Cycling in the Olympic Park

It's the time of year where I think about pulling my bike out from under its covers and using it again.  I am strictly a fair weather cyclist, and I would never dream of combining lycra with a bike.  I know - with some sort of spooky sixth sense - that it would not be a good look for me.

Graham and I went for a gentle, pottering sort of ride around the Olympic Park last weekend; now formally known as the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park and fully open to the public once again.  It's a very big place, and we wanted to have a good explore and get to know our way around this new part of our local neighbourhood.  The aquatics centre opened a couple of months ago, and now hundreds of acres of parkland and the velopark are open too.  There are only a few more bits still to open (the Hockey and Tennis Centre next month, the Canal Park towards the end of this year and finally the stadium in 2016).

The velopark is the section closest to our house; it takes me just four and a half minutes to cycle there.  The indoor race track, the outdoor 'road' track and the BMX trails are all open at the velopark, and anybody can book a session and ride.  You can even hire a bike and take lessons if you want to.  There will be a massive network of mountain biking trails opening too later this year.  For now, I just wanted to stop off (there are plenty of bike racks outside, of course!) and have a look round.  We wandered into the velodrome and sat down for ten minutes to watch a local cycling club do some time trials.  I really want to have a go at track cycling, and I am totally going to book one of their taster sessions once I have settled into my new placement.

 

There is a very friendly branch of Cycle Surgery in the ground floor of the velodrome, and they didn't look even slightly fazed when I wheeled in my enormous sit-up-and-beg bike (with basket, obviously) to get a new tyre put on.  Admittedly my bike did look a little ordinary next to the shiny, sleek racers they had on display.

There's a cafe upstairs, where you can drink coffee and watch what's going on on the track below while the mechanics fit your new tyre.  Or you could walk round the corner to the Unity Kitchen Cafe and then sit outside under a tree for twenty minutes with a cup of coffee and a croissant, listening to the sound of birds in the trees and children enjoying one of the enormous new playgrounds, and just try and remember the polluted, industrial wasteland that was in the same place just ten years ago.  It's getting increasingly difficult to do.  Our part of East London was utterly transformed by the 2012 Olympics, and have to pinch myself sometimes when I think that all this splendour is now just four minutes away by bike.

 

The Track Cycling World Cup - 10 things

The crowd in the Olympic Velodrome

• We went to the Olympic Velodrome last weekend, to watch Day 3 of the official test event - the Track Cycling World Cup.
• We got to the Velodrome at 8am and left at 4:30pm.  It was so exciting I could have happily stayed there for twice as long.



G and C - still cheering on Team GB after eight hours in the velodrome

• The commentator was delightfully partisan:

"In lane 1 is Mr AB from Russia. In lane 2 is Mr CD from Mexico.  In lane 3 is Mr EF from Australia.  AND IN LANE 4, REPRESENTING GREAT BRITAIN, IS THE WORLD CHAMPION, THE WORLD RECORD HOLDER AND THE FOUR TIMES GOLD-MEDAL-WINNING REIGNING OLYMPIC CHAMPION...SIR.CHRIS.HOY!"

• Everybody screamed, shouted and stamped their feet when the commentator said that. 



Bottoms and bikes - lining up to start the keirin. Can you spot Chris Hoy?

• By the end of the day I had lost my voice.
• Velodromes are heated to 28 degrees C on race days to give optimum speed to the riders.



The countries' pens in the middle of the track

• Watching all the countries' support teams in the pens in the centre of the track proved almost as entertaining as the races.  The Dutch had at least 4 technicians per rider and had brought their own coffee machine into the pens - very classy.
• The thighs on the Greek male cyclists were of absolutely epic proportions.
• One of my tweets made it up onto the big screen in the stadium.  My 12 year old said patronisingly that he was most impressed that I knew how to tweet from my phone.


My tweet on the big screen - "well done, Mum"

• The track has a resident joiner, who was ushered out onto the track, clutching his toolkit, to inspect the wood and make necessary repairs each time there was a crash.

