Cyclist Blog: 2015 may be remembered as the 'Year of Hour Records' after the UCI's recent rule changes have breathed new life into this classic discipline. For this reason we just wanted to try it ourselves.
Rules are rules
The American Frank Dodd set the first documented hour record on a penny farthing in 1876. He did 26,508 km back then and I hope that I will at least surpass him. In 1898 the 40 km mark was reached and in 1972 Eddie Merckx set a record of 49,431 km, which was to stand for twelve years. Given the UCI's recent rule change to the Hour Record Regulations, it seems like these days you're lucky if your record lasts 90 days. Contrary to the simplicity of the concept (drive as far as you can in an hour!), attempts to break the hour record have always been strictly controlled by the UCI and occasionally prevented. Both aerodynamic technologies and seating positions became increasingly extreme during the duel between Graham Obree and Chris Boardman in the mid-56,375s. The culmination of this development was the incredible 1996 km that Boardman covered in one hour in 1. The UCI then responded with the Lugano Charter, a set of rules designed to prevent bike racing from developing into a battle of materials similar to Formula XNUMX.
This led to the exclusion of modern aerodynamic parts and forced riders to use traditional bikes, parts and materials like Merckx used to do. In addition, the record was reset to the Belgian's 49,431 km record. The intention behind these changes was actually to bring the focus back to human endeavors. But with Brian Cookson, who took over as UCI President in 2013, these rules have now been unified again. Since May 2014, any equipment approved for track cycling endurance competitions can be used for the hour record.
Since these changes, there have been numerous attempts to set a new record for men. Bradley Wiggins last broke that record in early June when he clocked a fantastic 54,526km and set the bar extremely high for future contenders.
Only four weeks left
The increased interest in this prestigious discipline led to heated discussions in the Cyclist office. How would you compare to the greats of the sport? We decided to find out exactly that - and since we are cyclists, we said to ourselves: if so, then yes. That means the right equipment, the right preparation and the right place. Only then would we know what it feels like to have really tried and how the mere mortal compares to the pros. I immediately signed up as a volunteer and got in touch with the people who could tell me exactly what to expect. I soon regretted my enthusiasm when Bobridge told me: "You'll see how painful it is. But it's a great thing and it will be interesting to see how you do. Good luck and hang in there, mate!”
I've seen some really crazy things on a bike over the years, but this one hour requires a very different approach. Even in the most difficult race, you can get away with less than optimal preparation. There are ways to hide in the group, or to make up for small weaknesses with cunning. There aren't any of these options in an hour race. If you are ill-prepared, that is your risk, there will be no chance of making amends. Every small deviation from the ideal line costs you distance that you can no longer catch up. Any loss of rhythm, even small head movements, may only cost you fractions of meters at the moment, but these multiply lap after lap (roughly 210 times if you want to break the record). Merckx said at the time, after his record in 1972, that he didn't even dare to blink, he was so focused. It be him "ultimate test, not only for the body, but also for the mind and requires absolute commitment, permanent and intense, and is not comparable to any other discipline". Afterwards he added that he would never try it again.
Perfect preparation
Working for a cycling magazine does have its perks. With a little coaxing from me and generosity from others, I soon had access to a world-class velodrome and a bike that wouldn't have looked out of place in the Bat Cave.
The next thing I had to think about was how I was going to get in shape for my moment of truth in the remaining four weeks. My first call was to Silverstone, to the Porsche Human Performance Center, where I had to take some tests under the supervision of exercise physiologist Jack Wilson to find out my lactate threshold. After that, you could make more accurate predictions about what I'm physically capable of and how I could best prepare for the big challenge. A good way to maximize your performance potential on the track is to minimize your drag. So my next stop was the clothing manufacturer Sportful, which sewed me an individual, aerodynamic racing suit. After that, it was off to Morgan Lloyd at CycleFit in London to make sure my body wasn't failing. What then followed was a comprehensive test protocol of my performance values in various aerodynamic riding positions, including an analysis of the appropriate helmet designs. My last port of call was podiatrist Mick Habgood, who made me custom orthotics to optimize my performance.
But the excitement of seeing all the pieces of the puzzle piece together into a coherent picture of my preparation was tempered by one thought: if I failed, I couldn't blame my equipment. I just tried to convince myself that I had thought of everything and left nothing to chance.
