The Saint-Gobain 350
425 Miles – 4 Days, One Riders Perspective.
The E- Mail.
Christmas 2014, production was winding down everyone had the usual pre Christmas feelings of looking forward to the time off with the family and feeling a bit weary as we all measure our years by the calendar and twelve months of hard graft was coming to an end. There I was sat in the office reading the daily e-mails of production and engineering reports when one popped up that immediately drew closer attention. I haven’t saved it but the gist of was that Peter Hindle MBE had proposed that in order to celebrate the three hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Saint-Gobain we have a three hundred and fifty mile bike ride. The route would be form London to Blois, France home of the Company achieves. I looked across to my manager and said “I’ve got to be on that ride”.
Thinking that selection would be a given I don’t think anybody realised the interest that the ride would generate (it later transpired that a total of six hundred had applied), each of the divisions of Saint-Gobain in the Uk and Ireland would be allocated a proportionate amount of places on the ride out of a total of one hundred and twenty. Celotex had been allocated six, twelve of us applied, so participation was not guaranteed. For what seemed like an eternity we had to endure a wait until the end of January before the selection method of drawing the names from a hat was chosen, that narrowed the odds to fifty/fifty, and as you’ve probably deduced I’d made the cut, I was on the ride.
Preparation, Planning and Training.
Okay, so having made it on to the ride I now had to think about the training, having never taken on such a challenge of such proportions before, in fact my most recent long distance ride was 100 miles in one day for Tiptree Velo, I found the effort of planning and training for that one day in June 2014 extremely rewarding but it was all I could manage, I was drained at the finish. So the prospect of what would turn out to be 425 miles in 4 days after a few route revisions from the original 350 was daunting but also inspiring.
After having a period of not much cycling since the previous August due to moving home (again) my form was at a very low level, it would take a lot of hours and a gradual build up to get to the level required to sustain 100 miles a day for 4 consecutive days.
My shift pattern of alternating earlies and lates, allows for plenty of daylight all year ‘round and I had scheduled myself to ride every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday with some Saturdays thrown in for good measure. You’d have to be a complete robot to religiously stick to such a plan over six months as life outside of cycling still has to be lived. The first Tuesday training ride has been permanently etched into my memory, I had elected to ride my hybrid bike and go out for a twenty mile loop around Silver End and Coggeshall, my resolve was truly tested, within a half a mile of setting out, you’ve guessed it, the wind picked up and not behind me, the skies darkened and showers of rain and sleet were being driven straight into my face, another day I would have turned for home but not now, if this renowned fair weather cyclist could make it through this first test then the coming six months would surely fall into place.
Without listing every ride it would be fair to say that by and large I managed to follow the schedule, I had planned in a Sportive for mid May which had gone better than expected, it was not possible to simulate the mileage required but my plan was to ride shorter distance at faster speeds and come the big day knock the speed off. Much of the training was done solo although a loyal band of buddies helped along the way, also the computer age provided lots of virtual training partners as I was able to compare my progress with many of the others signed up for the ride, I was particularly keen to keep tabs on Team Celotex. As you will read later Team Celotex was to become a potent force, but what made us stand out above the crowd was our kit which we were to wear on days two and three of the ride, Saint-Gobain had already generously supplied jerseys for the first and last days. Our Celotex kit was so distinctive because our corporate colour is not a tame shade of blue, or a subtle primrose, but what could only be described as a shocking pink, Lizzie in marketing had done a great job with the design but you can’t hide it, shocking pink will always be shocking pink, pink and proud of it.
Introducing Team Celotex.
As you can imagine a randomly selected bunch of individuals from the same Company hardly constitutes a team. With varying shift patterns for the factory based and far flung locations for the sales guys and differing lengths of service, this was no hand picked crew of elite athletes ready to challenge Team Sky. Over the months preceding the ride bonds were formed and training (or lack of it) progress was shared with Strava proving to be the platform of choice for ride data. As the most senior (oldest) rider I often looked on with envy as I had to toil over mega miles to gain fitness while the whipper snappers could seemingly skip rides at will, while all of us were coming to terms with the enormity of the task ahead. It wouldn’t be long before Chris, Mark, Jonathon, Paul, Dan & Simon would emerge as the Team of the ride, we did have a seventh member who became affectionately known as Billy, Billy the Boil but that would be a whole other story and who’s exploits would probably not be suitable for family reading.
Day One.