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This coming weekend we are heading back to the Olympic Park to watch Tom Daly in action in the Aquatics Centre test event, the Diving World Cup.  Tickets will be going on sale soon for more Olympic test events - you can find details here.

Race weekend

The race weekend begins on Saturday when we drive up to the National Water Sports Centre in Nottingham with a car full of kit.  The children are staying with their grandparents for the weekend, which means that the race bike doesn't have to suffer the indignity of travelling on a bike rack, it can sit on its very own blanket in the back of the car.

The gleamingly clean bike (in bits) on its special yellow blanket in the back of the car

The day before race day

There are three important things G has to do on the day before race day: registration, racking and race briefing.

Registration takes place in the main building at the National Water Sports Centre.  Most people, including G, are wearing club sweatshirts.  The lady at the registration desk knows G's swimming coach and makes a special fuss of him because he is the only competitor from his club, East London Triathletes.

At Registration

The nice registration lady gives G his race number, which he will wear on a belt around his waist all through the race.  He is also given his timing chip which he will wear on a strap around his ankle all through the race.  The timing chip records his finish time as well as his times for each separate discipline and at various other points around the course.

His race number, which he wears all through the race.  It has his name too, so people can cheer him on!

Once registration is done, we go back to the car and G gets everything ready for racking.  Racking means leaving the bike in the bike racks ready for the race the next day, and also leaving the bike kit (helmet, bike jacket, socks and special clippy bike shoes) in the Bike Transition. 

Transition is where you switch from one discipline to the next.  In Bike Transition you peel off your wetsuit (you will be wearing a tri-suit underneath), and swimming hat, put on your bike kit and load your pockets and your bike with snickers bars and water bottles.  In Run Transition you take off your bike kit and put on your running kit (a new pair of socks and your running shoes - still wearing your tri-suit).

Getting ready for racking, G has to be very organised and concentrate to make sure he is leaving everything he needs in the correct place.  Triathlons are complicated!  Luckily G is a very organised person, so this bit is trouble free.

The back of our car, full of kit being prepared for racking.

We take the bike to the bike racks and G is pleased that the slot for his bike is easy to remember - at one end of the second row.  He won't be dithering in Bike Transition looking for it amongst the hundreds of others.

Hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of bicycle in the bike racks. Early in the afternoon - the racks filled up much more as the day went on.

He leaves a labelled bag with his bike kit in at the Bike Transition, and another labelled bag with his running kit in at the Run Transition.

Then G heads back into the main building for an hour long race briefing.  He finds out important things like what time he has to be in the water ready to start the swim (5:50am) and what will be available at the feeding stations on the run course (bananas and water).

I stand on the balcony of the main building, admiring the view of the lake (usually used for rowing races) and wondering how far the swim actually is.  When G comes out of his race briefing I ask him.

We leave the Water Sports Centre and drive into Nottingham to check in at our hotel and get everything ready for a very early start the next day.

Everything he needs for race day, laid out on the hotel floor the night before

Race day

We set our alarms for 3:30 am.  G gets up and makes himself breakfast: muesli, wholemeal bagels with peanut butter, and fruit smoothies.  I make a pot of coffee and put it in a flask for later.  At 4:15 we leave the hotel and set off for the Water Sports Centre.  We are there in plenty of time, and G goes to the bike racks to check that everything he needs is in the right places at Transition, and to pump up the tyres on his bike.

The sky was dark and the moon still up when we got to the Water Sports Centre at 4:45am

We go into the main building and while I sip my flask of coffee he inches his way into his wetsuit.  Swimming wetsuits are made quite differently to surfing or diving wetsuits.  They are eye-wateringly tight, and take a good ten minutes to put on.  I watch everyone else wriggling into theirs, and rubbing vaseline around their wrists and ankles to stop any chafing.  Seeing hundreds of men peel themselves into skin-tight wetsuits is a bit much at this time in the morning, actually.  I sip some more coffee and avert my gaze.  Wives are applying suncream to husbands' ears and necks, and I put some on G too.