My hour strikes
Dead silence reigns at the Lee Valley Velodrome. Everything is waiting for the countdown of the start clock. 5-4-3-2-1... Go. When I pedal, the blood rushes through my head and my legs and I try to get my crank up to speed as quickly as possible. I run a 52/14 gear ratio, Rohan Dennis used a massive 56/14 on his record. When I reach the corner, I have achieved my first goal: no crashes at the start. I hear the first song on my specially curated playlist echoing through the empty Velodrome. Otherwise all you can hear is the rattling of the Lightweight wheels as I settle into my aerodynamic riding position once I hit the first straight. "Now concentrate, Stu", I tell myself. "All those many hours of work in the gym with a view of the wood paneled door, just for that one hour." I'm quickly mesmerized by the black lane gauge and already at the end of my second lap. I see the small crowd cheering and my coach, Rob Mortlock, holding up an iPad with my lap time: 19,2 seconds. Rob tells me to calm down a bit. Overambition at this point is a rookie mistake. In my conversation with the recently surpassed hour record holder, Rohan Dennis, he told me: "Don't go too fast at the beginning, otherwise you'll get into trouble. It's a very simple calculation, if you start too hard you'll be at the limit faster than you need to be. The first 15 to 20 minutes are crucial. If you do it right, you won't feel any pain until 15 minutes from the end. It might tweak, but not in a way that makes you slow down. In a way, it will even feel good to endure this pain.” I trust his words.
The laps fly by, each one is indicated to me by Rob and I stick to a negative split as discussed - faster in the second half than in the first - just like Jens Voigt did with his record. 20 minutes over, so far so good, down to the lower half of my body. Dennis had advised me that I should "Get numbing cream" and I'm starting to realize that it wasn't a joke. Since minute 15 everything below the waist has felt a little awkward. As if in a trance, I look at the black line and I notice my attention fading. I have to struggle to stay focused, not least because I'm afraid I'll otherwise hit one of the foam barriers that sit on the inside of the corners to prevent riders from clipping corners. Dennis told me about an incident where he lost his concentration and cut the corner entrance in practice and was then catapulted halfway up the track and almost had a heart attack.
30 minutes are over - halftime - an important psychological moment. Every minute now increases the distance between what I've already done and what lies ahead. 31 done, only 29 left; 32 done, only 28 left; 33 done and only 27 left. These thoughts help me a lot in this phase. As Storey and Dennis predicted, exhaustion now follows recovery, but my lap times don't reflect that. After 40 minutes I'm still doing lap times like a metronome and I'm right in the targeted time window. During phases when it's particularly painful, it helps me to focus on my posture, keep my chin up and move smoothly and precisely along the line. Storey advised me: "Control what can be controlled", and I'm trying.
The last 20 minutes begin, exactly the time when everyone told me my world would slowly start to crumble. But I don't feel as bad as I feared. I'm just waiting for my legs to explode. "Concentrate!", calls Rob and urges me to pick up the pace again. Out of the corner of my eye I see that there are only seven minutes left. The hard-working horde of supporters is now distributed around the route, so that I get encouraging shouts from everywhere - peppered with cheers from the spectators, which the Velodrome staff kindly play over the loudspeakers. I get one last adrenaline rush, aided by Europe's The Final Countdown (what else?). Now only five minutes! I clench my teeth and mobilize the last of my strength. I'm really giving it my all in those last few minutes and then suddenly the bell rings. It seems strange to me that the last lap is heralded, but Rob then explains to me that this is supposed to give you the last push so that you don't let up and finish the lap with full power.
I'm exhausted, drained physically and mentally - just glad it's over. As I come to a halt, drenched in sweat and saliva, I look at the scoreboard and see that I've missed my target by just 250m. 44,750 km, exactly one lap less than the targeted 45 km. I'm totally satisfied. At this moment I have no need to improve this performance again at some point. Many athletes have called this hour the longest of their lives, but I'm almost disappointed it's all over. When I've caught my breath minutes later, I catch myself thinking about where I could improve - my posture, my form, my tactics, maybe a different translation. Maybe one day I'll come back.