The plan was on day one for the team to meet at the start, Chris and Jonathon would make their own way and the Hadleigh posse would be chauffeur driven by the unofficial eighth member, support soignuer Mark. We duly left Tiptree at 4:15 am and arrived in comfort to sign on at 6.00 am, unlike many others on the ride who were struggling with luggage and bikes from nearby hotels. As the riders began to assemble we began to get an impression of the scale of the ride, as the group photo on the steps of Crystal Palace shows one hundred and twenty riders makes quite a crowd. And so it was that we set off in the direction of Dover. The first few miles escaping the foul taste of the city smog were not as bad as expected but what followed as we struggled over the North Downs was a very rude awakening with unrelenting ups and downs amongst the rush hour traffic using the lanes as rat runs. I caught up with the rest of Team Celotex at the first drink stop at 25 miles; at that point I wondered where I would summon the energy for the remaining 400 miles, thankfully the road levelled out across the Weald of Kent as we passed over the M25 on route to the coast. Kent was a strange county, very scenic but full of abusive van and lorry drivers, and shocking road surfaces, bizarrely in the middle of rural Kent we were stopped and asked the way to Peckham which unless I’m badly mistaken is in deepest South London. I decided that the pace the youngsters were setting was too hot for me and dropped back to something I knew I could sustain for the duration meeting some likeminded people on the way. It was near the end of the stage when things began to get interesting, some friendly drunkards had had some fun with the signage and sent us in the wrong direction, this took us towards Folkestone instead of Dover but we were confident of navigating ourselves back onto the route. One thing that Folkestone does possess is a monumental hill to escape the town, when you’re tired and dispirited it’s not want you want to be climbing. At this point we all got a bit fragmented and I lost contact with everyone and just followed the signs for Dover whereupon I stumbled across the rest a very sorry looking lost group. By committee we soon established our location and headed for the meeting place where we were to stay for the next two to three hours before riding in convoy to the ferry terminal. It was en route to the ferry that I spotted Tresh. Along with all the flotsam and jetsam that gets washed up along the shores of our fine coastline some people seem to have dragged themselves ashore, this one in particular was in his late teens, had the jeans around his knees exposing his very colourful pants, a nice denim jacket worn off of both shoulders, and the ubiquitous reverse baseball cap but with a nice twist, he had emblazoned in large gold (brass) letters, his name across the back of his hat which therefore could be read nicely across his forehead, you guessed right, it was Tresh, and no amount of spell checking could put that right.
After another hour of waiting for the ferry to arrive we duly embarked and headed to Calais, La Belle France. It was dusk by the time we arrived and all 120 of us formed a convoy behind a lead vehicle, what a spectacle we made as we snaked through the streets and suburbs of Calais with our LED lights not really lighting the way but putting on a great display, so much so that as we passed through some waste ground what we could only presume to be migrants wandered out of the shadows almost zombie like but no harm was meant as they shouted encouragement (we think). We considered tossing them some energy bars but didn’t want to start a stampede. So we all got to our hotels safe and sound, the only casualty of the day was a young lad who had not bothered with sunblock, legs like lobster claws.
Day Two.
We rose to a fine morning on day two, warm sunshine and a cross to tail wind, the day was set fair. Team Celotex assembled outside of the hotel, the first time that the pink assembly had been witnessed by the world; we glowed as radiant as the sunrise.
As we set off as one into the French countryside leaving behind us the perpetual din of the channel tunnel a Hare wandered languidly into our path, only to be chased up the road by a particularly feisty member of the group who shall remain nameless for fear of animal rights retribution, although what chance an overweight fifty something dressed in pink had of catching the hare is any bodies guess. The travails of day one were soon forgotten as Northern France revealed its charm to us, rolling hills, bigger rolling hills, and then a really big rolling hill, which I’m happy to report as a team we were first to crest. The other surprise of the day was a section of cobbled street which we had to tackle, it was hard to retain composure and dignity when passing the Tabacs of the town square while having your bike, bits, and boils smashed to smithereens. The differing levels of hill climbing ability split the group again as we made progress through the Somme valley which evoked some sobering thought. The lunch stop was a similar affair to the previous day, two burly northern lads setting up a mobile feast of freshly prepared fare all of which was excellent, you could tell they from up north because instead of serving up French regional fare we were treated to the delights of black pudding and rocket salad, given the choice they probably would have left the rocket out, never the less each days lunch was welcome and plentiful. The rest of the day passed off fairly uneventfully, if you can call riding two hundred miles in two days uneventful, unless of course you count the sticking plaster incident. It seems one of the squad threw himself over the bonnet of a French (old) maidens car only for her to go and fetch a plaster from her home fifty metres away and apply it with some delight to his wounded knee (I can’t mention his name, what goes on tour stays on tour). We all finished safe and sat down to yet another feast, cycling is hard work you know.
Day Three.
