I was intrigued when I saw that Michael Hutchinson, Cycling Weekly columnist and ex-professional, had written a book about ultra-distance riding. Despite having a distinguished career as a pro racer, he learns that ultra-distance is far more complex than just ‘the same, but longer’. He fully admits his naivety and spends the book exploring ultra-riding from the perspective of an elite athlete slightly out of his depth in a new discipline. He’s still really good at it though.
There are four specific reference points that he returns to repeatedly throughout the book: 24hr time trials, Race Across America (RAAM), the LEJOG record and the Transcontinental Race (TCR). They represent different types of ultra-distance events and each requires a very different approach and mindset. A 24hr TT will be on repeated loops of public road with no limit on the support provided by helpers (if you have any) so long as they don’t get in the way or actually push you. At the other extreme is TCR, where competitors aren’t even allowed to share food with each other, although assistance from random strangers is acceptable. RAAM has a precondition that all entrants must have two support vehicles following them and it would be virtually impossible to challenge the LEJOG record without a dedicated road crew.
Simplifying things to the point of absurdity, if you have the physical ability to ride one of these, you could ride them all, but that’s not entirely true. Physical ability is just one aspect of being a good ultra rider and one that diminishes in importance the longer the event. A 10 mile TT will be won by the rider with the biggest engine, but being successful at an ultra requires many other, less easy to define, abilities. A RAAM rider can be left to simply pedal, while her crew coddles her with everything else she needs, from directions and pacing advice to instructions on what to eat and when. Mechanical issues are just an opportunity to nap while the crew fixes things, whereas on TCR if you break a load of spokes up an Albanian mountain in the middle of the night, or run out of supplies in the arse end of nowhere, unless you can sort things out yourself and self-recover (usually while cold, tired and hungry) you’re shit out of luck.
He only mentions audaxing fleetingly, but it really ought to be a fifth point of reference. Personally I think it falls between TCR and RAAM. It’s much cheaper and more accessible, for a start and it also lacks the occasionally grating hair-shirt purity of TCR. Audaxes also start small, with rides from just 50km, so they offer a nice upward path for anyone keen to explore their personal limits within a supportive framework. At the top end are 1000km+ rides like PBP and LEL and a handful of even longer routes, like Calais-Brindisi. Self-sufficiency and resilience are essential, especially on x-rated events with no organiser support, but these skills can be learned as you develop. One of Hutch’s teammates is Steve Abraham, who is as close to a living legend as any audaxer can be, so it’s not like Hutch isn’t aware of audax. Rather it’s a reflection of his focus on ultra-distance racing, rather than ‘just’ riding. Audaxes aren’t timed races, as we all know, but there’s no denying the competitive nature of many riders and the satisfaction of being first back on a ride. Have I mentioned that I’ve won a few New Forest 200s?
Hutchinson mentions his relief at finding out that training for a 24hr TT doesn’t mean a diet of enormously long rides and the same is true of audaxing. Long rides can (and will) give you priceless experience, but you don’t have to do them to gain the fitness needed for ultras. That’s a useful lesson for any of us with aspirations for either doing them or getting better at them. I’m entering the Mersey Roads 24hr next year and my training plans include a lot of 10 mile TTs, which take less than 25 minutes. That, plus my regular 2/3/400 audaxes should see me right, I hope. Hutch talks to many TCR competitors and LEJOG record holders and although their training methods vary, none of them use a 1:1 scale to prepare for events.
Some of the book strays into training-nerd territory. There are plenty of riders who know their FTP and have power meters fitted to analyse every pedal stroke. I’m not one of them and my eyes glaze over at the thought of intervals and training plans, even though they might be really useful. Taking it that seriously just sucks out all the fun as far as I’m concerned. The one bit of info offered by Hutch that did pique my interest was the idea of riding a 24hr (or indeed any ultra) at a much lower level of effort than might seem ideal. Basically you set yourself a ‘do not exceed’ threshold and aim to ride at, or near it, for the course of the event. The logic being that you ride at a pace than can be sustained, rather than blowing up and slowing dramatically during the event. Hutch is a professional coach (and coachee, if that’s a word) so he talks about it in more sciencey terms and his ‘do not exceed’ is informed by a power meter and his lactate threshold, the point at which fatigue builds up faster than your muscles can cope. I have access to neither, but the basic principle is still one I can use (and have used) in events.
