RACE REPORT: ARTENAY ANGUISH

Last Sunday I eclipsed my previous best placing this season with a strong ride in the Prix de la Libération, a fast and furious criterium around the quaint town of Artenay in the heart of the Loiret region. Unbeknown to me prior to my arrival at the race, I’d actually already been to Artenay before back in May when I ploughed through its streets as the lone leader on stage 2 of the Tour du Loiret. Unfortunately, my race that day had ended, and not for the first time, with me being stuck back together in the back of an Ambulance following a 50 kph confrontation with the tarmac (one which I lost, badly) but, thankfully, this time ’round I was able to remain upright and turn in a decent performance to boot.

The race began, as most races do, with the usual flurry of attacks and counter-attacks as early chancers tried to see what damage they could do, however my game plan for the opening exchanges was to abstain from the initial bunfight, keep my powder dry and be more shrewd in my choice of move to follow. After twenty minutes of ferocious racing, there was yet to be a successful escape despite the best efforts of a number of seemingly-tireless nutters lunatics ‘hopefuls’ however, by now, it was noticeable that it was beginning to take the bunch longer and longer to pull in each attempted breakaway. So, when another doomed attempt was winched back in by the pack, I decided it was time to come out of hibernation and I immediately followed in the wheels of the subsequent counter-attack.

For the first time in the race, there was no immediate reaction from the bunch and our little group of five quickly pulled out a dozen seconds or so on the pack. Over the next couple of laps we pressed on, looking to extend our advantage with every pedal stroke and aided by the steady trickle of riders bridging across to us who served to amplify the firepower of the escape. After a few laps, the numbers in the break had swollen to a sizeable fifteen, including me and all four of my team mates (!!), and with the bunch now well out of sight it was becoming increasingly apparent that this was the move that would produce the day’s winner. So, having made it to the front of the race and with the group settling down into a nice, controlled, consistent through-and-off tempo, I began to turn my attention towards the primes.

From my experiences this year, I’ve learned that the primes over here occur in one of two formats. One said format is that of the pre-determined itinerary, as is most common in the UK, where you might have a prime, say, every 10 laps. The other arrangement, which can only be best described as a ‘hot-spot’ prime, is where you find out there’s going to be a prime just one lap before it actually happens thanks to a whistle, a flag or, sometimes, an over-zealous Frenchman screaming at you through the tannoy system. On Sunday, we had latter.

With the opening hour of racing having been so full-on, first of all with the aggressive attacks and then with the relentless drive to establish the breakaway, Sunday’s announcer was obviously sufficiently entertained by the action to keep his money in his pocket to start with. However, now that proceedings had calmed down a bit and we’d slipped into a settled rhythm, he obviously decided that he no longer had enough to commentate on so just as I was thinking I might get the chance of a little respite, he chose to tempt us with the prospect of earning a little extra pocket money by announcing the first prime of the day.

Now, for me, I always find competing for primes a lot more difficult when they take the format of  these ‘hot-spot’ sprints, primarily because it takes a heck of a lot of concentration for me to decipher the colloquial French that gets banded about over the often-crackling PA system, concentration which is normally consumed by the race. Even until a couple of months ago, the first indication I’d get of an impending prime was about 200 meters before the line when all the other lads would suddenly start to sprint like maniacs! However, on Sunday I had my wits about me and one lap after the first prime was called, I crossed the line comfortably ahead of everyone else to take the winnings. Happy days! Unfortunately though, a mechanical issue forced me to take a lap out when the second prime was called so I was side-lined for that one, however I was back in contention for the third and final sprint but, rather disappointingly, I was narrowly beaten into second place after launching my assault on the cash just a fraction to late.

With the primes done and dusted and with the race now entering its latter stages, we, as a team, began to utilise our numerical advantage by hitting our breakaway rivals with a series of attacks one after the other. After a few rounds of suitably softening the legs of the other guys in the group, who quickly grew tired of chasing the constant accelerations having already endured a tough race to this point, my team mate Lucas launched what proved to be the winning move, taking one rider with him in the process. Within a couple of laps, Lucas and his companion had ridden themselves out of sight and the four of us who remained amongst the breakaway sat in tight, marshalling every attempted counter-attack and disrupting the chase.

With Lucas storming to yet another awesome victory for both him and the team, the rest of us began to focus on the sprint for the final remaining spot on the podium. When a lone rider launched a desperate attack on the final lap, Valentin hit the front of the group and, despite suffering from cramps just minutes before, did a fantastic job of pinning the lead to a mere handful of meters, as well as simultaneously guiding me into the final half-a-kilometre in a perfect position. However, when a rider behind lost his nerve and broke rank, dragging a string of guys over the top of me and Val, I was at risk of being boxed in so I had to vacate my teammates wheel and barge my way into the passing line. Having successfully muscled my way in, I arrived at the final 250 meters in about sixth wheel and once the sprint opened up, I accelerated hard, flying past all my opponents bar one, with whom I proceeded to battle neck and neck all the way to the finish. Inseparable as we crossed the line, the announcer initially called me out for third place but, alas, it soon transpired that the photo finish showed he had just piped me into 4th place by the smallest of margins.

Post-race I had a weird and conflicting mix of emotions – on the one hand it was impossible not to be thrilled by what a dominant race we’d ridden as a team (our five riders placing 1st, 4th, 7th, 8th and 15th!!) and I was equally as delighted by how well I’d ridden, but at the same time I was absolutely gutted (and still am!) that I missed out on the podium by such an infuriatingly tiny margin. Still, that’s bike racing for you … one of these days things will all fall into place and come good for me. I hope …

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