’re not giving the muscles the rest needed to recover and grow so they actually get weaker over time. Training isn’t about riding every day until your eyeballs pop out – it’s about structure and discipline, and sometimes sticking to your training plan and taking it easy, even when the guns feel ready to fire.

But burning out or being in a rut is much less serious and quite easy to remedy. I could point you to Rule #5 again, just to remind you to stop faffing about and go ride your bike already. Or, you could try a new route, ride with some different mates, or take to the dirt for a bit – I often find that riding off-road, far from civilisation, rekindles my spirit in ways that riding on the road rarely does. 

I’m not getting paid to ride my bike, and I’m assuming you aren’t either. Which means that Cycling is something we do for its inherent enjoyment, if also for the betterment of ourselves as people. But it comes at a price: we must always sacrifice something to enjoy that small bit of enlightenment that comes as part of being a Cyclist, we must always pull ourselves from the comforts of our home and family and submit to the bicycle and its binary world of beauty and suffering. 

Frank Strack is the creator, and curator, of The Rules. For futher illumination see velominati.com and find a copy of his book The Rules in all good bookshops. You can email your questions for Frank to cyclist@dennis.co.uk

A series of global catastrophes ranging from the Ice Age to World War One conspired to shape and sculpt the landscape of the Scottish Highlands. All those slowly moving glaciers carved the distinctive topography of the Cairngorm mountains, while the call to arms was answered by hundreds of men from the Cabrach, where their abandoned, crumbling farmhouses still stand today like neglected tombstones. One historian called this expanse of bleak, rolling moorland ‘the biggest war memorial in Europe’.

But Wilma, the landlady of the Grouse Inn, is having none of this. While she doesn’t dispute the geological origins of northern Scotland’s glens and Munros, she’s unequivocal about who’s to blame for the derelict settlements that haunt this remote part of Aberdeenshire.

‘It’s all your fault,’ she says after I’ve popped in to view the pub’s famous collection of more than 700 bottles of whisky. She’s referring to my aristocratic English ancestors who owned vast swathes of land up here and evicted hundreds of tenant crofters during the 18th and 19th centuries in what became known as the Highland Clearances. But even with my limited grasp of ‘historical atrocities committed by the English’, I know this isn’t true. As local historian Norman Harper told a BBC Scotland TV documentary: ‘The Cabrach is Scotland’s testament to the waste of young life in wartime. The great numbers of tumbledown crofts and steadings you see happened not because of land policy or the Depression or a series of bad farming years. They happened because virtually all the fighting-age men and boys went off to war in 1914. Many did not return.’

I think better of correcting Wilma. Her pub is literally in the middle of nowhere, there’s some burly agricultural types sitting in a corner, and the sudden, unexplained disappearance of an English cyclist in these parts would probably be considered no more newsworthy than rain. 

So, in a bid to diffuse the situation, I change the subject to something less emotive, like why I’ve clip-clopped into her pub wearing Lycra and a helmet. Big mistake. Her antipathy towards cyclists appears more ingrained than her historical revisionism. Referring to a local sportive that uses the road outside, she says, ‘All those cyclists affect my business. How are my locals supposed to get here?’ 

Little does she know that my riding companions today are the organisers of the event – the King of the Mountains Sportive – but they have opted to wait outside, having previously experienced Wilma’s obstinacy (she wouldn’t let them use her car park as a feed station). As if walking across a slippery pub floor in cleats isn’t difficult enough, I now feel as if I’m treading on eggshells too. 

I’m just about to ask Wilma about the ‘locals’ she refers to when a minibus of American tourists arrives – the most expensive whisky
is £13 a nip – so I make my excuses and leave. 

Outside, Jon Entwistle and Richard Lawes aren’t at all surprised by my experience.  

‘When we were planning the route of our event, we offered to make it profitable for her by either making a donation or steering riders into the pub for alternative refreshments, but she really wasn’t interested,’ says Jon. ‘I don’t think she’s in any danger of appearing on Dragon’s Den or The Apprentice any time soon.’

Back to the start

When I begin the ride with Jon and Richard, I’m surprised they’re not wearing capes and masks. The pair are self-styled cycling crusaders, but instead of wearing helmet cams and waving burning crucifixes at anyone driving a car, they prefer a more subtle campaign of education rather than confrontation. As we leave the pretty village of Ballater on the banks of the Dee and follow the undulating, leafy road in the direction of Balmoral, Jon explains their mission: to make this part of Scotland like a ‘mini-Holland’.

‘Most people own a TV which they regularly use,’ he explains. ‘Most people own a car, which they regularly drive. And most people have a bike in their house but they don’t tend to use it. We want to see children cycling to school, families cycling to the shops and parents cycling to work.’

Though schools, shops and places of work will be few and far between on today’s ride, across some of the most sparsely-inhabited landscape in the UK, it’s easy to see how this part of Scotland could become the seat of a cycling revolution – the roads are quiet and in decent nick, and there’s no heavy traffic. It’s just a shame about the mountains; three of the climbs ahead of us today are among the eight highest roads in the country.

The first of these is a narrow strip that threads through forested lower slopes before emerging onto an expanse of purple-hued moorland that offers views of the cauldron of snow-capped Cairngorms to our left. By the time we reach the top of the final ramp, we have risen 200m in less than 5km, and yet I notice that Jon and Richard have remained seated all the way up. It turns out they are advocates of the Chris Froome school of ascending. Both British Cycling-certified coaches, they believe staying seated and spinning a high cadence is the most energy-efficient way to get up a mountain. In photos, however, this technique doesn’t look particularly exciting – they may as well be sitting on the sofa at home reading a phone  directory. So with a bit of polite cajoling from our photographer, they agree to click down a sprocket and climb out of the saddle. Now at least it doesn’t look as though it’s only me putting in some effort on the 15% slopes.

At the top of this first climb, the Strone, we pull in to a passing place to enjoy the views. ‘See that patch of snow over there?’ says Jon, pointing to a distant peak with a barely pronounceable Gaelic name. ‘That’s one of the top-three longest lasting patches of snow in the UK. It was in Weather magazine.’

I look in the direction Jon is pointing and consider what he’s just told me. ‘I know,’ he says, ‘I should probably get out more.’

Fat chance

I notice Jon doesn’t have a bottle cage on his bike. This is because he’s currently testing the theory of ‘fat oxidation’ aka glycogen depleted training, which means he regularly goes for four or five hour rides without eating or drinking anything. He is, he explains, training his body to rely on its natural fat reserves for energy, rather than its glycogen stores – or carbs – that need regular replenishing with food and water.

‘Your glycogen will only last for one or two hours depending on the intensity of exercise whereas your fat stores are effectively infinite – even Chris Froome has about 3kg of fat available to burn, or 22,000kcals,’ says Jon, who is a qualified physicist with a PhD in fluid dynamics. 

A vertical strip of tarmac appears to have been painted on to a wall. A ‘20%’ warning sign confirms it is not some kind of optical illusion.

