Battle on the Beach 2018

Start line photo by San Kapil

WAAHHH! 

That’ll be the start then. 

Nearly 1000 riders running, shoving, carrying and slewing through the soft sand. My third year racing single speed and the single speed title to defend. A strong breeze blows from the south east up the beach, pushing the geared riders to speeds that a roadie would be proud of. I spin the cranks on my Kona Private Jake at dizzying velocity and glance at my watch to check heart rate, it's well into the red. Hordes of geared riders stream past me at speeds I cannot hope to match. Keep the cadence up and catch them on the single track. The headwind on the return is welcome, it slows the geared riders and I plough up the middle through the tufty grass on the double track to make up places lost on the beach.

Lap 2

I sprint for the cameras through the start/finish and with the sea on my left, head along the beach. A geared rider who I recently passed on a single track section mocks me and a couple of other riders because he is now going faster. Well done mate. 

With the exception of this poor soul the atmosphere and other riders are fantastic, my son Arran gets a tow down the beach from a rider who spots him spinning away on his singlespeed and shouts 'get on my wheel!' It's riders like that who keep us making the pilgrimage from Yorkshire each year. That along with the impeccable organisation by ACycling makes this event one of the few that we return to year after year.

Half way down the 10k expanse of beach I become aware of a strange calm. No rumbling fat bike tyres, no shouting riders and no wind noise; just a silent 130 RPM maelstrom of legs and cranks, spring sun, waves crashing. Blissful focus, lost in the moment.

Lap 3

Both wheels slide on the tarmac start finish straight adding more adrenaline to the already unaccustomedly high levels coursing through my veins. I lap a few steadier riders before descending on to the beach for the last time. Nearly there, don't give up yet I remind myself. Within sight of the MOD tower at the end of the beach I grab the rear most wheel of a threesome who are making better progress than me. Running through soft sand to exit the beach I thank the lead rider for the tow and get on with the serious job of picking more riders off. There's more space now and I can maintain a better pace on the return to the finish. I pick a few more riders off and peer through the trees hoping to see tents, a sign that the finish is near. Only a few more minutes and I hear the rumble of drums, the last few hundred metres of singletrack and I sprint to the finish line past one more rider. Done.

Just over a minute behind the winning single speeder, but quicker than last year and good training to boot. Now when's my next race? I think I enjoyed that.

Occasionally I get my race on

Gear:

Kona Private Jake Singlespeed running 44T x 19T
Hunt 4 Season Gravel Wheels shod with Schwalbe 38mm G-One Bite tubeless tyres
Genetic bars
TRP Hylex brakes
SRAM Force cranks

The Fugly

Tsss-tssssss—tss-tssss—tsss-TSSS. Slick tyres hiss across glistening tarmac, volume modulated by each revolution of the salt encrusted cranks, cranks salvaged from a bike which long since succumbed to years of winter abuse. Will the Lemond be next to fail, to be sacrificed? The contented whirr of singlespeed chain over a single 52 tooth chainring suggests not. This bastard of a machine purrs in tune with rider and the Pennine moors which tonight are happy to give up their moonlight vistas to this traveller. Few venture this way in darkness, the nearby M62 is faster, straighter and lit by night leaving the old road to those who seek solitude.

I ride this way partly for pleasure and partly for duty, the pleasure of the moors by night and a duty to prepare for this year’s adventures. Those adventures may unfold a thousand miles from the peat bog and heather moorland of the south Pennines but without this preparation they’d be wasted on me. Climbing hairpins through wildflower meadows under limestone peaks to the random clatter of cowbells; it all starts here on my starlit January commute.

This bike is a true bastard, a secondhand cyclocross frame persuaded to singlespeed by a pair of £10 steel track dropouts welded to broken chainstays.  Wheels from a retired road bike, pannier rack from an old commuter and brown mudguards bought in a sale. The bastard is known as the Fugly, descriptive if uninspired. It’s the cheapest and simplest of the bikes in my shed and in winter I reach for it frequently. Rolling down Pennine valleys the steel 853 frame soaks up the ripples in the pock marked tarmac and on climbs it takes on a life of its own. Every pedal stroke distorts the frame inciting it to fight back until we reach a harmonic rhythm that’ll see us both up most gradients. 

Sometimes it’s necessary to employ a bit of mind control.  1-2, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5-6, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 I count; each revolution of those crusty Dura Ace cranks tallied until the top is reached. Sometimes I imagine a pair of legs doing the climbing, separated from my torso and suffering in isolation. The usual brain cluttering questions of gear choice, effort and cadence are satisfyingly absent. Hills are to be climbed, the Fugly’s 85 inch gear will dictate progress. I don’t question how, if, or why. I may be forced out of the leather saddle to keep those cranks turning, but I know that I will reach the top. 

Singlespeed Sand Racing at Battle on the Beach

New Year's Eve is an odd place to start a beach race but that is where this one starts. Wannabe racers need to have their index fingers poised at midnight, credit card in hand to stand a chance of bagging a place in the always oversubscribed Battle on the Beach race. Some may have celebratory champagne in hand as they scrabble to register before the event sells out, I did, but reactions need to be quick to get registered before the entries sell out. That otherwise serially underwhelming evening is fortunately in stark contrast to the excitement on the start line at Pembrey as hundreds squeeze behind metal barriers into the natural funnel between sand dunes in early spring each year.

