In 1772 the French explorer Saint Alouarn arrived on the west coast of Australia, if he had stuck around and made a decent job of claiming it for France, Sydney and Mont Ventoux in Provence may have had something in common. As it is, the 16,540km that separate Sydney and Mont Ventoux means that they are worlds apart.

My mid-life crises will have me scaling new heights this year. I have signed up to ride 6 stages of the Tour de France with a great charitable organisation called Tour de Force. We ride the same route as the Tour, a week earlier. The stages I am doing are the Alpine stages, the first being Stage 15  the ride up Mont Ventoux, then a series of stages through the Alps ending up in Paris on Bastille day.

Consistent with other activities that my advancing years have led me to, the decision to take part was the easy bit. From 16,000 km away the challenge of riding long distances up big mountains is not that scary.

Riding my push bike around Sydney is thoroughly enjoyable, it is warm, seldom rains and there are lots of interesting places to visit and scenery to ride around. As an extra bonus, having ridden my bike consistently for the last year and a half, I can now negotiate the hillier climbs in Sydney’s North and still function for the rest of the day without having to lie in a darkened room.

Whilst Sydney offers many distractions it does lack a significant 1,900m mountain on which I can train. In fact I have only ever been up close and personal with any real mountains once in my life. This was on a skiing trip when I was considerably younger and I spent more time in a bar looking out at them than actually skiing on them.

On a trip to Adelaide over the summer holiday I had the opportunity to test my legs around the Adelaide Hills. I started to get a bit more of an insight into what I have signed up for, longer climbs, steeper gradients and still not a real mountain in sight.

The first stage I ride in July is 242km across France, it ends with the 20.8km ascent of Mont Ventoux. This has me a little nervous, so as with my previous training regimes, a bit of a mad mist has descended. I am now planning my free time around long rides, lots of sleep and quality time with the family.

Robyn and the girls are surprisingly supportive of my endeavours. After each ride they also take a keen interest in my performance, “Did you have good legs?”, “How far did you climb?” and “What was your average speed?” are all fired at me with straight faces. I am not sure if they are taking the mickey, so I have taken to giving them a full ride report with the threat of a test afterwards.

Despite the lack of any mountains in Sydney, the real advantage I do have is that I can get out on my bike all year around. The majority of the riders who will take part (you can do a few stages or sign up to ride the whole thing) have to train their way through a northern winter. I think hours in a cold, damp, garage on a turbo trainer takes real commitment.

My friend Tom, who is to blame for all of this (he has been a long time bike advocate and a previous participant) was in Australia with his family in January. We did some decent rides around Sydney and Adelaide. Being able to go out on your bike without multiple layers was a real novelty for him and he had a real appreciation for what I have been taking for granted. It is easier to cycle with the sun on your back and in dry conditions rather than in the cold and wet.

Unfortunately for him, it was bought crashing home when he walked off the beach in Adelaide and 24 hours later was negotiating the snow in England. His kids decided that sand was better than snow. I definitely agree.

You can support my foolishness by making a donation to a very worthwhile cause at http://www.bmycharity.com/benreeve2013

The Tour de Force has been created by and for the William Wates Memorial Trust and is their main fundraising event.  All monies raised by participants and their supporters goes to the WWMT whose mission is to help the most disadvantaged young people keep away from a life of crime and violence and fulfill their potential. This is achieved by giving grants to charities that engage young people through the mediums of sport, arts and education.

Whilst the cycling world has been airing its dirty laundry in public I have been battling my own demons.

Is white Lycra appropriate for a middle aged man? When I first got my bike I took the family on a reconnaissance trip into Kuringai National Park to check out cycling routes. During the drive around we sat behind a rather large man on a road bike wearing white Lycra shorts. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination with bulges and overhangs and a padded arse that looked suspiciously like a rather large nappy!