The proof appears to be in the pudding (or lack of), as Jon has won virtually every race and TT he’s entered so far this year, including one 50-mile TT during which he broke the course record without drinking or eating a morsel. 

Ahead of us we can see the road rising steeply above the treeline towards the next summit. But first there’s a twisting, technical descent down to Gairnshiel and its famous hump-backed stone bridge. ‘Minibuses can’t get over it without making their passengers get off and walk first,’ says Richard. Once over the bridge, the real climbing starts with a slope that gradually rears up to 20% before slackening off at the wild, desolate plateau of Glas-allt-Choille (pronounced like a bronchial cough) which marks the border between the Dee and Don valleys. By the time we reach its highest point and Jon has been distracted by another snow patch, we’ve climbed almost 300m in less than 8km. And the toughest climb is still to come.

The last refuge

The Goodbrand and Ross cafe in Corgarff is like an edge-of-the-world frontier post. It’s full of desperate-looking characters cradling large cappuccinos and talking in hushed tones about the wilderness outside. They are dressed in tweed Norfolk jackets, leather biker jackets, shiny anoraks or garish Lycra, depending on whether they’ve arrived by vintage sports car, Harley Davidson motorbike, rusting motorhome or bicycle. Some are glowing with a sense of achievement, others – including us – are pale with trepidation. This is the last refuge before the start of the climb over the Lecht, a mountain whose fearsome reputation stretches back to 1869 when 500 local residents searched in vain for a young servant girl lost in a blizzard (her body lies in a cemetery across the road from us now) and continues today with 100 Greatest Cycling Climbs awarding it 10/10. As we polish off our coffees, there is a tangible sense of ‘Abandon all hope’ in the air.

The reason becomes all too apparent as we round the next bend and approach the snow gates. A vertical strip of tarmac appears to have been painted on to a wall. A ‘20%’ warning sign confirms it is not some kind of optical illusion. This is a no-nonsense piece of road shorn of fripperies such as gradient-softening hairpins. We click through the gears until our chains settle on the biggest sprockets, and begin the steady grind up the slope. Jon begins a conversation about our respective wattage – he’s testing a new power meter. ‘I’ve just ridden 400 watts for that first minute,’ he says, as if he’s relaxing at home rather than pedalling up a 20% hill. ‘You’re doing the same pace as I am, so how heavy are you and I’ll tell you what you’re putting out.’

I’m finding it difficult to remember how heavy I am, but manage to blurt out ‘90 kilos’.

‘Well the rough rule of thumb is five watts for each kilo difference in body weight. I am 70 kilos, which means you’re pumping out an extra 100 – so about 500 watts,’ he says, but I can hardly hear him over my pounding heartbeat.

When the slope finally flattens, we get a view of the climb in all its glory. It may not be the longest, steepest or highest, but what makes it one of the most dramatic is the absence of hairpins. The line of asphalt strikes out for the summit without compromise. Barely another vehicle passes us on the way to the top, where the deserted ski lifts swing eerily in the wind.

Our route plunges down towards Tomintoul before we take a right turn and head in to the heart of Scotland’s ‘Malt Whisky Country’. The road threads through lush, rolling countryside and past a couple of distilleries before we start the descent into the handsome Speyside town of Dufftown. From here it’s only a couple of kilometres before we’re back in the remote Scottish countryside and starting the long drag up to the Cabrach and my slightly frosty encounter with Wilma at the Grouse Inn. 

After my chat with Wilma, we clip in and continue our ride across the empty, rolling vastness of the Cabrach. To our right the tops of the highest Cairngorm peaks are smothered in cloud, while to our left the moorland tumbles away towards the coast and the North Sea. 

I wait for Jon to start a conversation about the new chamois pad he’s testing, but he stays silent. We’re all feeling a little chastened by my encounter at the Grouse Inn, which has been a reminder of how cyclists continue to be treated as second-class citizens, even amid the empty roads and glorious scenery of rural Scotland. 

It’s an attitude Jon and Richard regularly encounter in their roles as cycling crusaders. The occasional, overgrown ruin of a farmhouse, defiantly preserving the memory of a lost generation, puts everything into perspective. 

Do it yourself

Travel

The nearest railway station and airport to Ballater are both in Aberdeen, from where it’s a straightforward 90-minute drive.

Accommodation

We stayed at the beautiful Glen Lui Hotel in Ballater where a pine wood chalet – ‘recommended for cyclists because they have baths as well as showers,’ says owner Susan Bell – costs from £80 single B&B. Or you can pay £160 for a night in their luxury four-poster suite. The hotel also has an award-winning restaurant, where we feasted on a dinner of herb-crusted rack of Deeside lamb followed by dessert of chocolate ganache torte for £30. 

Thanks

Thanks to Richard Lawes of Firetrail Events and Jon Entwistle (enthdegree.co.uk) for helping us with all the logistical support during our ride, and to Richard’s wife, Alex, for driving our photographer. Richard’s company organises the annual King of the Mountains sportive, which includes part of the route covered by our UK Ride. The 2016 event will take place on 21st May. Full details at komsportive.co.uk. Thanks also to Steve Smith at Angus Bike Chain, Arbroath, for providing the bike.

A bicycle, it goes without saying, is the best Christmas present ever, but with the possible exception of a puppy it’s also the most difficult to wrap. So pity the poor frame designer who has to wrap and drape carbon around its complex curves such that, when baked and finished, the frame delivers the desired ride feel. The construction of a carbon fibre frame is a complex 3D puzzle that eclipses the Rubik’s Cube.

The beauty of carbon is that, unlike metal, multiple pieces can be layered at varying degrees of intersection and overlap to give very tight control over the performance attributes and strength required at any given point of a bike frame. The downside is that carbon is anisotropic – it’s stronger in one direction than another in a similar way to wood – which means strength is dependent on the direction of the fibres. For carbon to carry significant loads the forces must be directed along its fibres, which makes fibre direction absolutely crucial. A bicycle frame’s constituent sections experience forces in several directions, meaning the carbon fibres must run in several directions too. It’s why different layers have their fibres at different angles, commonly 0° (in line), +45°, -45°, +90° and -90°, and indeed any angle chosen by the designers if it will create the desired attributes.

In the depths

That’s how it is for all carbon frames. Beneath the lustrous exteriors are many layers of carbon fibre pieces whose stiffnesses, strengths, shapes, sizes, positions and orientations have been painstakingly planned, usually by a combination of computer software packages and engineers’ expertise. This is known as the lay-up schedule, or just the lay-up. When the carbon jigsaw is completed the bike must be light, responsive, cost-effective and able to endure the most extreme forces of cycling.

Professor Dan Adams, director of the composites mechanics laboratory at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City, himself a keen cyclist and who was involved with the development of Trek’s first carbon frames, says that constructing anything from carbon is all about the correct lay-up schedule. ‘It specifies the orientation of individual plies or layers of carbon/epoxy prepreg, stacked up to make the final part thickness,’ he says. ‘Some frame parts are easier to lay up than others. The tubes are relatively simple but the junctions between them are some of the most complex ply lay-ups you’ll see in production parts in any industry that uses carbon structurally, including aerospace and automotive.’

