A look back at past Gazettes – December, 1988

AN INTRODUCTION TO TEAM TIME TRIALLING

It was after a “25” on the F10 that Roger Sewell sidled up and said “Fancy riding the Farnham 4-up time trial on the first Sunday in October? David and Alan will ride and we need a fourth. Nothing serious, you understand, just a steady 60k ride. It’s the day after the club “50”, so you and I will be a bit tired and Alan and David are not very fit anyway”. It seemed a fairly innocuous way of spending a Sunday morning, so I duly sent off an entry.

The day arrived and I was at the start in good time to go for a gentle ride in an effort to loosen up tired muscles from the efforts of the previous afternoon. It also gave me the opportunity to locate an attractive pub suitable for an after event beer.

 I found the other three innocents and, never having ridden other than solo previously, I listened carefully to the advice on riding a TTT. David said, “The man on the front does 30 pedal revs then moves over, waits until the last man passes, and falls in behind until once again it becomes his turn at the front”. Nothing to it, I thought, all that is needed is an ability to count up to 30.

We lined up before the timekeeper, the Sewells, Alan (Worthington) and myself at the rear. The usual last rites, “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, go” and we were off. I soon discovered that this type of competition requires one to have a pretty nifty turn of acceleration, something in the order of 0–30 mph in six seconds! Within a few hundred yards I was breathless, legless and could hardly see, through my watering eyes, the back wheel I was supposed to be glued to. It soon became apparent that this was not going to be the picnic I had been led to believe. Oliver Hardy’s famous words flashed through my mind, “Another fine mess you’ve got me into”.

If I could get to the front I could perhaps slow these maniacs down. This I did by going flat out, out of the saddle, but no sooner was I in the lead than the Sewells, followed by Alan came flashing by. They had obviously never attended school and not learnt how to count to 30 – about six I made it. It also began to dawn on me that, not only had the Sewells taken me for a ride, in both senses of the word, but, furthermore, the event organiser was guilty of blatant misrepresentation. The course had many flat sections, I reckon at least ten, unfortunately, none of them were more than 100 yards long. The rest of the time it was up and down and I had forgotten how steep and hard those Surrey hills can be. At least in civilised Hertfordshire, if a mountain time trial is held it says so in the handbook.

After about five miles Roger casually said, “Fun ain’t it?” I resisted the temptation to push him off, for whilst I could think of several things it was, fun most definitely wasn’t amongst them. I was also unable to utter some of the unprintable repostes going through my mind due to the fact that I didn’t have the breath to pedal, let alone speak. I looked at my watch, then the Avocet and could see that there must be at least another hour to go and I thought of those hills on the way back from the turn. I plugged on aching in every limb and fed up with the sight of someone else’s derailleur only just perceptible through my glazed eyes. “Six k to go”, called Roger. At this pace increased and the Sewell’s palyed their trump card. Alan, who had spent most of the morning feigning death at the rear, now began to feel the benefit of his steroid injections and went like the clappers. At first I thought I was being overtaken by a stick insect, but no, it was the man himself.

The coup de grace came at a roundabout roughly two to three miles from the finish. Being brighter than the other three I took a different line, only to find myself detached from them once on the straight. Try as I might I could not close the gap which, slowly, yard by yard, widened to a point where I realised that with time taken on the third man across the line, the agony need not be endured any longer. I duly trundled on to reach the finish just as they were about to send out a search party.

“Alright?” said Roger, “Not much to it really, you’ll be OK once you get used to the technique”. For the second time that morning I resisted the temptation.

So dear racer, if Roger is a disarming way says, “How about riding . . .?” don’t say I didn’t warn you. Only one further humiliation followed, yes as you might have guessed, they made me pay for the beer!

The result board showed that the three plus one had finished second overall to a top-class quartet from the Clarence Wheelers. Not a bad effort I suppose.