I swore that black Lycra was the only way to go. Over a year later I have just bought some white Lycra bib shorts. They are not completely white, they are black on the bottom and white on the front,  but I am still not sure if this is really getting a little out of control. I got them to go with my G.S. Carpano, black and white Italian stripped retro jersey (It is a replica of a 1960’s jersey modelled on the Juventus football strip), which probably makes me sound even sadder.

I wonder if I have crossed over from being a slightly deranged middle aged man, to a truly sad git who quite frankly should know better.

Regardless of what I may look like, my new goal on the road is to ride my bike fast enough so I don’t have to sit behind any other cyclists wearing white Lycra.

Since I have spent the winter building my base fitness I am now 10% faster at riding my bike.

I am not making this up. I do a very scientific test cycling on my turbo trainer, covering a fixed distance and keeping my heart rate at a constant 133BPM.

Keeping these 2 measures constant the only variable is how fast my little legs can turn the pedals and subsequently how fast I can go.

I see this as a significant achievement and having extrapolated the data, if I continue to improve at the same rate (I can’t see why not, barring injury of course) I will be able to go fast enough to sit comfortably in the peloton to ride the Vuelta A España in August 2013 and potentially win the Tour de France in 2014.

Numbers never lie.

I have been spending the winter evenings riding my bike on a turbo trainer watching Downton Abbey. I bought the DVD’s on Amazon and copied them onto my iPad. Each episode is about an hour’s ride and because I am hooked up to my bike computer I can monitor my heart rate and the distance I cover as part of my training. I guess this is what living in the future is all about.

It would seem that in the Downton era people had much simpler life’s. You either worked hard to maintain your place in the social pecking order or worked hard to better yourself.

The ambitious folk I meet in life today are similar, it’s all about climbing the corporate ladder, securing your financial future, getting your kids into the right school and making sure you drive the right car.

There is no doubt ambition plays an important role in driving and motivating people to perform and achieve.

This got me thinking about my current ambitions, or lack of them. The only real ambition I have ever had in my life was to live in Australia and meet a nice girl. Maybe having achieved this, I have been devoid of ambition.

Recently I have spent many an hour spinning the pedals thinking about what my current ambitions could be. By about the middle of Series 2 the best I could come up with is that I want to own a Cervelo R3 racing bike. If I really push it then I want the top of the range bits and pieces to go on it as well.

I am not sure if I should be thoroughly impressed that I am so content with my life that this is the best I can do. Maybe if I could get as excited about my business or my financial future as I am about a carbon fiber racing bike, then who knows what I might be able to achieve.

Then whilst watching the Christmas Special I started to think, what happens when I get the bike? Will that be as good as it gets?

Fortunately the Tour de France has come along to fuel my ambitions further. Ambition alone cannot mask the sad truth that I have taken up cycling too late to make the Pro Peloton. But there is nothing to stop me riding on the same roads, so my new ambition is to buy a new Cervelo R3 and ride the Alpine stages of the 2013 Tour De France.

Now that is something to genuinely get excited about. I see it as a significant milestone in my mid-life crises. An activity that allows me to justify spending excessive amounts of cash on a totally self indulgent, some may say, pointless task.

I have told the family they are more than welcome, providing they can ride up Alpe d’Huez on their own. I also believe I have found justification for the SRAM Red groupset on my new bike.

Participating in a fun run with my girls is enjoyable if I remember that we are not there to break any records and completing the distance is an achievement in itself.

My normal exercise philosophy has been to go as hard as you can and only slow down if you are so knackered you can’t go any faster or you have done so much damage that you can’t move without significant pain.

Apparently there is a better way.

It has taken me a whole year to be able to get back running after the damage I did to myself last April and my resulting knee operation. On reflection I made every mistake possible. When I look back I should have run the marathon in February, at this stage I was still in one piece, was relatively fresh and just completing the distance was my main goal.

The real trouble started when I began to believe my own hype. Feeling supremely confident after a couple of big runs I started to think about running under 4 hours. My training got more intense, I started to ignore the signs that I was over training and ultimately the wheels fell off. The fact I got around at all was due to the help of a few pain killers and lots of cheerful Londoners.