Carbon’s anisotropic nature also makes choosing the right carbon crucial. At its simplest, there are two ways that carbon is supplied. Unidirectional (UD) has all the carbon fibres running in one direction, parallel to one another. The alternative to UD is a woven fabric, or ‘cloth’. It has fibres that run in two directions, going under and over each other at right angles to give the classic appearance of carbon fibre. In the simplest fabric, known as plain weave, the fibres lace under and over at every crossing (called ‘1/1’) to produce a grid-like pattern. There are many other possible weave patterns. Twill (2/2) is a little looser so easier to drape and easily recognisable by its diagonal pattern, which looks like chevrons.

The modulus (a measure of elasticity) of the fibre is also fundamental to a given lay-up. Modulus defines how stiff a fibre is. A standard modulus fibre, rated at 265 gigapascals (GPa) is less stiff than an intermediate modulus fibre rated at 320GPa. Less of a higher modulus carbon is required to make components of the same stiffness, which results in a lighter product. Higher modulus fibres might therefore seem like the preferable choice, but there’s a catch. An analogy can be made with a rubber band versus a piece of spaghetti. The rubber band is very elastic (has a low modulus) and can be flexed with very little force applied but will not break, plus it will return to its original shape after bending. The spaghetti, on the other hand, is very stiff (high modulus) so will resist deformation to a point, and then simply break. Marketing departments often boast about the inclusion of a certain fibre modulus in the latest frame design, but in most cases a bike frame is a careful balance of several types of modulus within the lay-up to deliver a desirable combination of stiffness, durability and flex.

There’s one more variable to consider. A single strand of carbon fibre is extremely thin – far thinner than a human hair, so they are bundled together to form what’s called a ‘tow’. For bikes, a tow can contain anything between 1,000 and 12,000 strands, although 3,000 (written as 3K) is most common.

Fibre this, fibre that

Those are the basics, but creating a lay-up gets complicated. ‘From a pure strength and stiffness point of view the ideal composite would have the highest proportion of fibre to resin possible and the least bend in the fibre,’ says Dr Peter Giddings, a research engineer at the National Composites Centre, Bristol, who has worked with bikes and raced them for many years. ‘Unidirectional fibres, theoretically at least, are the best choice for this. UD materials have an increased stiffness-to-weight ratio in the fibre-direction. Unfortunately UD composites are more susceptible to damage and, once damaged, are more likely to fail than woven fabrics.’

To build a frame exclusively from UD carbon layers would create a bike that was dangerously brittle, not to mention prohibitively expensive owing to the material and man-hour costs. Hence woven carbon dominates and is the obvious choice for any areas where there are tight curves and complex joint shapes. What’s more, people like its appearance. ‘Aesthetically, woven materials are considered to look better than unidirectional materials and the public’s perception of a composite is a woven fabric,’ says Giddings. ‘In fact, many manufacturers paint [therefore concealing] areas where the frame construction prevents a smooth, woven appearance.’

Ease of fabrication also has to be factored in to a lay-up schedule to take into account labour costs. For complex joints and shapes it will take much longer to create the ideal lay-up with UD fibres. It’s another reason why woven fabrics are the preferred choice of most carbon bike manufacturers. ‘Woven cloth is easier to work with than UD and requires less skill to fit it to a required shape,’ says Giddings. ‘UD has a tendency to split or kink around complex shapes. Loosely woven fabrics conform more easily and the structure’s overall strength is less affected by minor manufacturing defects.’

Manufacturers are likely to opt for a lay-up with woven carbon at the most complex areas, such as the bottom bracket and head tube junctions, but it’s still not as simple as it sounds because there’s another factor to consider. ‘You want to keep continuity of the fibre orientation not just around junctions, but through and beyond them,’ says Paul Remy, a bike engineer at Scott Sports. ‘There can be complex curvatures at a junction such as the bottom bracket so you have to think of a way to continue the fibres’ orientation, to transfer the loading throughout them.’

It’s here that frame engineers such as Remy are thankful for the assistance of computer science. In the past the only way to know how the various lay-up schedule alterations might affect the end result was to build and test multiple prototypes, but now a lay-up schedule can be tested with a very high degree of accuracy by computers before a single strand of fibre has touched down in a frame mould.

‘Previously it was really difficult to know what effect changing just one part of the lay-up would have on the performance of the frame,’ says Remy.

Bob Parlee, founder of Massachusetts-based Parlee Cycles, remembers those old days before computers did all the number crunching rather fondly: ‘If you understand the loads on a truss structure such as a frame, lay-ups are straightforward, so initially I could work them out myself in my head.’ Parlee has since conceded computer finite element analysis (FEA) has its place. ‘Originally I wouldn’t put holes in frame tubes [for cable entry points or bottle cage mounts] because they were potential weak spots, but now FEA tells us what to do to reinforce that hole,’ he says.

Sometimes the computer spits out ideals that are far from ideal. ‘Most of the time I look at it and say, “There’s no way we can do that,”

Increasing computing power together with ever-more sophisticated software is allowing engineers to analyse many virtual models in a short time and push the boundaries of design and materials. According to Specialized design engineer Chris Meertens, ‘Iteration is the name of the game. FEA tools create a representative model of the frame and the goal is to get every fibre accounted for. The software allows me to design each ply, based on an optimisation model for the 17 load cases that we have for a model frame.’

What that means is the software instructs Meertens how much carbon should be in each area of the frame, and the optimal orientation for the fibres. The skill, though, is in knowing what is and isn’t possible with carbon lay-up. Sometimes the computer spits out ideals that are far from ideal. ‘Most of the time I look at it and say, “There’s no way we can do that,”’ Meertens says. ‘So then I get busy in laminate draping software to cut virtual plies and drape them on a virtual mandrel, basing it on manufacturing feasibility and laminate optimisations.’

Even using computer software this can take days to decipher, and there’s still a long way to go before the lay-up is finally defined. One aspect where the human element is essential is in making sure the right fibre grade is used in the right place. Meertens says, ‘0° fibre is very stiff but doesn’t have good impact strength so, to keep the composite damage tolerant, we have to avoid putting too much in places like the bottom of a down tube. I’ll know by this stage what ply shapes I need, but now I want to know how many of each ply. So I run another optimisation program that tells me how thick I should make them – essentially the number of layers. It will analyse anywhere from 30 to 50 combinations of plies. We’ll run through the cycle of virtual draping and optimisation four or five times, fine-tuning the plies a bit more each time. But at some point we need to hit “Go” and send it off.’ 