We head down to the lake and I say goodbye to G before he heads into the competitors' area and lines up at the edge of the lake.  I am suddenly utterly overwhelmed by the enormity of what he has to do, and burst into tears, but he is grinning his very widest grin and looks ready to take on the world.

And he's gone. Spectators outside the competitors' area at 5:40am, just after I said goodbye to G

The start of the race

The race is a 2.4 mile swim, followed by a 112 mile bike ride, followed by a 26.2 mile (marathon distance) run.  He is hoping to do the whole race in twelve and a half hours.

I next see him early in the afternoon, about a quarter of the way into his run.  I stand on the grassy bank with loads of other supporters and shriek madly when I see him running towards me.  He is pleased to see me, is still beaming, and high fives me as he runs past.  The next time I see him, about an hour and twenty minutes later he is still looking good, although the grin has faded a little.  He has one more lap to go.  I move closer to the finish line and start to get very excited and nervous.  He is nearly home, and it looks like he is going to be much faster than he expected.

I finally see him coming into the home straight at 12 hours and 3 minutes - a full half hour faster than he expected.  The grin is back and I shriek with excitement again and shout to the world how wonderful he is.

He did it!

I push my way through the crowds and press myself against the railings separating the spectators from the finished competitors.  We have lots of sweaty kisses and he disappears into a marquee to collect his medal and eat some pasta.

Later still, he retrieves his bike, wetsuit and other kit and comes through to the spectators side wearing his new t-shirt, his medal...and that big grin!

His brother and sister were also there to support him and we all tell him how amazing he is and how very, very proud of him we are.  Tears are shed (mostly by me) and dozens of photos are taken.  It has been an amazing weekend, which we will all remember for the rest of our lives.

G, with his incredibly proud brother and sister

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The race, though, is just one day. 

The training for this race has been a full year of complete dedication and focus on G's part (on top of seven previous years of competing in the usual shorter-distance triathlons), as well as sacrifice, compromise, thoughtfulness and determination.  It is for these qualities that he gets my admiration and pride.  He has truly been an inspiration to me.  Nothing with value comes without hard work, and the race day is a celebration and illustration of all that hard work.

Exploring by bike

I've been exploring East London again - but this time by bike.  G has taken a few days off work for his birthday, and when he was making plans I suggested that perhaps we could use one of those days to go on a long bike ride together, while the children were at school. 
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised what a daft suggestion this was.  He's training for an ironman race for goodness sake - the cycle leg alone of the ironman is 112 miles, and there's swimming and running too.  My idea of a long bike ride is VERY different, and involves frequent stops by picturesque wooden benches to take photos and eat kitkats.  However, G assured me that he would behave like a complete gentleman and recalibrate his concept of 'a long way' to something manageable by me.

We decided to explore a section of the Lea Valley Park - from the Olympic Park in Hackney, northwards to Picketts Lock in Edmonton.  Lea Valley Park is something I'm aware of, and I sometimes look at it on a map, but in fifteen years of living in this part of East London I have never been for an explore.  That's shameful because it passes within a mile or so of our house.

Some of our cycle route went along the Lea Valley Walk, which is open to both cyclists and pedestrians

Excellent graffiti on the flood relief channel along the edge of Hackney Marshes

More beautiful graffiti on Hackney Marshes- this time a kingfisher

Walthamstow Marshes - green and full of wildlife and just a couple of miles from my house - who knew?

The first section of our ride took us across Hackney Marshes and then Walthamstow Marshes.  Wide open sections of grassy marshland filled with bird hides, waterways, willow trees and some seriously muddy puddles.  I'm planning on coming back to this section to explore more by foot over the next couple of months.  There is a nature reserve and there are some really interesting-looking marked walking trails.