A year later I am gradually running again and I am adopting a new approach.

If you want to go faster, the trick is to actually slow down.

Seems a little strange, but according to my new training bible the secret to staying healthy is to train at a pace that allows you to be able to move and function after you have finished your session, not to push it so far that you have to go to bed for the rest of the day. All of this is measured by using a heart rate monitor and this approach allows you to build a “base”. If you train like this you condition yourself so you can go faster whilst maintaining the same heart rate.

The challenge with this approach means that when you start out you can find yourself running or cycling at an extremely slow pace to maintain the required heart rate. The bible promises me that this is only for a few months but I was tested this weekend when I was out on my bike and a peloton of over 60’s raced past me and wished me a cheery “good day”. Either they weren’t sticking to the rules of building a base or maybe they have known this secret and have been practicing it for years.

A must read for all middle aged converts to any form of endurance exercise.

It doesn’t matter how old you are, receiving a parcel addressed to you is one of the most marvellous experiences you can have.  As a kid I remember ordering stuff from a catalogue, sending a postal order and then waiting for my purchase to arrive. These days you just get on-line and a few clicks later you start to feel that very same feeling of anticipation.

With the Aussie $ so strong it actually makes sense to do most of our clothes shopping overseas. Recently my girls filled their on-line shopping basket full of clothes from a US store for a fraction of what they cost here. For the last week Milly and Alice have been racing home asking “has it arrived yet”. It’s not hard to imagine the excitement in the house when they got home today to find a great big parcel full of clothes.

I can gladly admit that this is the same excitement that I have been experiencing when my parcels of bike goodies turn up. The trouble is it can be quite addictive. My latest passion is cycling jerseys. I know you can only wear one at a time but having suitable attire seems to be part of this whole bike thing.

Amongst the weekend warriors you can see the whole range of pro team jerseys,  it’s like wearing your favourite football teams jersey to a game. This is not for me, instead I am becoming a little fixated on retro look jerseys. They are all made to modern standards just replica designs of old jerseys.

Is it acceptable for a grown man to declare that his week has been made when his new “Cote D’Or/DAF Trucks/Gazelle Retro Jersey” has arrived and what’s more it is a perfect fit?

I have recognised the early signs of possible addiction so I have a self-imposed purchasing embargo in place until April. By then the weather will be changing, so for purely practical reasons I’ll need some long sleeve jerseys, gilets, gloves, overshoes…

 

Adelaide has a lot to offer at any time of year.

In January during the week of the Tour Down Under the whole city is overrun by Lycra wearing folks of all ages and of varying shapes and sizes who are all passionate about their cycling. The circus comes to town and everybody is invited to dress up and get involved.

My family were not going to pass up the opportunity for a holiday even if it did mean they had to indulge my latest passion for cycling.

I thought there may have been a little more resistance to standing by the side of a road in temperatures over 30 degrees waiting for the Peloton to flash by. Fortunately The Tour has a lot to offer beside just the race.

Free Stuff – If you get along to the start or the finish then the kind marketing folk of the various sponsors want to give you as much free stuff as you can carry. Hats, water bottles, torches, beer coolers, bags, more hats, cow bells, if it can have a logo stamped on it you can get it. Milly and Alice loved this, doesn’t matter what it is, if it is free it’s got to be good.

The Route– Each stage starts around Adelaide and finishes within a radius of around 100 km. If you have bought your bike and a few mates you ride out to watch the race and then cycle back to Adelaide for an evening of entertainment.

If you are there with the family you can find a piece of road that is right next to a beach or near a winery to keep them entertained (my girls love a visit to a cellar door, I take it as a sign of potential sophistication and refinement, not a bad omen of things to come) . If this doesn’t work then you can always get more free stuff.

 

 

The Peloton – The tour riders are really accessible. You see them out on training rides, you can get close to them at the start and at the finish and they all seem really happy to have a chat.

