Can A Professional Bike Fit Make You Look Like A Pro?

As cyclists, we enjoy the privilege of being able to get closer to the professionals than in almost any other sport. I’m unlikely to get the opportunity to drive Lewis Hamilton’s F1 car, or play a competitive match at Wembley, but I’ve ridden the bike that carried Alberto Contador to victory in the Vuelta Espana and have competed on the same battleground as the world’s best cyclists; the iconic roads of the Tour de France.

Many of our clients look forward to similar experiences: a new Trek Domane, as ridden by Fabian Cancellara, or a GPM10 training camp, covering some of the same roads as this year’s Tour. I celebrate these opportunities, but more troubling is the desire that many of us have for emulating the position and posture of the professional peloton. Let’s accept it, we’ve all tried to ‘look like a pro’ at some point in our cycling ‘career’.

I spent many years idolising the long, low position that has been favoured by professional cyclists for generations. I even sought out frames that would facilitate this fetish; short head-tubes, long top-tubes and extended, negatively orientated stems to get the front of the bike as low as possible, whilst I sat imperiously on a narrow, sparsely padded saddle.

Association Does Not Mean Causation

I analysed and deconstructed the professional’s approach to the sport, in an attempt to learn from and emulate them. Unfortunately, I fell into a trap; I identified an association and assumed causation. That is to say, I assumed that because the pros ride their bikes long and low, that must be helping them to ride fast and far. However, as I began to ascend the ladder of elite cycling and later studied the performance of riders objectively, I came to learn that, often, the truth is quite the opposite.

Many of the positions I admired did not result in optimum performance, even if I could adopt them. For me and likely for many professionals, whilst their position and posture on the bike worked, to some degree, it did not help them to realise their full potential. I’d always assumed that professional riders had all aspects of their training and riding dialed and tuned to maximise performance. How else could they achieve such incredible feats of speed and endurance?

Genetic Freaks

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Increasing numbers of professional cyclists are embracing evidence-based training methods, individualised nutrition plans and technological innovation. However, for many elite and professional cyclists, this approach represents the exception, not the rule. My bubble burst when I came to the realisation that the reason that many professional cyclists were so good was not down to scientific training and optimised biomechanics. In contrast they were, in the nicest way possible, genetic freaks - endurance monsters, who simply used their huge capacities to overcome all kinds of obstacles, and succeed, without bothering to even think about getting them out of the way.

It turned out that some of the professional cyclists I longed to emulate were very much like American cars. Their mechanics were outdated, the suspension was rubbish, aerodynamic qualities were questionable, but they had enormous engines. Their motors were so big, that they could power over any surface at incredible speed, blast through boulder sized cobblestones, poor biomechanics and still get across the line first. Unfortunately for me, where the professionals were blessed with turbo-charged V8s, I had a 4-cylinder and no amount of suspension lowering or tinted windows would get me to the Tour de France.

Grin And Bear It?

Most professional riders are incredibly genetically gifted. They combine this with hard work and tenacity, to ride to the top of the sport. Some riders optimise everything to reach this pinnacle. Others are happy with their level and choose not to change their position, because there doesn’t seem to be a good reason to; if it isn’t broke, why fix it? For other riders, their tolerance to pain is so high, that they simply grin and bear it, and still get the results. After all, professional riders aren’t getting paid to have a nice time!

For us mere mortals, who ride our bikes for fun, who are often time-limited, with lower pain thresholds and have engines that need all the help they can get - we need to look at every legal opportunity available to us. It was the realisation that I needed to get the most out of my motor that lead me to CycleFit, to begin optimsing my biomechanics to improve my performance. As an aspiring professional rider, getting a professional bike fit resulted in tangible gains in comfort and performance. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to land a good pro-contract, but today, whilst my stem may have a couple of spacers underneath, I’m more comfortable than ever and get more out of myself, in my limited training time, than I thought was possible. Similarly, my clients, whilst taking time to come round to the idea of stems ‘flipped-up’ and slightly longer head-tubes, consistently report being able to ride faster, further with less effort.

Headset Spacers: The Devil's Work?