Some of the most interesting sections in the book are where he talks about psychology. Physical strength will get you through a short event and no-one quits a 10 mile TT half way through because they’ve mentally given up (although I’ve been close once or twice) but long events require a strong mind and mental resilience to cope with boredom, pain, tiny niggles that are the WORST THING EVER and all the random crap that can go wrong, no matter how hard you’ve prepared.
There are two concepts he talks about in some detail. The brain as a governor of your physical body and mental resilience as a factor in how you cope with adversity.
The brain as governor is very interesting. In essence, your brain acts as an unconscious regulator and it can, and will, reduce the level of effort you can put out. Ever experienced magic legs about 20 miles from the finish? That’s your brain deciding that it’s finally ok to let your flesh body work a bit harder. Feeling weirdly sluggish? That could be your brain again deciding that it needs to protect you by reducing the power you can put out. It’s an unconscious process and quite mysterious, but it could explain why we all go through bad patches, despite being on top of our nutrition, hydration and having no obvious issues. Part of dealing with those bad spells is having the confidence to understand that it’s ok to slow down, it’s ok to have a little break and to believe that it will get better. That confidence only comes with experience and even this year I had bad spells when I should have just slowed down a little, not panicked and given myself a few kilometres to recover, instead of forcing myself to keep pushing. The brain governor theory could well explain any number of occasions when I’ve quit on rides, despite having time in hand and no real issues. There’s a negative feedback loop that goes something like this: ‘I don’t feel up to this’ > ‘I’m feeling crap & slow’ > ‘This is going to be horrible’ > I don’t feel up this this’ > ‘I feel crap & slow> etc. Repeat all the way to the nearest train station.
He also talks at some length about mental resilience. I’m a world class quitter and there are many occasions when I’ve scratched from a ride despite having travelled to the start and woken up on time in a hotel somewhere. Something just says ‘nope, we’re not doing this. We’re going home’ and so I do. It comes down, I think, to how stressed I’m feeling. Being away from home & having to organise extra logistics = additional mental pressure. Not sleeping well, because the hotel is too noise/hot/uncomfortable = extra pressure. All manner of life problems and issues going on = extra pressure. It should be easy to give myself a stern talking to and just feckin’ well get on with it, but self-discipline isn’t that simple. Same for actual rides and my (many) DNFs. If something isn’t right, then a relatively minor problem can stop me in my tracks and send me heading to the nearest station. Recently I’ve overcome what might have been ride-stopping issues – all petty – had I been feeling less confident and sure of myself. I suspect there are plenty of us around. People whose ability to even start a ride is surprisingly fragile, even if our physical ability is more than adequate. It’s a bit of a guilty secret and not one that gets talked about very often, because online there’s a certain type of rider who will proudly boast that they’ve never DNF’ed for anything short of death and even then they’ll mention this bloke Lazarus who completed the Galilee Gallop 600 despite being declared dead half-way through. Presumably with the aid of some Holy Haribo. There’s a certain type of macho pride in it and an element of shaming those who don’t live up to the ideal of a hard-as-nails rider who can, and will, complete a ride under any and all circumstances. I’m getting stronger and more mentally resilient (it helps enormously that I’m much, much fitter than I’ve ever been) but I’m at heart a delicate blossom and not ashamed of it. Hutch talks about being gently but firmly put back on his bike during a 24hr, despite having decided to quit. In that respect I’m much tougher than him. When I quit, I quit good and hard, so don’t even bother trying to convince me otherwise!
The book has a breezy, self-deprecating tone that regular readers of his Cycling Weekly column will be familiar with. It’s an easy read and I knocked it off in barely a day. That might suggest it’s not great value at full price, but I’ll probably return to it for lessons, advice and possibly inspiration in the future. If you’re interested in riding stupid distances, either because you’ve done it and want to revel in the suffering of someone else or are merely curious about what motivates people to do such daft things, it’s worth picking up.
Well Chuffed Cycling 