Definitive guide

The lay-up schedule is like a 3D map, detailing each piece of shaped carbon in each layer. ‘The frame is divided up into nine zones: two seatstays, two chainstays, bottom bracket, seat, top, head and down tubes,’ says Meertens. ‘We specify the datum, which is an axis, for each zone. The orientation of every piece of carbon in a zone is then related to that datum. A down tube may have plies at 45°, 30° and 0° relative to the local datum. In general, the higher strength material is used off-axis, at an angle. The higher modulus material we use axially, at 0°.’

The resulting file can be up to 100Mb in size and is eventually passed to the factory floor. Each worker in the factory receives only the portion relevant to the part of the frame they are responsible for creating. This is still not the final production run. The built frame is a prototype at this stage and it needs to be tested to ensure the digitally designed lay-up results in a frame that performs in practice. Ultrasound, X-ray inspection and physical dissection reveal laminate thicknesses. Elsewhere the resin matrix will be burned away to expose the quality of the lamination and whether material or fibres have migrated. Bending tests should show the same results as the FEA analysis. In the end, though, it’s a human who takes it out on the road.

‘Riding the bike is the only way we can truly quantify it,’ says Bob Parlee. ‘We can do the bending and load tests but we need to get out and ride it to see if it performs how we want.’ When the model passes muster, production is finally given the green light.

Most bike production happens in the Far East, and this places even greater importance on the lay-up schedule. The finely detailed plan, if followed to the letter, should ensure the products coming out of those large factories are identical twins of those tested and passed at the final prototype stage. Of course most brands continually test and re-test production frames to ensure consistency so that bikes reaching the shops meet customer expectations. In most cases manufacturers can also trace a frame’s entire journey, right back to the origins of the very first fibre strands. Which is something to think about next time you’re standing and admiring your pride and joy.

This isn’t discomfort, this isn’t fatigue – this is pain. My only conciliation is the repeated almost ritualistic inward chant of, ‘This will end, this has to end.’ The devastation being wreaked on my body and my psyche makes me believe that the timeline of my life will now be split into pre and post-Mortirolo.

I reach the statue of Italian cycling legend Marco Pantani that punctuates the climb and signifies that there’s around a kilometre and a half remaining. I ask some bystanders in a babbled shriek whether the gradient eases off – they shake their heads pitifully. I turn on the hairpin and, as the road reveals itself ahead of me, never before has a kilometre seemed like such a long way.

Seeing stars

The Granfondo Campionissimo is a new event, but is also very familiar. Now sponsored by clothing brand Assos, the sportive is officially in its first year but occupies the same slot in the calendar and the same route as it predecessor, the Granfondo Giordana, which itself took over the same slot and route from the Granfondo Marco Pantani.

The Pantani moniker may have been the most appropriate, as the event is very Italian and very much for climbers. It passes over the Gavia Pass, then the Mortirolo, two of the toughest climbs in Italy, and then tacks on the Passo di Sante Cristina, accumulating more than 4,500m of vertical ascent in the process, despite a relatively short length of 170km.

Pantani won’t be the only cycling legend I see today as, here in the starting pen, not 10 metres from me, stands five-time Tour winner Miguel Indurain. Predictably, he’s surrounded by fans snapping selfies and a swarm of journalists. It’s 7am and the sun is sitting low in a clear sky in front of us, making for a pretty, albeit blinding, starting straight.

The announcers are in full flow but suddenly everything stops. Luca Paolini has just arrived in full Katusha kit aboard his Canyon Aeroad team bike, but he has no race number and a minor official is giving him a stern, though not entirely serious, reprimand. They let him off, and he squeezes past me and heads for the front of the starting pen. So begins the customary countdown to the off.

The first section is neutralised because it’s all downhill – which results in the dragging of brakes for 30 minutes while the Italian racers vie for position and others jostle their way towards Paolini and Indurain. The result is that I’m being squeezed and cut up on every corner, trying to stay out of trouble. At the bottom of the valley the neutralisation lifts just as the road tips skyward and out of sheer frustration at the crowds I sprint ahead. Soon I find myself in the front group, against my better judgement.

The first part of the route to the Gavia, the road from Edolo to Santa Appollina, is a serious climb in itself. It covers 27km at an average of 3% with spikes of over 10% and a few brief drops in elevation. I mix it with the front group for 10km or so, but eventually it dawns on me how suicidal my current tactic is, and ease I off the pace until I drift back into the second group.

Somewhere near Santa Appollina, where the Gavia begins, the sensation of the climb changes from enjoyably challenging to worryingly strenuous. Behind me I hear a rider catching up. It’s Luca Paolini. Never in my life have I seen a human glide so effortlessly uphill. He seems to be at an rpm of 60, yet his upper body shows no sign of movement while his quads metronomically propel him ahead. He’s noticeable if nothing else by his complete silence, his mouth is closed and he seems to be breathing only faintly through his nose as he floats skywards. I’m going flat out and yet I have no chance of keeping up with him, and before I know it he’s out of sight. I look around to see if anyone else shared my wonder at this apparition, but the Italians around me didn’t look up from their stems. Everyone else is absorbed in their own personal struggle.

The Gavia keeps on relentlessly, but I’m actually quite enjoying the climb. The gradients hover around 8%, with the last 3km giving way to steeper 12 or 13% ramps. I try to keep up a good pace because I know that the ensuing descent will be closed to traffic for the first few groups only, so it makes sense to arrive at the top with the front-runners.

It proves to be worth the effort – the descent is one of the finest I’ve ever ridden. With open vistas at the top and smoothly paved roads below, we race down confidently at speeds hovering in the high sixties, punctuated by a couple of brief blasts above the 80kmh mark.

I’m glad to have a group of local Italians around me because they know the roads well, although I’m also slightly nervous as they compete for position at over 70kmh. Coming out of Cepina we head into the stunning Valtellina valley. With mountains on each side and the road winding beside a fierce river, the pain of the climb has dissolved into pure riding pleasure.

Then we begin to see signs for the Mortirolo. Some riders fade back in the group, wary of the horrors that lie ahead. I cross the timing mat that will record our efforts on the climb, and pass a sign that tells me that the next 12km will be at an average of 11%. That doesn’t sound so bad.

Facing the Mortirolo

Lance Armstrong described the Mortirolo as the hardest climb he’d ever ridden. It’s sparing to begin with, with the first 2km averaging around 10%, peppered with a few 15% ramps that I dispatch with a couple of out-of-the-saddle efforts, convincing myself that it’s all under control. Then it really begins.

The 8km-to-go sign tells me the next kilometre will average 14%. It already sounds steep, and to make things worse the gradient is not distributed in a merciful way. A 20% sign warns of the ramp ahead and I’m soon forced out of the saddle, twisting my entire body from side to side to climb it, with my Garmin barely registering forward motion. It seems impossibly steep and I have to carefully position myself over the bike to balance the twin risks of my rear wheel skidding and my front wheel popping off the ground. I’ve ridden plenty of climbs of this gradient, and plenty of this length, but rarely at the same time. There seems to be no end. One steep section leads straight into another and I don’t get the chance to settle back into the saddle to ease my aching legs and back.