Start Line at Battle on the Beach photo © Stephen Smith

Arran at Bike Park Wales

Stadium Riders were fielding a good turnout this year and most of us had enjoyed an exciting day of riding at Bike Park Wales the day before. We were amongst the first to ride the new blue trail 'Popty Ping' which was well worth the climb, even for Arran on his single speed. We camped at Pembrey Country Park on Saturday night in a field of camper vans and tents between the woods and sea, the weather was perfect and the company good as we shared Saul's trademark 'go faster pasta' under starry skies. Earlier Claire, San, Saul and I had raced the 'Battle on the Dark' night time trial which used a shortened version of Sunday's full race lap; six miles of full throttle torchlit effort. The sunset was stunning, the sky painted blue, pink and purple for the thirty minutes that we queued up by the beach waiting for the darkness to fall, and the race to begin. 

tick tock, tick tock © Stephen Smith

This time trial is unique, the first half is spent chasing down lights on the beach and in the case of the singlespeeders maintaining a cadence more suited to roller racing until the feint flashing lights further down the beach are hunted down and the exit into the woods is reached. Dismount and a short run up a soft sandy dune leads to the return leg  through the woods. Twisty singletrack gives way to forest road and sandy double track, occasional steep climbs gain the rider ten metres of altitude before plunging back down into the woods. It's not long before I can hear the music and tannoy of the finish line and we can return for some food and a peaceful night's sleep on the camp site. 

Track stand off

Most races start early but this one leaves plenty of time for fretting pre-race if you are that way inclined. Fortunately a beautiful sunny morning and plenty of activity at Camp Stadium Riders left little time for worry. San, Arran and I took a spin down to the beach to take some photos and make the most of the glorious weather. We left it a tad late to return and the thirty minutes after we returned were hectic. Last minute bike adjustments, something to eat and drink and packing of the vans to enable a quick getaway post race. We rolled down to the start line for 11.30am, thirty minutes to spare notionally but any later and you'd be at the very back of the funnel of riders on the start line. I was lucky enough to have been seeded so I slipped though the queues and down to the very front of the start line, up against the barriers between two of the fastest riders here: last year's winner and George Budd (winner of last year's Dirty Reiver gravel race). I'm a bit out of place on my steel singlespeed amongst the skin suits, shaved legs and sponsored riders and these riders all seem to know each other, masking nerves with banter and chat about the new season. There's still a good variety of bikes down here at the front from fat bikes to skinny cross bikes, there's not obvious choice for this race although last year's winners are on mountain bikes with skinny bars and taped bar ends. 

© Stephen Smith

Meanwhile a DJ pumps out '90's hits and our compere builds the excitement in the start funnel. Fifteen minutes, five minutes, two minutes, one minute... and... FOGHORN!!! A frantic scramble throught the soft sand to the hard packed beach where speed can be attained. Easily a hundred riders pass me as I leave it late to mount my bike and get going. Once spinning I concentrate on maintaining that cadence. Frequent heart rate checks ensure that I'm not overcooking it at this early stage, it's like a motorcycle track day where I'd watch the tacho, you can't stay north of the red line for an hour and a half. There is a tail wind down the beach this year which the single speeders can't really benefit from, I remark on this to Charlie the Bikemonger as I pass him, he's smiling whilst I spin furiously in an attempt to catch the riders in front before the singletrack through the woods. Towards the end of the beach a few riders are already flagging, others are busy shouting at anyone who passes a bit close. I've got my race head on now, eyes down focused on what's ahead. The sections back through the woods seem less congested than last year and by the second lap I get a clear run at most of the hills. It doesn't lessen the amount of grunt needed to climb them on my 34T x 15T gear. Marshalls shout much appreciated encouragement and by the second lap slower riders are happy to move over to let faster ones though. 

lap 2, before it started to hurt © Stephen Smith

The third lap splits left at around seven miles on to a wider track through the woods to give us a chance to battle it out with our peers. I can see one guy a hundred metres ahead but I can't catch him on the flat. The finish draws closer and I make a last effort over the timing mat. I catch my breath on the grass overlooking the finish, Saul is in a few minutes later followed by Claire and Gary. San is nowhere to be seen, we wonder whether he's stopped to take some photos but it's his low singlespeed gear that has held him up. Its good to have finished the first proper race of the year, after much hanging around I find out that I've won the singlespeed category so swag and a framed award are presented, podium photos snatched and then back to the van for a long drive home. 

 A Cycling do a great job of organising the event (as well as others through the year) so if you haven't yet raced it I'd certainly recommend giving it a go. I'm sure we'll be back as Arran wants to race next year, the only question is what to ride... 

All quiet on the beach © Stephen Smith 

Clare racing © Stephen Smith

Tandem fat bike! © Stephen Smith

San spinning his singlespeed fat bike © Stephen Smith 

the winning pair, real pros © Stephen Smith

Saul spinning hard © Stephen Smith

Big thanks to Saul for organising and Stephen Smith for the photos.

Gear Used:

Skookum 853 singlespeed running 34T x 15T, Niner fork, cutdown bars and bar ends