Sign in the nature reserves at Walthamstow Marshes

After the marshes, our route took us along the wide towpath next to the River Lea.  We passed a marina, some really beautiful appartments and many photogenic barges and narrowboats, some with woodsmoke curling out of their stumpy little chimneys, like the ones Gill and I saw down Regent's Canal.

Narrowboats moored near Springfield Marina

Wait for me!  Graham, in the far distance, at the other end of a bridge by Springfield Marina

A barge chasing some swans, in Tottenham

A barge with fancy velux roof windows near Stonebridge Lock 

Barges along the River Lea at Tottenham

Pretty riverside appartments at Tottenham

We stopped for coffee and a nice sit-down at the amazing Lee Valley Athletics Centre at Picketts Lock in Edmonton.  This facility has only been here for four years but is now used by the UK Athletics Squad for indoor and outdoor training every weekday morning, and they were there when we arrived all hot and sweaty and in need of a cup of coffee today.  I felt very starstruck as we watched the athletes and coaches all training hard - without exception, they all have verrrry long, bendy and springy legs!  We saw the sprinters, hurdlers, long jumpers and triple jumpers in action.  We weren't allowed to take photos, but I did sneak in this picture of a Team GB backpack on a racing wheelchair - the disabled UK athletes train there too.

After we'd admired the athletes and their prowess we got back on our bikes and headed for home, feeling very creaky and middle-aged indeed.  Our round trip was 18 miles in total, and G lived up to his promise of gentlemanly behaviour and didn't cycle too fast for me, although I'm sure he must have wanted to at times.

Exciting information boards in Haringey

Come on, Nancy! Keep pedalling!

Obviously, as G is now 40 and I am still several a few years off that landmark, there is no need for me to admit to him how incredibly tired and wobbly my legs are this evening....

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You may have noticed that there are two spellings of the River Lea or Lee and its valley.  Both seem to be used interchangeably by all the various councils and community groups that operate along it.  We sometimes even saw both versions on one sign.

The black stain of death

Three things that have been ruined forever by bicycle oil this year:

• My best jeans
• My second-best winter coat (my best coat was a 2009 victim)
• The lawn

And pretty soon I think there'll be a fourth - my sense of humour.

In praise of ordinary, quiet weekends

• A new pair of socks cast on.
• Bacon rolls for Saturday breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast for Sunday's.
• Bikes, skateboards and mud in Victoria Park.

• Getting up unhurriedly, but finding that we're still up before the children.
• A strange film (but a good one).
• Signs of spring - even in the murky morning light.

• Secret plans for six family birthdays happening this month.
• A brilliant book, started and finished.
• A banana cake baked.
• Family to hang out with.

Saturday morning, cycling to work, 8:45am

• Bangra and bass thumping out of two silver beamers parked outside Leyton Police station.
• A postman walking very fast.
• A convoy of four cement mixers queuing to enter the Olympic Park.
• The milkman stopping off at the Londis on his way home.
• Dozens of Saturday runners out in Victoria Park, but nobody resting on the benches.
• A shout of "Awright darlin'!" from an old lady sitting on the front steps of her house, nursing a cup of tea, in Bethnal Green.
• No other cyclists next to me at the traffic lights.
• Speeding down the almost empty Hackney Road, very fast, in top gears.
• Swerving past the broken glass outside the strip clubs in Shoreditch.
• Spooked by the post apocalyptic emptiness that is The City on a weekend...
• ...except for two men in very well cut suits going into JP Morgan,
• and a delivery of beer to a pub in Moorgate.
• My colleague going out to buy me a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee when I get to my desk.
  
  

A week in my shoes :: Day 1

It was trainers all day today as I was having a pleasantly busy, walking-around kind of day.

In the playground at school.

On my bike as I came back from picking up a parcel from the sorting office.

Walking down Oxford Street on the way to meet my mother.

In John Lewis trying on boots with my mother.