This treatment continues for kilometre after kilometre. One 20% sign follows another, although my Garmin later tells me the steepest incline was actually an eye-watering 33%. With my lungs burning and my spine aching from the contortions I’ve been forced into, I know that if I stop I have no hope of starting again. I pass broken men at the roadside with heads in hands. ‘This has to end,’ I keep telling myself.

I’m overtaken by a few riders in the middle of the ascent and looking over at them as they pass I see no look of triumph or competitiveness, but rather almost a hint of sorrow in their eyes, a moment of shared sympathy. I am travelling extremely slowly.

I reach the Pantani monument and make my shrill inquiry about the distance remaining. Despite the poor encouragement I find here the incline does ease off, but even on these shallower slopes I’m still struggling.

Frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog I crawl to the summit. Some bystanders laugh, others look concerned, and everyone is taking pictures.It has taken me an hour and 13 minutes to reach the top. Arriving at the summit is like being released from prison (I imagine) and I savour the freedom from torment, but I still have a long way to go and the day is getting very hot.

Looking back I see a group bearing down on me, so I jump eagerly onto the back of the pack. I’m hoping for a speedy and refreshing descent but the Mortirolo offers anything but. The road is dotted with severe cracks and surface irregularities, and with the trees casting sharp shadows it’s difficult to separate rough ground from smooth. After rattling over one such crack and almost losing control of the bike I turn with alarm to a rider beside me. He gives me a characteristically Italian shrug and says, ‘It’s a 50/50 chance down here.’ To add to the challenge, the fast down sections are interspersed with short ascents, and each time we arrive at another hill there’s a collective groan from the group.

Eventually the undulations give way to a genuine descent, and I’m a little concerned about not knowing the perfect line. A svelte rider with an aura of wisdom passes me and I jump on his wheel, only for him to immediately pull on the brakes and unclip in an effort to not hit the armco at the side of the road, which is all that stands between us and a 200m drop on the other side. We make it through, but minutes later I hear a loud pop behind as a rider in a group catching us has his tyre explode beneath him due to the heat. It’s enough to make me slow down and take the descent with added caution.

My neck and arms are aching from the strain of absorbing the bumps, and the heat has made the air feel like hot syrup. We’re nearing Aprica where the Medio route comes to an end, but I have signed up for the Lungo route, which adds on another 20km of riding, including a 6km climb with 20% stints.

Rolling into Aprica I see the finish line for the Medio route, and the sign pointing the way towards the Lungo route. My resolution is clear. I don’t even have to discuss the options with myself. Despite the group of officials waving me towards the Lungo route, I roll over the line with a gratifying ‘blip’ and lay myself down right there on the pavement. I’m done.

As the pain gradually subsides, I begin to feel a combination of contentment that I conquered the Mortirolo, and a hint of eagerness to climb back onto my bike and finish the Lungo course. Attempting to stand up, however, my legs fail me, and I slump back onto the concrete. Behind me, the winner of the Lungo course is already on stage receiving a bottle of champagne.

There are many sportives longer than La Campionissimo, and others that pack in more vertical ascent, but of all the rides I’ve done in my life this is quite possibly the hardest. As tough as it is, though, to have ridden on the same roads as Indurain and Paolini, to have climbed inclines that have reduced pro cyclists to tears and to have ridden into such stunning settings as the Valtellina valley or the upper slopes of the Gavia fills me with a warm glow. It’s an event that demands respect, but pays full dividends to those who approach it with reverence.

Do it yourself

What - La Campionissimo

Where - Aprica, Italy

How far - 85km, 155km or 175km

Next - 26th June 2016

Price - €60

More info - granfondolacampionissimo.com

Based on the same frame raced last season by three-time US national cyclocross Tim Johnson, this is a serious cross machine.

‘The SuperX is for anyone from a novice looking for a competitive advantage, right up to pro level riders,’ says Cannondale UK marketing manager Clive Gosling. ‘The combined frame and fork weight is around 1,500g, making it one of the lightest cross framesets available. Plus, it’s extremely robust. Cannondale’s proprietary BallisTec carbon construction helps keep the weight low and strength high.’

According to Cannondale, BallisTec carbon employs similar resins and lay-ups as carbon fibre baseball bats, meaning the SuperX’s frame is able to undergo thousands of stress cycles without losing structural integrity, as well as being able to cope with being struck by high-velocity objects – perfect then for riding or racing in stony, gravelly conditions where debris is flung up from the floor.  It’s designed for comfort too.

‘Our Speed Save Technology makes the SuperX one of the most comfortable and smooth cross bikes you can buy,’ says Gosling in reference to the tube shapes of the rear end, where long fibres are used to twist around and down the tube, creating a flattened shape at points to encourage flex and provide a suspension effect, and thicker sections to promote stiffness. It’s the same technology employed in Peter Sagan’s cobble-slaying Synapse.

Disc brakes are pretty much ubiquitous in modern cross bikes now, but Cannondale has done a particularly neat job of hiding the hoses inside the frame where possible, useful for racing in the mud, where anything that protrudes attracts the build-up of dirt. The brakes themselves are Shimano’s top-tier hydraulic brake-mechanical shifting set up with a pair of 160mm rotors. That’s an increase of 20mm in diameter over those starting to be used on road bikes, giving extra stopping power.

Rounding off the SuperX’s spec sheet is Mavic’s latest Aksium One disc-specific wheelset, weighing a claimed 1,965g. Shod with perennial favourites Schwalbe Racing Ralph tyres (here a 33c, though the frame can accommodate up to 36c), they are a fast rolling, no-nonsense set of hoops ideal for race day or training. But of the two, race day is where the SuperX would rather be.

Spec

Whyte is a stereotypically British company. From the heart of the Cotswolds it has been designing class-leading bikes for over 15 years, yet rarely do you see an aggressive advertising campaign trumpetting its latest creation. The brand prefers to let its bikes’ ride quality do the talking, and with its mountain bike range attracting widespread acclaim in recent years, Whyte has applied that MTB know-how to its CX bikes, with excellent results.

‘Our CX geometry is different to that of our competitors,’ says Andy Jeffries, Whyte’s product director. ‘It’s closer to a cross-country mountain bike. The main reason for this is that we designed the bike from scratch without a front derailleur, which radically changed the shape of the frame. It allowed the seat tube to be curved, so we could reduce the chainstay length to bring the back wheel towards the seat tube but maintain the necessary clearance for mud.’

Shortened stays also allow the front centre measurement (bottom bracket to front hub) to lengthen without altering the wheelbase too much. Jeffries says this maintains the Saxon’s lively handling but gives plenty of length in front of the rider to exploit the control and speed that disc brakes permit in off-road environments. Taking inclement conditions further into consideration, Whyte has fully internally routed the Saxon’s cables using its own rubberised frame grommets – preventing the build-up of mud and keeping it out of the frame.

