Welcome Back
On Sunday 12th May, I had the privilege of being free to ride one of the few—five to be exact—historic National Series races still going in England—The Rapha Lincoln GP. My goal with taking to the startline of the 68th edition was to keep the ball rolling and build up my racing rhythm. Ed–With hindsight, I had not strung together a series of racing weekends quite like I have the past 6 weeks for some time. I wanted to continue my progression from a positive outing in Brugge for the Elfstedenronde the week previous.
For all up-and-comers who may be reading this, speak to anyone and everyone.
I do not doubt that it would’ve been surprising to see my name on the start list. It is indeed rare for a professional rider to take to the startline of a National race on home turf. With no clash on Bingoal WB’s racing calendar, I was grateful that the team management permitted me to take part.
The Lincoln GP was my second National A, but the first where I knew I could be competitive. Before the race, I had a flurry of butterflies in my stomach as I knew I could be right up there, but I was tentative to see if my training legs would translate into the race. I’ll touch on the positive experiences from this race a bit later on, but the excitement extended to seeing so many friendly faces in the paddock, many of whom I hadn’t seen in a while.
In my last post, I described the paddock as the hive of activity at any race. This was personified as I walked to sign on. It was an endless stream of “You alright [insert person’s name], how are you doing?” I caught up with a guy named Guido, from Primera Team Jobs, after he observed that I seemed to know everybody. I could only respond to Guido with it being my job to know and speak to people around the race as that is what gives me the space to get my elbows out between the start and finish lines. That is one tip I have for all up-and-comers who may be reading this, speak to anyone and everyone. All it takes is a quick conversation, and you get your spare wheels in a team car, for example.
Why is it important to have friends in the convoy? It is almost non-existent in the British Scene. It’s something I find a real shame as the entry costs (and the travel, for many) are so high that everything to capitulate just once up the Michaelgate and its race over. No chance to get back into a convoy, let alone the peloton after a swift bike change. It’s you versus the front of the race. It’s like the barrage that is becoming ever-more commonplace in the top flights of the sport. It’s unfortunate, because having a mechanical issue in a road race or being dropped due to an incident at an untimely moment, is nothing like the ‘lap out’ rule that people used to be coy with. You don’t want to drop back ever, so it’s a shame the convoy isn’t denser and there is more chance of a returning mishap.
Feels like Summer
The heat ramped up across Britain that weekend. I knew it would surely be a hot affair, but I had not raced in conditions north of twenty-five degrees for what felt like a long time. It was certainly one of the few days where there hadn’t been a single drop of water—except for the water people were spraying on their heads.
I had initially anticipated wearing a fine base layer from Sixt, a team sponsor, but decided against it on the start line. Giving the fans what they wanted. A lean cyclist stripping down with only a few minutes until the official rollout. By listening to my gut sensations, which reminded me of past experiences where I overheated—GP Perenchies ‘22, Brussels Zepperen ‘21—putting paid to any hopes of a result in those races, surely saved my race.
Especially as the Michaegate berg in the centre of Lincoln was so steep and slow that it was like a sauna, due to the noticeable absence of any breeze on those slopes. In such conditions too, I find my face gets ridiculously hot, so at the base of the climb, every other lap, I’d remove my glasses to maximise the wind hitting my face, and as such induce a placebo of feeling cooler. (That’s why I always hope for a helmet and glasses combination that accommodates this function). Anything really to help reduce that body heat and feel calmer when going á bloc up a cobbled high street such as the Michaelgate.
Fuelling was crucial in that heat. Not only the physical food—gels and bars—but also fluids. Thankfully the organisers decided to keep the feedzone open for one extra lap. A lifesaver for me, as a competitor was searching for a bidon—as we all were—and proceeded to grapple for both of my bottles from Mum and Dad. He dropped both and so I was left without a bottle for a lap. My mouth parched, I was craving a water drop. The aforementioned rider did briefly give me his bottle, which he had managed to take from his dad, after a forceful telling-off.
Mum and Dad did an incredible job getting me fresh, chilled bottles when I needed them (bar the cock up above). The skills developed from the past, high-paced, kermesse races under the height of the summer sun came in clutch. As did the hand-eye coordination developed from years of multi-disciplined sports. It made contact with the hand, clean and without issue. No slaps, or overly gripping of the body of the bottle. Just perfect timing. Contact and release. The brain, muscle neurological pathways firing impeccably.
The Race
The Lincoln GP is essentially a British version of a Pro Kermis Koers in Belgium. It’s a 12.8km loop on the North East outskirts of Lincoln. The parcours is such that it is a sprint up a one-and-a-half minute berg every 20 minutes. Before a brief plateau and descent. It lends itself to a certain rhythm where I can just copy and paste my approach every lap. Then I will have no issues. I quite like those sorts of races, and certainly believe there should be more circuit races at the top flight of the sport—as was suggested on a recent Radio Cycling Podcast.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fabf09165-f4c9-48c1-bf3f-e7be4ca146c2_2048x1366.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F1c3a5309-bad6-483c-96e5-c6e3557158d9_1024x683.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F33cdcbc0-003e-48aa-93e8-677a5900b88a_1024x683.jpeg)
It’s a war of attrition. There’s no other way to race it than to produce 300+ watts all day long.