The ‘pro look’ starts off with an assumption, that headset spacers are the devil’s work and that your saddle should be as high as possible; herein lies the problem with trying to look like a pro, for professionals and amateurs alike! The answer is to make the bike fit the rider, not force the rider to fit the bike. At Stephen James Cycles, with our CycleFit process, we start with a blank canvass, learn as much as we can about the rider, design a position and advise on posture, so that the cyclist can achieve their personal goals, even if the resulting position doesn’t conform to an aesthetic tradition. However, if your heart is set on slamming your stem, I have some simple advice: get a custom frame with an appropriately sized head-tube and/or start a regular and rigorous stretching routine!!

We may not be able to able to make you look like your favourite rider, but we will do everything we can to help you get the most out of yourself and the bike, achieve your goals and enjoy this wonderful sport.

This article first appeared at stephenjamescycles.co.uk

"When the goal of a ride is about the experience..."

In 2005 I was living in the South of France and desperate to become a professional cyclist. My days were spent eating, riding, sleeping, counting my watts, watching my calories and, in my spare time, working for a bike touring company to fund my quest.

I often guided our North American guests on rides around the local area. They were captivated by the beauty of the region, happy to dawdle around, stop at a boulangerie, cruise through the vineyards. I couldn’t relate, lost in my world of aerobic thresholds and PowerTaps. A year later, after a series of crashes, illnesses and with the stinging realisation that I didn’t have the physical capacity to make it as a professional cyclist, I returned to university in England. To me, cycling had become a rigorous, ascetic, scientific exercise and, now it was clear that I’d never reach my goal, I had no desire to pursue it further.

I stayed in touch with what was happening in the cycling world but began to sleep in longer, enjoy an extra coffee on a Sunday morning in place of heading out for a training ride, or speeding off in the car to another non-descript amateur race. My road bike began gathering dust, tires deflating slowly as it languished in the spare room.

The variety was refreshing, but it didn’t take much to revive old memories: walking past a group of cyclists gathering on campus before a ride, watching the Tour de France. Despite this, it was the end of 2010 before I turned a pedal with any sense of purpose. This time, there was no PowerTap, no heart rate monitor, no cadence sensor. I adjusted the gears on my old 9-speed Dura-Ace and headed out for a ride. I dawdled through the lanes, took in gulps of cold winter air and let my head write a few cheques on the hills that my body was in no state to cash.

To some an over-hyped poser’s brand, to others the embodiment of epic authenticity; whatever you think of Rapha, I couldn’t agree more with their assertion that “When the goal of a ride is about the experience instead of the speed or the distance, it changes everything.”

Rapha Continental – The Movie from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Chasing Flanders

The morning dawns wet, windy and inimitably Flemish. I find myself rushing through the cobbled streets of Brugge trying to track down the office where I’m to pick up press accreditation. It was a fitting start to a day that would be characterized by many mad dashes scouting for vantage points to see 'De Ronde'; Belgium's most important bike race.

Our chaperone for the day was Andy Deschuyffeleer, Bert Roesem’s father in law. Bert, the former Belgian Time Trial Champion and all round hard man would be spending the day riding in support of Peter Van Petegem. They say daughters always marry a man like their father. Andy is a true Flemand, hewn from granite, a road racing fanatic and expert in the art of locating the climbs and cobbled roads that make the ‘Ronde’ so distinctive and notoriously difficult.

I collect my press pass and sticker accreditation for the car and feel smug as I breeze past the stewards, wolf down breakfast and check the batteries on my camera. I grab a strong black coffee and head out into the rain to meet Andy at the Davitamon Lotto team bus. The riders’ paddock is a few hundred metres from the start in the centre of Brugge. Throngs of staff, riders and sponsors congeal around the team’s vehicles. Mechanics make last minute checks, click gears earnestly and lubricate chains with bikes mounted on workshop stands suspended like art house installations. The machines will take a beating on the unforgiving roads today. I give Andy a call on my mobile and it dawns on me that I’ve never met him and don’t know what he looks like. It turns out that he’s standing right next to me and we both share the first of many laughs that day. We also meet Inge, Bert’s wife who will be joining us on the adventure. Andy quickly shares the agenda for the day, eager to map out the route and barely able to conceal his enthusiasm as he spreads the chart on the bonnet of the car. They must be born with a passion for bike racing in Flanders. Andy wastes no time in introducing me to the team’s staff and the managing director of Omega-pharma, one of the biggest sponsors of the team. He is an avid fan, “maybe too much” Inge whispers knowingly. We look for Bert but he is encased in the team bus behind tinted glass for the top secret team meeting. I ask Inge how Bert is riding. “He is riding well” she says “but today everything is for Peter van Petegem.”