In line with current CX thinking, versatility is a priority. ‘We view this geometry with disc brakes and tubeless tires as very adaptable, allowing the Saxon to keep pace with future innovations in CX design,’ says Jeffries. ‘That is the reason we have stayed with 6061 aluminium for the frame material as it gives us the flexibility to keep this rapid evolution going.’

Confirming the Saxon performance credentials, at last year’s Three Peaks race, Torq Performance’s Neil Crampton took the fastest descent time of Pen-y-Ghent aboard a Saxon Cross Team. ‘Most customers will never push a bike that hard but it is nice to know they are on a machine with those capabilities,’ says Jeffries. Pro-validated quality and UK design makes the Saxon Cross Team a bike with performance credentials to match the best.

Spec

Founded in 1999, Kinesis has crafted a formidable reputation for building high quality road, mountain bike and cyclocross frames for other leading brands, with significant success on the world stage. More recently the company has begun to build frames bearing its own name, and the CX Race is the culmination of those 15 years of cyclocross experience, designed with input from its roster of elite racers to deliver uncompromising performance.

‘Basically, we’ve removed everything that won’t help you race faster or win,’ says Bruce Dalton of Kinesis UK. ‘I rode cross full time last year and over the season I was getting together a list of things that I thought you must have on a quality cross bike. For example, initially the tubeset was designed to be box shaped, but I knew that would be more difficult to grab when shouldering your bike, so we smoothed out the tube cross section which helped the pick-up but didn’t impact stiffness.’

Stiffness, pedalling efficiency and weight are the key factors for race performance, and they underpin every design choice on the CX Race. Kinesis also appreciates that many cross riders may want to race with more than one bike, so keeping the cost down has been another major priority. ‘You could afford to run two CX Races for the price of one high-end bike from another brand.’ says Dalton. ‘We chose scandium as the frame material due to its weight and stiffness similarities to Toray T800 carbon fibre, so the CX Race has the attributes of a carbon bike at the price of an aluminium one.’

An additional advantage of working with aluminium is the comparative ease of updating a frame’s design when compared to carbon. This means Kinesis has been able keep pace with the rapidly changing trends in cyclocross. ‘The frame is single-chainring optimized, has provisions for Di2 cable routing and offers dual brake compatibility – options for both discs and cantilevers – to offer the rider versatility,’ Dalton says.

It’s a promising combination of value and all-out performance that is likely to win many fans this coming season.

Spec

The X-Night has been the weapon of choice for the many of the Belgian riders who have dominated the World Championship medals in the last five years. Thanks to this success, Ridley has built an excellent reputation for its cross bike range – the X-Night being its most celebrated model to date. The frame was developed in 2010 and revamped in 2013, shedding its integrated seatpost and gaining a shorter wheelbase, along with a couple of other minor geometry changes. ‘The bike was initially designed by and then piloted by world champions, so it’s a dedicated race bike, built to win races,’ says Ridley’s UK distributor, John Harris.

While the X-Night name has existed for some time, this year’s model of the X-Night (featured here) is actually a new addition to the range. The previously top tier X-Night has become the X-Night SL, and this second tier X-Night replaces the X-Fire as the more affordable option in Ridley’s cross range. This may sound like a superficial change, but it means that much of the DNA of the world championship-winning X-Night will be available at an affordable price point. While the X-Night uses slightly lower-modulus carbon than the SL, it features all the performance enhancing developments that have been honed on the world championship model, making it identical aside from the subtleties beneath the skin. ‘This bike has the same design and geometry as the X-Night SL, but offers a complete package with full 105 11-speed at £1,799.99,’ Harris explains. The difference in materials between the X-Night and X-Night SL means the SL is marginally stiffer and has a weight advantage of between 150-170g compared with the standard X-Night.

While the frame is built robustly, Ridley has sided for a skinny 27.2mm seat tube to allow some flex for improved rider comfort. Despite the lowering of the bottom bracket from the original 2010 version, the X-Night BB still sits fairly high, with only a 60mm drop from the horizontal line of the dropouts, giving more clearance over trees, roots and general debris.

This X-Night is very much Ridley’s pure-bred cross race bike, but if something more versatile that would favour gravel riding appeals then take a look at its X-Trail as an alternative model.

Spec

One of the latest trends for cyclocross bikes is to use a single chainring drivetrain – referred to as 1x11 (‘one by eleven’). Sram has led the way with this technology, building on the huge success it enjoyed using the same know-how in its mountain biking groupsets. The idea is to simultaneously simplify the gearing and clean up the drivetrain by removing the need for any front shifting, whilst maintaining a suitable spread of gears.

With no front derailleur or second chainring this part of the drivetrain has substantially less opportunities for mud to gather and clog – a big plus for a CX bike. Plus, with no front gear shifter and cable required, there are significantly fewer moving parts to keep clean and maintain, as well as saving a good chunk of weight. In use, a single front ring also means there’s no need to worry about cross-chaining (where the chain runs diagonally between the largest cassette sprocket and big chainring) and front mech rub is consigned to history, too.

There are other less obvious benefits. On multiple chainring systems the profile of the teeth is designed primarily for unloading/shifting the chain. But here, Sram brings its patented ‘X-Sync’ technology to the chainring design, a specific tooth profile designed to engage with the chain more securely. This substantially reduces the chances of chain drop on bumpy terrain, helped significantly by the ‘clutch’ system in the rear derailleur arm that keeps the chain taught at all times, with the added benefit that the whole drivetrain runs more quietly, with the chain no longer slapping the frame when you hit the rough stuff.

Spread the love

Eleven speed is the norm to allow a wide spread of gears on the cassette to cover the variety of surfaces and inclines commonly encountered in a cyclocross race. However, should you need to alter your gearing it’s a cinch, as swapping a chainring requires the removal of just five allen bolts, taking only a few minutes even for the tool-shy rider.

As disc brakes become the predominant choice in cross, there’s potential to combine a hydraulic brake system (such as that pictured here) and dramatically reduce the amount of maintenance required, with only one single gear cable left to be affected by any dirt ingress. But with more frame designs using internal cable routing, the days of having to strip and clean cables every other race are on their way out, too. The result, then, is cross bikes have never been slicker, and more suited to task. All the more reason to get involved.

£888 (mechanical brake) £1180 (hydraulic brake), fisheroutdoor.co.uk

lexander the Great encouraged his soldiers to shave off their beards and keep their hair cropped so that the enemy wouldn’t have anything easy to grab hold of during close-quarter combat. Ancient Egyptians favoured sleek, hairless skin to prevent the spread of lice and other follicular infestations. And the Romans kept their skin smooth to denote they were from the higher, educated classes.

So cyclists can hardly claim to have invented the art of shaving their extremities for strategic purposes. What is surprising, however, is that cyclists were shaving their legs long before most women had adopted the practice as a social norm. Photographs from as far back as the 1920s show riders sporting hair-free legs, while it didn’t catch on with women in the general population until Betty Grable exposing her satin-smooth pins in 1943 coincided with a worldwide shortage of nylons.