According to Robyn they also all smell very nice. A strange thing to notice but when they all come whizzing past there is a definite smell of metrosexual grooming product. You might expect this at the start of the day but even after 150km+ of racing the intoxicating smell of lotions and potions was ever present. Not surprisingly L’Oreal is a sponsor and I was given vast quantities of free stuff from their nice promotional ladies, who obviously thought my personal hygiene could do with some assistance. I have more tubes and packets of lotions for all sorts of things that I never knew men were allowed to do to themselves. I’m still not sure where I should be applying my “Men Expert – Erase Wrinkles Anti-Expression Lines Moisturising Cream”, maybe it will solve my freckle problem.

The initial motivation for our trip to Adelaide was for me to ride the challenge leg before the pros. Along with thousands of others I completed the 135km ride and loved every minute of it. I normally ride on my own so having lots of other folk to follow and work alongside was great. I completed the ride in less than 5 hours and the family were at the finish line to cheer me home. I certainly didn’t smell like the peloton, had no free stuff to hand out but my girls were delighted to see me , to offer me a drink from their water bottles, to ring their bells to mark my achievement and to raise a free hat to the Tour Down Under.

 

My sister and her family came to visit from the UK over Christmas. Her arrival allowed me to partake in a great English tradition I had completely forgotten about. Namely, standing on the beach in the rain looking expectantly at the horizon and exclaiming “I think it is getting brighter over there”. Normally I wouldn’t be anywhere near the beach in such weather but when they’d travelled over 10,000 miles, needs must.

Fortunately the weather picked up and a great time was had by all. After bidding them a sad farewell we have decanted to the in-laws farm en route to Adelaide. I have spent the week on my bike as I am riding the BUPA Challenge next Friday, an open ride that is part of the Tour Down under.

This bike malarkey is a little more complicated than just taking off for a run, primarily because it involves a piece of machinery. On my ride last Saturday I noticed a rather loud creak. I had the biked serviced before we left and the bike shop had mentioned the bottom bracket may need looking at. As I pedalled around, the serenity of the countryside was consistently broken by this increasingly annoying creak.

Even farmer Mick was reluctant to have a go at fixing it, if it was a tractor, header or anything else he’d give it a go. Quietly relieved I decided it would be a trip to “town” to fix it. A 400 km round trip to Wagga Wagga and the nice man at Kidsons Cycles had replaced some parts and we were good to go. The next day I jumped on the bike, was halfway down the road and there was the noise again. I knew it wasn’t mechanical as there was nothing left to replace or service so I spent the whole of my ride trying to work out what was wrong.

After taking everything off the bike, that I felt comfortable enough to touch, the creak was still there. Whilst pondering how to buy myself a new bike before next week (I was not going to let the bike win and was going to show it who was boss) I casually tightened the seat clamp.

Turns out a 1/4 turn of a nut fixed my problem. Riding the thing can be tough but looking after it for somebody as incompetent as myself is the real challenge.

Without the creak I completed my first 100 mile (About 165km) ride today. On the whole I finished in good shape. The new knee I got before Xmas held up, aerobically I felt fine, legs were tired but felt good, the only part of me complaining was my “freckle” (my bottom).

Compared to when I first started there is a big improvement, but it is still a concern. I have the most padded racing saddle I could buy (short of getting one with springs and some nice leather), I have the top notch cycling shorts and I even have taken to applying chamois cream to my nether regions before I ride. Despite all this after 5+ hours in the saddle it still hurts somewhat.

Alice, in her 9 year old wisdom has offered me her favourite quote to help deal with the situation. Apparently “the pain is just weakness leaving my body”.

Mick has suggested I use Metho to toughen the area up, if there are any other suggestions to strengthen my weakness then answers on a postcard to…

One of the joys of travel is it gives you a different perspective. It doesn’t take long to become blind to what is in front of you, a bit of distance and a fresh outlook reminds you of all the things you noticed when you first arrived in a city or country.

There is a lot to love about living in Sydney and I have always appreciated the harbour, the beaches, the instantly recognisable landmarks and the wonderful climate. The one thing that I have become a little oblivious to is the size of the place. Not so much the size of Sydney, the size of Australia. Once you hit the open road then you realise how big this country really is.