Day three started pretty much the same way that day two had finished, some of the team, again they shall remain nameless but they will know who they are, had been partaking in the modern sports phenomena of protein recovery drinks. Let me tell you unless you have a really robust constitution then I would steer clear of them, you may find that you won’t have many friends left after prolonged ingestion, for a clearer picture google La Petomane.
The weather had turned a bit for day three, we were faced with a head wind for the entire ride and a sprinkling of rain late in the day. The terrain was probably the most challenging of the ride so far, straight from the hotel there was a gradual two mile incline, before the road turned into the teeth of the wind, there was also a distinct chill in the air, a complete contrast to the previous days. The hills this day at the outset seemed different to the first day in France, not so steep, at least not during the first seventy five miles, but much longer. I pressed on solo until the lunch stop (just in case the others eat it all). The stop was in a beautiful village setting, on the green, by the church, the locals seemed intrigued by this this strange gathering, so much so that they came out and took photos of the legendary Saint-Gobain MAMILS. I was sat on the grass watching riders come in dribs and drabs in the dull overcast weather, with their dull ill-fitting company jerseys when out of the gloom appeared an apparition, the radioactive pink glow of Team Celotex came into view drawing gasps of admiration from, well me, mostly. Others soon joined in the respect for the team and tentative offers were made to purchase some of the kit, except the only firm offer was for the extra-large and I wasn’t prepared to part with it, I was becoming quite attached.
During the route we dropped down into a gorge and crossed the spectacular river Seine with its multitude of cargo laden barges, we traversed mile after mile of plains full of grain crops waiting for harvest, the hard graft of pedalling up was generally rewarded with a decent swoop downhill and I for one topped forty miles an hour on more than one occasion. The last major climb of the day was probably the hardest of the ride coming at nearly three hundred miles, but as usual you set a steady pace and before you know it, it’s done. Day three complete all safe and well. The hotel that night was a Campanile, anybody who has travelled in France may be familiar with the level of quality provided, not only did I share the room with my buddy, but also an assortment of local bugs and crawlies. It was located in a none to salubrious part of town with what looked like a detention centre right next door, only a high strong metal fence separated us from the desperados held within. The food was none to good either, so a splinter group of by now ravenous cyclists set off in search of sustenance, the shadows were lengthening and 300 miles of toil was having an effect on our judgement. We noticed a gang of roughnecks heading towards us and struggled to identify them as they lurked through the shadows, it was then with much mirth that we recognised the gait, is was another group of us cyclists who had been suffering in the saddle for three long days. There was more cause for merriment as three mature men giggled like school girls as they tried to order something in French from the point to select menu containing such delights as Giant Burger and Cheesy Balls, I shall say no more.
Day Four.
Things were now as serious as they could be, the sun had made a welcome return, as so had the wind (not the protein induced type), we were to ride 125 miles directly in to the teeth of something that had the power to remove the last hair from Jonathon’s head. Although the terrain had levelled out slightly, we only had one reasonable climb to complete, the distance was daunting. Mile after mile of interminable corn fields greeted us; vast open plains with no shelter, the quaint villages didn’t seem so quaint anymore. On the plus side we managed to cycle along the LoireValley. We also passed several of the ubiquitous sunflower fields, and I swear there was even a cannabis plantation, okay, so it might have been a field of hemp, I was getting delirious.
Nearing the end of the ride I was counting down the miles on my Garmin, strangely I wanted it to end, but sort of wanted to continue going the next day, but end it surely did, with the entire team finishing well up the pecking order. We all cheered in the remaining riders as they wearily crossed the finish line. The spirit and commitment displayed by all was a credit to the organisers for galvanising and providing the motivation through the fund raising achievements, as I write we have topped £107k. I think that I can safely speak for the team when I say that we were, are, proud to have been part of it.
The Last Bits.
On completing the ride we then cycled on, although many chose not to sit in their saddles for some reason, to a reception at the Company archives where we could feast on figs and dates (!), and sip some champagne. One of the keepers of the archives gave an impassioned speech congratulating us on our efforts and reinforcing the principles of conduct that Saint-Gobain abides by. One last ride saw us back to the final hotel stop, we hurriedly showered and caught coaches to another reception where we joined fellow cyclists from around Europe although by consensus it was agreed that we had had by far the harder ride. The last day was spent travelling back to Blighty by coach and train to be greeted again by Mark the loyal soigneur; I can assure you he was a welcome sight. London seemed to be bursting at the seams compared to rural France and it was a welcome relief to break free of its congestion and head for home and some well earned rest.
It was a fabulous event, a great idea well executed and delivered by Skyline Events, a truly unique experience. Chapeau as they say in France.
For the Youtube clip follow the following link;