What’s so strange?

So my regular practice of reclining in a bath with a Philishave razor and a can of Satin Care shave gel is actually not as vain or indulgent as it might first appear. What may strike some as strange, however, are my reasons for doing it.

It’s not to make me go faster – there are simpler, far more effective ways of decreasing my drag coefficient on the bike. Like forgoing that extra Weetabix at breakfast, for example.

It’s not to make my post-ride massage easier to apply – as an impecunious non-professional, I can rarely afford the luxury of a massage, and when I do it’s usually self-administered with a rolling pin. 

It’s not to speed up the healing process after crashing. I don’t actually crash that often. If I did – to the extent that the hairiness of my legs was a critical factor in how efficiently and quickly I healed – I’d probably consider taking up a different sport. Like chess.

According to a couple of experts I spoke to, there are actually good reasons to keep my legs hairy. Consultant dermatologist and regular cyclist Professor Philip Harrison says leg hair ‘provides sensory input, for proprioceptive purposes. In other words, it aids our sense of feeling and positioning when active, thereby enhancing balance. Furthermore, leg hair has a sweat-wicking function, which will help to a slight degree in temperature regulation.’ 

Dr Susan Mayou, a consultant dermatologist at London’s Cadogan Clinic, says leg hairs can also provide insulation: ‘In the cold, the arrector pili muscles [bundles of smooth muscle fibres attached to the deep part of the hair follicles] make the hairs stand on end to trap the air between them, which is a form of insulation.’

And yet clean-shaven legs have been a fixture of the professional peloton even longer than derailleur gears.

Too sexy for my legs

Gerald Ciolek, winner of the 2013 Milan-San Remo and pro rider for MTN-Qhubeka, says that as well as reducing the risk of infection and helping wounds heal quicker, ‘it’s simply a “done thing” in cycling. It just looks better. Plus the ladies find it sexy.’

His teammate, Johann van Zyl, is even more forthright: ‘It looks cool, it feels cool and it makes me feel faster. If I stopped racing tomorrow, I would still shave my legs. Any recreational rider should cut off that leg hair or avoid Lycra – the two don’t mix well.’

This confirms my suspicion that a lot of leg-shaving is less to do with science, and more to do with image. Leg muscles that have been finely toned through hours on the road look so much more impressive when not sheathed in hairs. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.

So, having pondered the subject for a while, here are my reasons for why I shave my legs…

It’s a badge of honour – it marks me out as a cyclist, which I believe is something to be proud of. Other cyclists will recognise a kindred spirit, while non-cyclists will be left in no doubt about my commitment to the sport. It’s a tribute to the legends of my sport. When I’m in the bath taking a razor to my limbs, Coppi, Anquetil and the rest are in there with me. So to speak. It makes applying sunscreen easier, although admittedly this isn’t really an issue in Scotland where I live. As Billy Connolly observed, there are only two seasons up here: winter and July. It just looks good. And as van Zyl says, looking good makes you ‘feel faster’. 

The hairy hot pants look

While pros regularly shave as high as their hips – which commonly bear the impact in crashes – the question of how high to go is often debated among us lesser mortals. Do you stop at the hemline of your shorts, creating a hairy hotpants look (or, as Cyclist columnist Frank Strack puts it, ‘wookie shorts’)? Or do you go ‘all the way’? Dr Mayou advises caution: ‘We all have bacteria on our skin, but around the upper thigh or groin you have a particular, natural flora – bugs – that can be a problem if you break the skin or shave upwards and open the follicle a bit more, turning it into a portal of entry for infection.’

As I’m digesting this grim scenario, she asks if I’ve considered waxing. She hears me wince and says, ‘If us girls can live with the pain, it will be nothing for you macho cyclists. Plus it would make so much more sense. Waxing pulls the hair out by the root, so you have longer intervals between shaves. Surely in something like the Tour de France that’s a good thing?’

I could see Jacques Anquetil waxing – probably while sipping champagne and flirting with the staff at his local beauty parlour – while Bernard Hinault probably took a rusty scythe to his legs. 

The net result was the same, something that us amateur riders can rejoice in today – smooth, sculptured legs that announce unequivocally to the curious: I am a cyclist. 

‘From as far back as 2007 and as recently as the beginning of ACE Technology [BMC’s computer designed frame programme] we’ve really been prioritising tube shapes,’ says BMC’s product marketing manager, Thomas McDaniel. ‘Of course round tube shapes are generally the easiest to produce, but we find that they don’t ride very well. So the Crossmachine has some seriously different tube shapes going on, and it’s definitely the most engineered alloy frame I’ve ever ridden.’

‘Thin seatstays add to a really accommodating rear end – you can actually lean on the seatpost and see how much movement there is. The “Crosslock” [the small gusset between the top of the seat tube and top tube] is there to offset the extra stress on the seat tube from having lowered the point where the seatstays join it, and the overall boxier profile tube shapes are designed to transmit pedalling power while being tuned for compliance to make the Crossmachine comfortable. Its geometry is a little taller at the front end and it has a longer wheelbase, resulting in an all-rounder bike. It’s not a full-throttle cross race bike, but rather one that’s perfect for enthusiastic riders who occasionally pin on a number.’

This all-rounder approach is reflected in BMC’s component choice. The Crossmachine CXA01 isn’t skimping with its use of Shimano’s top-end hydraulic R785 disc brakes controlled by the mechanical shifting RS685 levers. But it does combine them with the mid-level workhorse Shimano 105 drivetrain, albeit with the exception of the 105 chainset – here replaced with the more affordable, non-series Shimano RS500 to help keep the price-point competitive.

The frame can take up to 33c tyres, but McDaniel is keen to point out that a skinny set of rubber can transform the bike into a keen road racing machine, and then some: ‘The Crossmachine has rack and mudguard mounts, which together with wide clearances means it’s just as happy on a gravel adventure ride as it is touring, winter training in the rain or hacking through muddy fields. Such is the versatility, the Crossmachine could be a rider’s only bike. It will reset how you think an alloy bike will ride like.’

Spec

Rough roads don’t have to mean rough rides. Scientists, frame builders, component suppliers and clothing companies are working to take the sting out of road rattle. Compliant frames and forks, seatpost suspension, tolerant wheels, sympathetic tyres, padded shorts and mitts can turn a jolty jaunt into a ride that glides.

The comfortable solutions are worth seeking because the dangers are real. Constant vibration on the handlebar can damage nerves in your hands and fingers and a shaking saddle can press persistently and painfully on your perineum. The most extreme is the Paris-Roubaix pavé, which shakes the riders for 90 minutes at intensities that are banned for factory workers if they go on for more than seven minutes a day.

the wrong wheels can increase the tremors by 13% and tyres by a massive 25%

‘Pro cycling is definitely a sport of discomfort,’ says Brent Bookwalter, BMC Racing Team rider and top time-triallist. ‘You have to be willing to place yourself in an uncomfortable position physically for a very long time.’ Even assuming your bike is set up perfectly for your body, any coarse tarmac can shiver your timbers.

