Race number three. The third test in this journey through the hill climb season. Two down, and in hindsight, both were successful in their own right. Now, the nervous anticipation that used to creep in before each race is starting to ease. Instead, I’m feeling something else—a blend of excitement and, I’ll admit, a little fatigue creeping in. The body is feeling the miles, the watts, and the relentless training. Hill climbing is a different beast altogether—VO2 max intervals, all-out power efforts—it’s a solitary, intense grind that makes the usual NTR club rides feel like a distant memory. I’ll be honest: I miss them. Tuesday night training sessions, the Guide Post Gallop on Wednesday, and let’s not forget the essential cake on the Sunday social rides! The club is full of some of the best people in the North East, and this week, the whole cycling community has been rocked by the news that Ian Gallon, a true pillar of our club, was knocked off his bike.
Ian’s a legend in North East cycling, with accolades that would make any rider envious, but it’s his role as an inspiration that truly sets him apart. His tireless commitment to grassroots cycling, his passion for the sport, and the energy he gives to the local cycling scene have shaped so many riders, myself included. The whole community is rallying around him, wishing him a speedy recovery, because we need people like Ian in the saddle, setting the pace for us all.
The drive to this week’s race was a long one, which gave me plenty of time to reflect on the journey so far. But rather than the usual back-and-forth between nerves and excitement, today felt different. I was calm, collected, even content. Maybe the routine of race weekends has started to settle in, or maybe I’m getting better at managing my expectations. When I arrived at the venue, I was met with the usual warm welcomes and familiar faces—names that are finally sticking in my head. It’s a small but growing community, and that’s what makes it special.
Picking up my race number came with a nice little bonus this time: a voucher for coffee and cake! Now, that’s the kind of pre-race fuel I can get behind. Normally, I’d be downing my Styrkr drink, but today, a freshly pressed espresso and a rolo blonde seemed like the way to go. I’ve been bringing my own Tynemouth Coffee to keep me going on race days, but this little treat was exactly what I needed to put me in the right headspace. You can keep your gels—give me coffee and cake any day!
Now, about the hill. I hadn’t had the chance to recce it beforehand, so I was going in relatively blind, except for the brief stats online. A fellow rider recommended Windsock to plan and analyse the hill remotely, which gave me a detailed breakdown of the climb, but I’ve learned that nothing compares to the real thing. Until you’re on the road, feeling the gradient, you never really know what you’re up against. Windsock estimated my time would be 6:23, which seemed reasonable, but in true Kyle fashion, I set myself a tougher target: sub-5 minutes. Ambitious, yes, but where’s the fun in setting an easy goal?
I did a couple of warm-up laps to get a feel for the course. The hill felt longer than I had expected—certainly not as long as the Gibbet, but the 0.96 miles felt like a bit more once I was out there. The steep decline in the middle threw me off a little, making it tricky to regain high wattage as the road kicked back up. But I felt good. The nerves were nowhere to be found, and instead, I felt ready—legs warm, lungs open, and mind focused.
As I lined up at the start, the skies decided to open up just a bit, adding a light drizzle to the mix. But the rain was short-lived, and before I knew it, I was at the start line, jacket off, leg warmers ditched, and ready to go. 30 seconds to start. The adrenaline kicked in. 15 seconds. I could feel a slight tremble in my knees, but it was excitement, not nerves. 3, 2, 1…and I’m off.
The first few pedal strokes were tough, but I quickly found my rhythm. I was flying. My speed felt good—really good. The first pitch was behind me, and I eased off just a touch, prepping for the next climb. I felt strong and ready to push harder. But then…disaster. The chain dropped.
You always see this sort of thing happening to others and think, “That’ll never happen to me,” but there I was, mid-climb, and my pedals were spinning uselessly. Time slowed down as I stopped dead on the hill, my momentum completely lost. Instinct kicked in—I unclipped, grabbed the chain, and tried to get it back on as quickly as possible. The first try missed, but on the second, I managed to lock the chain back onto the chainring. I threw my foot onto the pedal and pushed hard to regain some speed. My second foot missed the clip, but I just kept pedalling—anything to keep the bike moving.
I was gutted. But then the crowd’s cheers reached me, and a few good-natured jokes helped ease the frustration. I wasn’t about to let this mishap ruin the race. I pushed on, determined to finish strong, and told myself, “Well, at least next year I’ll have an easy time to beat.” With each pedal stroke, the disappointment faded, replaced by the familiar burn of full-body exertion.
As the finish line came into view, I grabbed the drops, head down, eyes forward and emptied the tank. The crowd’s shouts of encouragement helped me dig deep, and I sprinted across the line with everything I had left. The race may not have gone to plan, but I was proud that I pushed through and finished strong.
After catching my breath, I headed back to HQ with mixed emotions. The chain drop was frustrating, but I knew I had given it everything I had. The atmosphere at HQ was buzzing—another great turnout for NTR, with 8 riders competing. We even took a moment for some team photos, banner in hand, smiling despite the day’s challenges. I handed in my number and scanned the barcode for the results app, not expecting much after the mechanical setback.
I scrolled down the list, my brain almost doing its own little drumroll. And then I saw it—4:44. I let out a little whoop of joy. Not only had I beaten the AI-predicted time, but I’d also smashed my sub-5-minute goal!
As I rejoined the group, I couldn’t help but feel chuffed with myself. Another race down, another lesson learned, and best of all—another slice of cake to celebrate. Each week brings new challenges, new faces, and new experiences. But one thing remains constant: the thrill of pushing myself, even if it’s just for 4 minutes and 44 seconds.
I’ll see you all at the next race!
