After months of discussing bike modifications, wheel choice, tyre choice, tyre pressure, bar phat, double bar tape, bottle cages etc, etc……the time for talking was over as Des Pugh, Chris Roberts and myself (Darren Jarman) headed off to take on the cobbles of the famous Paris-Roubaix bike race. We were taking on the ultimate challenge of riding the 170k from Busigny to Roubaix on the same course as the pros would race the following day. Despite the forecast promising 18 degrees in the afternoon, the morning started off with dense fog limiting visibility to approximately 50 meters. Fine drizzle which when combined with a temperature of 6 degrees, made the first 8.5 miles of tarmac into the first section of pavé one to reflect on just what had we got ourselves into!
Whilst we all complain about the condition of the British roads after a harsh winter, many a ride over the last 3 months I have hit every lump, bump and pothole in an attempt to try and recreate what I think the cobbled sections of the famous pavé sectors may feel like. Whilst approaching the first sector I was wishing I had gone for full finger gloves as the cold was really starting to bite and the heart was pounding with both fear and excitement of what was about to be encountered. The grey and murky conditions masked the road ahead and the thought of riding the cobbles wet from the drizzle made me feel like I was going into battle blind. I wanted to take things steady at first until I knew what it felt like on the pavé beyond the gloomy conditions but everything I had read suggested the best way to take on the cobbles, or baby’s heads as they are commonly referred to for their size and shape, was in a big gear, at a good pace and on the smoother crest in the middle.
As the cobbles appeared in the distance with the gated gantry over the route declaring sector 28, Troisvilles à Inchy, 2,200m severity 6/10, I braced myself, tightly gripped my bars and went for it!!!! YOU ARE KIDDING ME was one of the many thoughts that went through my mind during the first brief seconds of riding the cobbles. My mind drifted back to those rides in the UK when I had told myself, this must be what it’s like. I couldn’t have been further from the truth. It’s like me saying “I’m Spartacus” comparing myself to the great Fabian Cancellara, who the following day would be chasing a fourth victory in the Queen of the Classics over the very same cobbles and a third Flanders-Roubaix double, the two are a million miles apart! The vibrations through your hands and legs tell the brain to slow down as it drains all your energy but you fight the voices and try and keep a strong cadence going. Initial fine line between massive smiles of excitement and tears of what you have in store for the rest of the day are at tipping point. I just keep going, passing the streams of drink bottles littering the pavé which have already given up the will to hang onto the bike for more than 50m, until the end of the first sector. We all group back up once on the tarmac, speechless with what we have just covered, possibly a little chuckle, and we continue on to the next 1,800m of HELL 12.5 miles away.
The voyage continues in the same vein for the next hour or so. Whilst on the flat in a strange way it almost becomes bearable, the early downhill sections of pavé required breaking as well as holding on and with the feeling still not yet in my fingers the task is nigh on impossible. With that said, the concentration required whilst riding the cobbles, coupled with the chat on the smooth continental tarmac of what you have just ridden, results in the miles just flying by and before we know it we are approaching the first feed station 28.5 miles in with an average speed of 19.5mph. I take on some more water and treat myself to one or two tuc biscuits and we are off once again.
Whilst there are many famous sectors in the great race, none capture the imagination more than sector 18, Trouée d’Arenberg at 50 miles in, 2,400m long and a severity of 10/10.The Trouée d’Arenberg (Trench of Arenberg) has become one of the symbols of Paris–Roubaix, the cobbles of which were laid in the time of Napoleon. Running dead straight through the ghostly forest of Arenberg over the tunnels and underground railroad of the redundant mines, its brutality is legendary and rarely exaggerated. By this time I was starting to understand the feel of the terrain, relaxing on the bike and letting it dart about below me like a hare being chased down by a predator. Taking up a light grip on the bars and continuing to push a big gear, I attacked the sector with purpose for just under 6 minutes, holding an average speed of approximately 15mph. With the memories of the Arenberg now well and truly bashed within my brain, we stopped to take some pictures as a memento before heading off to the next feed station.
By now the weather had improved and the arm warmers and gilet had been taken off and stowed in my back pockets and the numb fingers were a thing of the past. In turn the cobbles had also taken on a different complexion as it was now dust that covered the pave which made them equally as treacherous as the moisture early on in the day. We were all skipping along over the cobbles by this time and as the riders competing in the shorter routes started joining the ride the sense of confidence was apparent as we weaved our way down the sectors which were becoming congested, passing others from all direction, switching from one side of the pavé to the other. Whilst it was possible to hug the smooth gutter on either side of the road to ease the blows to the arms and legs, constantly we found ourselves taking to the hard stuff, more often than not to avoid the MTB’ers who were taking the easy option (If you are thinking of doing Paris-Roubaix, don’t take a MTB!).
After just over 6.5 hours of riding we started approaching Roubaix and all thoughts turned to the famous Velodrome. For years I have watched the great race and the iconic images of riders coming off the streets and hitting the velodrome at speed. We had talked about the challenge we had set ourselves and the feeling of elation we would encounter as we rode around the track, which is now only used at the end of the classic race as a new indoor venue has been built across the road. And did the vision live up to expectations? Well, not quite! Everything was going to plan. The cobbled run in down the centre of the two roads was as smooth as it had been all day. The pace was quick until we managed to control our emotions and decided to slow right down, ensuring we soaked up the atmosphere and enjoyed our surroundings as we turned into the velodrome, letting out a cry of achievement as we started to slowly ride the famous track. That’s when I lost my nerve. For months I had thought about how I would approach the cobbles and my mind was focused on the task in hand. Not once had I thought about the velodrome other than the elation, enjoyment, relief of hopefully finishing without too many bumps and bruises and that finishing photo when crossing the line before receiving the well earned medal and the first of many pints.
For those of you who are velodrome virgins, like I was, they are steep! The pace we had dropped to to ensure we enjoyed the final moments of our adventure almost became my undoing. Instead of taking the top corner at speed with a big smile on my face, I dropped to the horizontal blue concrete which circled the inside perimeter of the track thinking to myself how could I have overlooked this? As I started to exit the corner I hit the diminishing bank and shot down the straight, ensuring we got the final photo we had talked about, but only just.
My final 30 seconds of panic when I thought I would come off on the smoothest part of the whole route were soon forgotten as we all congratulated each other on what we had all achieved. The whole experience was one that will never leave me and my perception of cycling changed. Before the weekend I would say to people, if you like your cycling you must head to the Alps and ride Alpe d’Huez or get yourself over to the MTB trails of Slickrock in Moab, Utah. That was until Paris-Roubaix! After only 2 sectors I was hooked and my views changed forever. After watching the pro’s ride the same route with supposed ease you find a whole new level of respect for the elites of this world. It really does become a pleasure pain thing. The more respect you give to the cobbles the more they seem to literally bite you in the arse. My advice to anyone who is remotely into cycling, go take on the Arenberg, grab it by the scruff of the neck and don’t let it bite you. But only after a trip to your local Velodrome, no one mentions that.
My selfie at the end of the Arenberg! Chris and Des crossing the line in the famous Roubaix Velodrome
Chapeau guys!
F1st rate reportage, Darren, thanks