What’s more, getting shaken all over saps your energy significantly. Experiments have shown that if you are vibrated as you cycle, your body needs up to 5% more oxygen.

Fortunately, scientists have been pinpointing the problems so solutions can be found. They say 24% of the handlebar vibration is down to the choice of forks and another 15% to the wheels. For the seatpost vibrations, the wheels get 42% of the blame and the frame 28%. But pause before planning to change those parts. Scientists at the University of Reims Champagne-Ardenne in France, who’ve been agitating about vibration and cycling for years, point out that the wrong wheels can increase the tremors by 13% and tyres by a massive 25%, which means the best solution could also be the cheapest. They got their figures by making a long-suffering FDJ team rider pedal to and fro across some sketchy surfaces.

Yet they also confirmed what many riders have learned from experience – if the going gets bumpy and you don’t want that numbness in your fingers or tingling up your arms, it’s best to put your hands on the brake hoods.

Give the pads a break

Padded mitts are a personal choice. ‘Finding the right glove is important, as your hands are main pressure points when you’re riding your bike. Sometimes a thicker pad in a glove doesn’t actually help the vibration,’ says Harriet Owen of the Matrix Fitness Pro Cycling team. ‘I use Bontrager RXL gloves as I think a gel pad provides great durability, reduces pressure and helps to eliminate hand numbness.’

Bookwalter has ridden with and without hand cushioning. ‘In Paris-Roubaix, I double-wrapped my bar tape and wore padded gloves, but usually I wear unpadded gloves because I like the way it connects me to the bike and the handlebar. I prefer to pay a little bit of a price in comfort and vibration.’

Likewise, the choice of chamois for shorts is personal. Josh Ibbett won the 2015 Transcontinental race, cycling from Flanders to Istanbul in nine days, 23 hours and 54 minutes, wearing the slimmest of pads. ‘I had a thinner chamois because there’s less to chafe – and they dry out quicker,’ he says.

The pad isn’t rated very highly for most riders, particularly when compared to the influence of the bike on comfort, and this has been borne out by new research at the University of Padova, Italy. Dr Antonio Paoli recruited nine club riders and made them wear a selection of chamois in their shorts as they pedalled. The result? The volunteers perceived little difference between the comfort given by the basic and the endurance pads, even though instruments showed the endurance pad reduced maximum pressures. Still, they were on a stationery bike in a lab and pedalling for only 20 minutes, which is not typical of most cycling experiences.

Keep your frame in mind

In the real world, framebuilders hope that whatever’s in your shorts is not a big issue because they want their frames to soften the ride sufficiently before any road buzz affects your body. In recent years they’ve been working hard to keep frames laterally stiff, so pedalling efforts are translated efficiently into forward motion, while somehow boosting their vertical compliance – the flex that helps absorb bumps and vibrations.

Bianchi and Specialized have both included viscoelastic materials in their carbon to dampen vibration. Trek’s Domane and new Madone feature an IsoSpeed decoupler that acts like a bearing at the junction of the seat tube and top tube to allow the seatpost to flex almost independently of the rest of the bike. Cannondale says its sinuous SAVE-shaped rear triangle does the job. Pinarello added a Jaguar-designed lightweight shock absorber to the seatstays of its Dogma K8-S, along with flexing chainstays.

Deciding which are most comfortable in general is not easy. A new study by the Reims scientists shows the effect varies according to the frequency of the juddering. So, a Lapierre Pulsium, with its twin section top tube and elastomer, came top when dampening vibrations faster than 40 times a second (40Hz), but others were better at lower frequencies.

That’s useful information if you know the speed you’ll be riding and the bumpiness of the cobbles ahead but, unless you’ve ridden those sections often, those are unknowns for most of us. Mind you, vibrations at 40Hz are best avoided if possible because other experiments suggest they give a real battering to your ankles, particularly when your foot is at the lowest part of the pedal stroke.

Tyre pressure

The bikes in the Reims lab tests had tyres inflated to 100psi, a conventional choice for road riding, but reducing pressure from that norm is the easiest way to reduce road shock. ‘When I rode the Spring Classics this season, wider tyres were fitted to every bike, 25mm, and ran at a lower tyre pressure to help improve comfort,’ says Harriet Owen of Matrix Fitness.

The BMC squad uses 25mm tyres almost as a matter of course these days, according to Bookwalter, although he asks the mechanics to run his at a little lower pressure than his team mates. ‘Comfort, vibration and control is a big piece of that,’ he says. ‘Even if the rolling resistance is a little bit slower, I feel like the lower pressure is a lot more supple and keeps your tyres rolling on the ground rather than bouncing all over the place.’

The severity of surfaces Josh Ibbett expected on the Transcontinental led him to go even wider – 28mm. ‘They’re underrated in road racing but they eliminate pinch punctures so you can run them at lower pressures. I had them at 90psi to start but when I went off a good surface, I dropped it to 50-60psi to get a wider footprint,’ says Ibbett. ‘Potholes really jolt and less air takes away the harshness.
I was riding with the minimum amount of gear so it was all measured with the “magic thumb” tyre pressure gauge,’ ie pressing the tyre with the thumb to feel how much air was in it.

Now it’s acknowledged that wider tyres put more rubber on the road to boost control and grip, yet the comfort benefits of changing tyre pressure apparently differs between riders, according to some clever lab tests by engineers at Sherbrooke University, Canada. They recruited seven experienced cyclists and put them on the same bike in turn – a large Argon 18 Helium fitted with Mavic Ksyrium 18-spoke wheels and Michelin Pro Race tyres, just 23mm wide. It was a fairly stiff set- up and highly likely to transmit a lot of road shock – which is what the cycling lab rats were going to have to endure.

The researchers asked the innocent volunteers to ride the bike on a treadmill, to which they had cunningly glued a wooden dowel almost 1cm high. The back of the bike was lifted slightly so only the front wheel was on the treadmill.

As the rolling road moved, the rider was bumped roughly every second, as they kept their hands on the brake hoods. Then, without telling them, the tyre pressure was changed and they were asked if they noticed any difference in the jolt at their hands on the brake hoods. Surprisingly, three out of the seven riders said they couldn’t feel anything different even when the pressure was dropped from 100psi to 70psi.

It’s the first time that anyone has tested how sensitive riders are to tyre pressure changes through their hands. ‘This suggests that some cyclists have a better capacity than others to differentiate the impact of sensory inputs at the hands,’ say the Canadian researchers. In other words, you might pump your tyres rock-hard and not feel a thing, but your mate will be shaking all over if he does the same. It seems that your comfort can come down to the kind of rideryou are and the roads you ride on, as much as the bike you ride. The trick is to ignore the hype and experiment with changes in tyre pressure, saddles, shorts, seatposts and the rest, and see what works best for you. If that sounds like a pain in the neck,it could at least save you a pain in the backside.