Waiting with my trusty Tiban RC500 for the Dunkirk-Dover ferry I reflected on our four-day Flandrien Odyssey which had seen us battling up the steep cobbled bergs that define the Tour of Flanders, one of the Spring Classics on the pro-peloton calendar. A fellow rider eyed me up and down. “You’ve just done Flanders on … a Triban …?” he asked incredulously. He paused, considered, then nodded, “Fair play!”. Fair play? Odd, because I was never in any doubt that it was the very best bike to join me on my adventure – it had risen to every demand I had asked of it over the previous two years.
On the Tour of Flanders Sportive, tackling the Flandrien cobbled bergs. Courtesy of Sportgraf
As a novice ‘Lockdown’ rider, upgrading from my Mum’s old three-speed shopping bike to my Triban had felt like a huge leap of faith. Who was I to think racy drop handlebars were appropriate. I was 50 years old and though the mental and physical benefits brought from enjoying my local country lanes were clear to me, I definitely didn’t have the psyche to race anyone at anything.
Building my new bike
My first tentative ride was 7km long and it took all my energy to stay upright and navigate the gears – no convenient dial telling me what gear I was in, no easy way to remember which way was up, which way down. Two weeks on I was still fairly intimidated; it felt like controlling a lively racehorse, rather than the plodding packhorse I was used to – I hadn’t yet learn to love my bike but I did respect it.
As winter turned to spring nerves gave way to excitement and a nascent love affair was born. In May 2021 my Triban took me on my first 100-mile ride and I was so elated, so flushed with adrenalin that my bike and I could possibly achieve such an outlandish thing, that I was consumed with finding the next high and the next big goal. Sportives didn’t quite appeal – too racy and structured - but then I heard mention of the Dunwich Dynamo and the fire in my belly was lit.
A love affair was born
The Dun Run, as it is affectionately called, is not an organised event. There is no sign-up form, no chipped time and no entry fee. Instead it has grown informally and organically into a celebration of life on two wheels. Word of mouth says turn up in Hackney on the Saturday evening following the July full moon and when you’ve soaked up the atmosphere of 2,000 other riders mingling at sunset, jump on your bike and ride through the night to the Suffolk coast for a sunrise dip on Dunwich beach. That night was filled with so many firsts – my first ride through London, my first mass participation event, my first night ride, my first 200km ride. Night riding felt magical - other-worldly as we swept through sleeping hamlets, like interlopers living outside the social norms. The roads, empty of cars, were pocketed instead with the endless twinkle of red cycle lights leading the way seaward, and were interspersed with the occasional oasis for tired riders to refuel with bacon sandwiches, cakes, coffee and bananas. As the sun came up I knew my Triban and I had experienced something very special. I felt connected to the bike, my legs were strong and my mind was alive with adrenalin.
Riding continued into Autumn and through the Winter. By the end of 2021 I’d racked up 7,500 kilometres. In that time I’d replaced the wearing parts – chain, brake pads, cables – and moved over to clipless pedals but otherwise the Triban was the same bike that left the shop one year earlier.
Out with friends on local roads in Kent. Courtest of Frederiek Chatfield
In 2022 as Covid loosened its stranglehold on the nation’s travel plans, my gaze turned to the Continent and my Triban and I embarked on my first international bikepacking trip. I cycled 130km from home to the Harwich-Hook of Holland ferry and relished my first time boarding a car ferry on two wheels. Securing our bikes in amongst hulking continental transporters, my four travel mates and I felt the exciting buzz of the impending five-day adventure.
Next stop Holland
I set up the bike for touring, using a saddlebag, a top tube bag and a handlebar bag. We had worked hard to trim down the kit we carried and though the preparation ahead of the tour was tiring as we refined and shed the luggage, once we set off it was liberating to carry just one change of bike clothes, one set of civvies and the smallest of toilet bags. Arms warmers, leg warmers, a fleece, flip flops and a rain jacket were the only extra layers we took to combat the unpredictable late spring weather. Finally we had spares and repairs for punctures loose bolts and broken chains.
My set up for my first multi-day tour on the Continent
Averaging 100km a day across 4 countries I revelled in my first muti-day test. The Triban was reliable and comfortable, even when weighed down – exactly what I needed it to be whilst I was so far from home without the support of a family member to pick me up.
Bikepacking in Holland. Or were we in France? Or maybe Belgium. Courtesy of Frederiek Chatfield
A trip on the bike to France to watch a stage of the 2022 Tour de France followed and then I found myself lining up on the start line of Chase the Sun (CTS) South knowing this time that in pursuit of the next cycling high, my bike and I had bitten off more than I could chew. CTS is an achingly romantic concept. At its simplest, the organisers say it is a physical, motivational and navigational endeavour that requires participants to cycle 205 miles coast-to-coast from sunup to sundown; but it is so much more than just a long bike ride. It pits cycling against the backdrop of the immutable universe and asks, ‘Can you ride your bike faster than the sun travels through the sky?’ It celebrates the longest day of the year and glories in you sharing that celebration with 1,200 like-minded romantics. And, of course it would be disingenuous not to mention that it gives you bragging rights to a mighty fine Strava line.
At the start of the 205 mile Chase the Sun ride
The day’s high point was locking eyes with another solo rider at the start in Minster. We instantly became a team and those miles together were an absolute joy. My low point was before lunch, riding on my own for two hours. I couldn’t keep from dwelling on the task still ahead. Not yet halfway, the urge to stop was fierce. From Devizes, at 150 miles, I was solo again. This time, however, my mind was strong. Although the rain, wind and cold on that English summer day were brutal, I gained comfort from being part of a small wave of cycling humanity, inching forward, united in bearing terrible conditions. We arrived on the East coast at 9pm, half an hour before sunset, to cheering supporters.
The high from that trip kept me buzzing for weeks but then Autumn once again became winter and rides became less ambitious and more about keeping the off-season legs turning. As the two-year anniversary from buying my bike passed I had to replace more wearing parts – I’d gone through two chains, a bottom bracket, more brake pads, gear cables, brake cables and tyres – but the essence of the bike – the wheels, the group set, the handlebars, the fork, the frame, the saddle were still all unchanged. And my mileage now topped 16,000 km.
And so back to the Spring 2023 trip to Flanders. We had cycled for four days through the worst weather to hit the Tour of Flanders for 20 years. The incessant rain was fuelled by a brutal three-day storm with winds over 40 knots. In this we had cycled 400km. But what stung far more than the rain was the incredulity from my fellow cyclist that my Triban could possibly have been a sensible choice of bike to embark on this type of brutal endurance riding.
Finishing the Flanders Sportive. Courtsey of Sportgraf
But for me there is no trustier bike to get me safely from A to B; no worthier bike to share my riding journey with.