Robyn’s mum and dad live on a farm in a place called Ungarie in NSW. This is 550km (340 miles) from Sydney and it’s a 5 ½ hour drive. We head back every school holiday to have a week of rest and relaxation and have just spent another wonderful week in country NSW.

When we first arrived in Sydney, 14 years ago, we drove to the farm and back over a weekend, a 1,100km round trip. This was the same distance as a “once in a lifetime” big drive we made from Dublin to Bracknell and back. When you live in such a large place you get used to travelling long distances.

The farm has always been a great place for a holiday. It’s a working farm with dogs, cats, chickens, sheep, tractors, motorbikes and paddocks (not fields, as I am constantly reminded) with crops in them. The girls love the freedom of being able to do what they want and roam free.

I enjoy this as much as they do, what I have also started to appreciate is how flat it is. Why have I just started to appreciate this feature? Well, it makes it a lot easier to ride my bike. Flat, straight roads and a distinct lack of traffic make it easy to ride further and faster. I rode over 100km’s last Sunday and saw only 17 cars!

Ungarie is a little off the beaten track but to only have seen 17 cars in 3 ½ hours was pretty impressive.

I don’t think they get many MAMILS out here. It would be hard to explain the joys of Lycra to the local gents who are more interested in the practical things of life such as the weather, sheep prices and the performance of the latest John Deer tractor. Discussing the benefits of spending thousands of dollars on a carbon fibre bike or the merits of different types of inserts in your cycling shorts would be an interesting conversation for the “local” on a Friday night.

So with this in mind I shall continue to indulge my new perspective on life and enjoy the solitude and good fortune of having large parts of the country and the open road to myself.

I have not run a single stride since I completed the marathon in April. An MRI reviled that I had an “8mm chondral flap with moderate marrow oedema of the lateral patellar articular facet”.

Basically I did some serious damage to my knee and after weeks of physiotherapy to see if it would fix itself, my surgeon now reckons an arthroscopy is required to get me up and running again.

In the meantime I have evolved into a MAMIL. This is something that I had strenuously resisted, in my weakened state the lure of the Lycra was too strong.

For those of you not in the know, MAMIL stands for ”Middle Aged Man in Lycra”. It is a mildly derogatory term used for the thousands of male cyclists that hit the road early on Saturday and Sunday mornings. We go out under the cover of darkness in our tight figure hugging outfits, and then once the sun is up we gather in packs to preen and pose at coffee shops all over the western world.

I have been cycling for the last 3 months. It doesn’t completely replace the high of a good long run but it goes close and you can go so much further. You also get to splash out a whole lot of money on stuff you never knew you needed. I have Lycra leg and arm warmers, logo infested jerseys and an assortment of Lycra shorts with, and I quote, “high density foam inserts protecting all contact points.”

My new internet addiction is surfing the web for various items of cycling paraphernalia and leering at expensive carbon-fibre bikes. Robyn calls it “bike porn”.

Until I am back running, I am committed to the bike. The family and I are all off to Adelaide next January to watch the Tour Down Under. Apart from a good excuse to indulge my new passion, and visit some of the finest wineries in Australia, I have also signed up to ride the Bupa Challenge. You ride the same stage as the professionals, you set off early in the morning before the peloton and cover the 135km’s a lot slower than they will.

Milly is very impressed she wrote this poem for me for Father’s Day:

You ran so far you hurt your knee,
But that doesn’t stop you from loving me,
You took up biking to occupy your mind,
But that won’t stop you being kind,
When you’re going so slow up hills,
That you fall off because you’re almost still,
Just remember that as long as my heart is in my chest,
I will always think you’re the best.

My neighbour provided this other perspective when he saw me looking resplendent in my Lycra, “Ben, you are a walking cliché“, he remarked.

I think this is a fair, slightly snuggly fitting, observation of where my mid-life crisis has taken me.