Hacksaws

Saturday 5th November was the third Hacksaws fixed gear race from Bristol to Bath and back and what great event it was, I'm still on a high from it.

I set out for the event with Pete, not really knowing what to expect. Do they wear lycra or baggies? Will my Bob Jackson Vigorelli be up to the task?

The first chap we saw was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and asked if there was a smokers' category, which gave me the impression this might be a low-key event. How wrong I was! Soon the top riders and their bikes started rolling in, complete with tri-bars and deep set aero wheels. I went to a cafe for a double-shot cappuccino and a huge cake as if to compensate for my inadequate bike.

Here's me and Pete (fourth and third from the left) at the start line. I've shamelessly stolen the pic from http://traumradfahren.wordpress.com/ - sorry!

From the Le Mans-style start on the Harbourside, thirty-five of us chose any path we could, racing past surprised looking shoppers and diners at the water front, in the direction of Temple Meads.

I really don't condone racing in shared pavement areas (and I think the organiser could look at changing the start/finish location in future) but this was a race and there were prizes to be had so I traversed the walkers as politely as I could (!) and made it to Temple Meads without incident. Behind me I could hear car horns beeping as riders jumped lights and took risks through the evening traffic. Lucky for me, green lights seemed to be in my favour.

The first hill came at Brislington where my small gear saw me dropping riders, only to be reeled back in on flat or downhill sections, where I was spinning furiously as my fixed gear gave my legs no freewheeling option.

Out along the A4 the drop in temperature was noticeable. It was a beautifully clear and dry night, and with a few fireworks going off in the distance it provided a great racing backdrop. The flashing tail lights in front of me started to move clear at this point. I caught my breath for the first time and, without the dangling carrot of a rider in front, I eased off the pace just a little, saving energy for the return.

The exertion was causing some pain in my right shoulder and I remembered how people who have heart attacks often complain of a pain in their arm. Putting that out of my mind I noticed that luck seemed to be with me at every roundabout and traffic light. The streets were quiet and my path was clear coming in to Bath. Then, about a mile from the check-point the first place rider came back in the other direction, followed by a few others. I started counting riders, about tenth place I thought. Could I hold it?

The slight rise up to Queen Square in Bath reminded my legs about the lack of gear choices. It wouldn't be the last time that I reached for an imaginary gear lever only to remember that there was only one option: pain!

I lost a few seconds at the checkpoint as I took the pavement instead of the road, then hit the northerly headwind on the return leg, slowing me down some more. I was out of the saddle though, throwing Bob Jackson from side to side underneath me, the tiny frame of the bike making it perfect for out-of-the-saddle power.

Back out through Bath and I just made an amber light as I turned onto the A4. Ten seconds later and out of nowhere came a guy tucked into his tri-bars. He must have jumped the light, bastard! Luckily though, he gave me some shelter from the wind on the exposed A road. He made the roundabout before me and cut through a gap between two cars, forcing me to come to a standstill. I lost him here but soon gained another rider on the long straight to Saltford. I noticed that he was riding a massive gear. With my bike suited to climbing and his suited to sprinting, I suspected that we'd play cat and mouse all the way back to Bristol. I tried to lose him on the climbs and he tried to lose me on the flat but we were pretty evenly matched.

By the time we got back into Bristol the number of pedestrians had thinned considerably but it was still a nerve-jangling sprint through Millennium Square. The rider in front gave me a great line to follow and in the end I rolled in just behind him in 13th place.

We shook hands and congratulated each other on coming away unscathed. Then it took a good ten minutes for me to stop coughing and the sick feeling in my stomach didn't leave for quite some time - probably until the first after-party beer in the Grain Barge.

By the time I got round to checking my phone I saw that Pete didn't get on so well. He punctured and got lost in Bath, so caught the train home, making it just in time for the prize-giving.

This is pretty much the last bike race I'll do in Bristol as I'm moving to Nottingham in a couple of weeks. Between the fireworks, the scenery and the exhilaration of racing, this was a fitting finale to six years of cycling in and around Bristol. I've gone from hesitant commuter to dare-devil racer during that time. I'm still not shaving my legs though!