After a brief rollout to the castle, we set off for another short neutralisation over the plateau. Just before crossing the bridge, the flag dropped. Doing what I normally do, I let the others attack and found myself sliding into position 20, in the peloton.
Before I get to the next bit, it must be said I’d never ridden the course. I had no idea what the corners were like, where they were or how fast I could take them. I figure at every race there are 13 laps of the course, I’ll work it out after 2 and the race rarely… rarely ever is done after 1 lap—except for Prof Koerses in Belgium.
On this occasion, the corners came rather quickly after the neutralised section. The sequence featured a series of 90-degree bends, some cambered, some sloping away. Either way, I was on edge, by my weaker cornering of late, compounded by the fact I had never taken these corners. Yet, I was rubbing shoulders with some of the most technically adept cyclists, by virtue of our steadfast tight technical criterium racing. Having analysed my technique, thanks to a photo by Gary Main, I have improved and did improve throughout this race—and races.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fdc84a992-40e3-4163-bb29-22e6addc80b9_1440x960.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F9f6a727e-6b8a-457e-ae2d-f20856f35f26_1440x960.jpeg)
As such, all those who made the front split of 20 riders on the first lap can thank me… or not may be the case, as if you’re spending that much energy in the very first lap of a race it is sure to bite in the final hour. That’s why I take in the course in its entirety on the first and second laps of the race. It holds me back from attacking, unless of course, it feels as though the race requires me to know it before the start. I.e. if the wind is blowing a gale.
Circling back around to the Lincoln Castle, we tackled the Cobbled Berg of the Michaelgate. It was lined with people I didn’t notice. A pity, because there was an abundance of enthusiastic fans clamoring their Rapha Cowbells. For me it was too much noise, so I shut it out. All I focused on was the next two layers of stones in front of my wheel. Keeping the pressure on and my pedals turning. I had zoned out completely every time I got to the berg, just focusing entirely on the competitors around me. Just focusing on that rhythmic routine I’d established.
My eyes were concentrated, ears turned off, yet my sixth sense was highly active. I sensed the many riders who were causing issues on the berg, coming to a standstill allowing me to circumnavigate them without issue. I’ll never understand those who drop their chain halfway up. Like what did you think was going to happen whilst putting 600 watts through a taught chain? Stupid. As others move around the blockage, I would use my arm to skirt off of the other competitors who were unable to dodge the stagnant rider. It’s a technique similar to that of boats that come into the dock, using something external that prevents bars from locking, or brakes from being pulled.
I tried a few attacks throughout the race. Once arriving at the bottom of the Michaelgate solo having maintained a solid tempo. With my gut in the heat and lack of racing miles, I was flagging in the final two laps. But I was only 30 or 40 seconds off of the leading group with Alex and Matt. I had spent some matches on attacking, maybe, earlier than I should’ve otherwise. That’s in contrast to Matt Holmes, who used his experience and wit to hide away and produce but two critical attacks. One test, and one to jump to the front group. I hold that reel of the moment he went away with three others. Flailing his arms, I should’ve jumped at this moment. For whatever reason at the time, I did not. Next time I recognise that in my gut I’ll jump and see what happens.
Coming into the final, I jumped away from a small group I was with just as another reduced peloton was making the junction. A couple of riders from Thriva CT rode with me to the final time up the berg where we battled for the top 10. In my second race back, I was content with 12th. A positive sign and a continuation of the good work I had put into my training.
British Racing
I was asked to compare the Lincoln GP to the abundance of races I had competed in abroad. My response was brief. Simply, I felt as if I was racing in Europe. You hear a lot about the safety of professional cycling coming into question in recent times. Yet, until you’ve experienced the British scene, it’s often just a shadow of what it could be. However, the Lincoln GP, a National A event, is run as part of the British Cycling National Road Series making it much closer to its European counterparts. In that, it also has rolling and uni-directional road closures. Really, save for the parked cars as we descended rapidly into the base of Michaelgate, it was clean open roads where we competitors could race hard, and get our elbows out without the fear of pushing them over that dreaded double white line.
British racing is nothing less than arduous. It’s a war of attrition. There’s no other way to race it than to produce 300+ watts all day long. It’s like a time trial. A relatively constant pace with a particular rhythm to it, even without a spiked berg every twenty minutes. As the race goes on, the fatigue builds within the legs and it’s more crucial than ever to dig deep right to the end. Others are waning, yet I find mine are still turning at a good tempo. Personally, that was a big goal of this race. To have four hours of full gas racing in the legs and revitalising a confidence that had faded in previous months.
There was a high level at this race, evidenced by Saint Piran's failure to keep their winning streak alive. Ex-World Tour riders, Alex Richardson and Matt Holmes were both present. Alongside Ollie Rees from a Portuguese Continental team, John Archibald and Damian Clayton—absolute engines. Attacks were aplenty, and it was easy to follow tactically, just my legs and technique in tandem let me down into the dying moments of the race, just as it did in Veenendaal and ZLM.
But this British race was a crucial step. It allowed me to continue a racing block which featured, in the end, six weekends of racing back to back. Something that had not featured on my First Cycling Page for quite some time. It provided me the opportunity to race, without thinking. To give it full gas knowing all I had to do was produce high watts and hold my own on the berg, which I was confident suited me. That was indicated before the race by my gut and British Continental’s preview. I was curious, and that showed in the way that I raced—besides the corners—without fear.
Personal Performance
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to He Who Learns to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.