Who said the cyclo-sportives are not races and that they are just a bit of fun for cycle tourists? Granted that a lot of people were upset that the inaugural Paris-Roubaix challenge was downgraded to a sportive,since road closures were not possible for the whole route, but when I joined 1600 other competitors on the start line in St. Quentin, northern France on April 9th this year, I was left in no doubt that this indeed was in most people’s minds, a race.

I don’t speak lightly when I say this was a lifetime ambition. To get a chance to ride 138km of these infamous roads through “l’enfer du nord” was really only a childish fantasy for many years, watching those grainy pictures of mud-caked competitors of the 80s and 90s. Yet, exactly one year and a fortnight to the day since I first rode an official club spin (which incidentally nearly killed me entirely!) I was lined up in my 2011 Naas CC kit and ready for action. I hoped for a decent finishing time and as I had advised many supporters, a safe passage with no mechanicals would be my aim. And in deference to my racing nature, I was doing this without stopping.{phocagallery view=category|categoryid=8|imageid=98|float=right}

Any uncertainty as to the pace was quashed within the first hour when against a harsh north-north-east breeze, we covered 34km across open farmland: that’s racing pace in my book anyway. And let me be clear: Paris Roubaix is definitely not “flat” in the Dutch sense. We encountered 60km of continuous rolls and drags, mostly 4%-5%, with the worst ramp at 8%. Think of Athy to Kilcullen… for 60km… into a head wind. And it was only then that the fun began on the cobbles. Before this, a small hitch whereby my spare tube dropped out of a back pocket meant I got distanced by what remained of my wave, the “mini-peloton” now reduced from two hundred down to about twenty-five. It might have been a blessing in disguise because as soon as this rookie hit the pave, he was bouncing around like never before and desperately looking for what might be described as a safe line. Hefty Flemish types whizzed by me as the specialism required for negotiating this unique territory became apparent. Needless to say, the ditch at the side was my preferred line for many sectors as quite simply, I did not have my hands or bars equipped fully to tolerate over 30km of this torture.

As the sectors counted down, I began to recognise some of the more iconic locations: Sars-et-Rosiers where Franck Schleck crashed in the 2010 Tour de France; sectors named after former French legends Marc Madiot and Gilbert Duclos-Lassalle; and the five star cobbles of Mons-en-Pevele, where in 2010 and again this year, Fabian Cancellara set about destroying his rivals. I was particularly proud of my own efforts on this difficult stretch and remember it as the only sector upon which I passed more people than passed me, not counting the unfortunate casualties upturned in the ditch. But in truth, as I passed the 120km mark, the aches in my neck, arms and particularly left hand meant that I really could not go anywhere near as fast as desired on the cobbles. Holding the bars was a real struggle and I really limped through the brutal sector 5, Camphin-en-Pevele, before a rush of adrenaline got me through the Carrefour de-L’arbre and the welcome relief of the finish. My one disappointment was my lack of preparedness regarding my hands: padded steering tube and re-enforced gloves were insufficient and though the legs wanted more speed, the rest of me didn’t. But you live and learn and until one has tried this type of racing, one can never truly explain the strange mixture of sheer joy and sheer pain.

The pros, ex-pros and top amateurs on the day negotiated it all in just over four hours, legends like Sean Kelly and Andrea Tafi among them. I took an hour and a bit longer but was mightily pleased to return unscathed. The real star of the show was my magnificent Giant TCR Advanced 4: I have never felt so attached to a piece of machinery and will remain so forever, regardless of components and whatnot. Trying to explain all of this to many friends and family over the past while has been difficult. I know that every single sportive subsequent to this will seem that bit easier and more manageable. The best I can manage is to simply say that Paris-Roubaix is like nothing on earth.

And come to think about it: maybe that’s why they call it HELL.

FOOTNOTE: many suggested that I was a bit mad to do this challenge solo and unaided. They were entirely correct.  Big thanks to all who supported me in the run up to the event with their advice, encouragement and kindness. I remember and appreciate every little bit of it. And to Emily-Anne my wife: my directeur-sportif on the day, thanks too. JK.{jcomments on}