Time to go. We sprint to the car as the riders make their way to the start so we can get to our first observation point on the course. “We’ll try to see the race 9 times” says Andy. “A few years ago watching the Ronde was like a race. We used to be able to see it 15 times but we had to drive really fast.” “Now...” he says, suddenly deflated, “we have to watch out for the police because they are really looking for fans speeding to see the race.”

Despite Andy’s reservations about the strong arm of the law he still seems to have a liberal approach to speed limits. After darting through side streets we pass between the barriers and onto the race route. Speeding ahead of the race we pull over for our first of the nine stops along the route. “You have to make sure you stop on the right side of the road” says Bert. “If you don’t, you’ll get blocked off after the race passes.” The publicity caravan speeds by, soon followed by the race. The peloton is together but there are a few stragglers, the survivors of an earlier crash. We jump back into the Peugeot to continue the race of our own.

Back on the course we negotiate with a roadside steward who seems less than happy about letting us pass by. Well actually, Andy negotiates, delivering an authoritative speech in Flemish which seems to satisfy the official. “You can’t hesitate” says Andy, now dispensing advice for dealing with authority figures. Before we know it we are back on the race route and dash through on our way to Ichtegem, our next port of call. Suddenly we spot a flash of red around the corner. Andy brakes and we come to a quick stop. A marching band is making its way through the town just ahead of the race. We let it pass, stop by the side of the road and take the opportunity to snap a few shots before we accelerate off again.The whole of Flanders is partying!

At Ichtegem we find our spot and watch the race pass. The crowd goes mad shouting support for their local heroes. The cries of Van Petegem, Boonen and local hero Roesems are still reverberating in our ears as we head off in pursuit of a vantage point to see the riders tackle the feared cobble stones. These boulders that make up the road surface are the size of baby’s heads and won’t hesitate to crack bones and bikes should a rider fall or take the wrong line. Cobbled sections are strewn over the entire course, breaking the rhythm and testing the nerve of the riders. Before the start I asked Inge if she was nervous for her husband as he sped over the cobbled sections of the race, forced to stay near the front and take risks to protect his team leader. “Yes” she said. “Especially if they are wet.” By this point in the day the rain has passed but the roads still retain a film of moisture giving them an ominous sheen.

We reach the cobbles but already the publicity caravan is hot on our tail. The escort motorbikes are sitting on the bumper of the car with sirens blaring so we pull to the side of the road and persuade a group of fans to let us use their driveway for a temporary parking lot. It seems we’re not the only ones with that idea as a VIP car squeezes in front of us. It turns out that one of the passengers is the former editor the newspaper Het Nieuwsblad, who also sponsor and organise the race. Even in retirement, De Ronde still holds a special place in his heart. “Everybody comes to watch the race, old and young. It’s an important part of the culture.” he says. The stop also provides a good opportunity to sample another Belgian tradition and we enjoy a couple of cold dark beers from the freezer bag Andy has stashed in the car.

The circling helicopter signals the approach of the race and we lean out into the road to see the riders speeding by. By now a small break has formed and the crowd goes crazy again as they pass. This leading group benefits from being able to ride on the crest of the cobbles where the surface, whilst far from smooth, is at least more consistent. The riders, like modern day gladiators, battle across the roads that wind through the fields of Flanders, jostling for position and splashing mud on the spectators. The riders affectionately call this dirt ‘Belgian toothpaste’ and the locals love it. I ask Andy what makes the Belgian fans special. “They really know racing” he says. “In France they cheer for everyone but in Belgium they support the strong riders. They understand what is happening.” “We love this race!” says one fan with slurred speech more a consequence of the half empty beer in his hand than the language barrier. I ask who will win today. The question provokes a flurry of debate. “Boonen!” shouts one, “No, Peter van Petegem!” We lean out into the road again and I narrowly miss getting my face rearranged by a motorbike as it squeezes past a group of riders. The group passes close to the fans and Inge spots Bert. We’ve heard that he’s been working hard for van Petegem all day and he still maintains a good position in the peloton. We have to push our way back through the crowds to get to our next stop in time.

On the way we turn on to a tiny road barely wide enough for the car. Andy accelerates and soon we’re bouncing over the uneven road. Inge acts as a navigator; they could start their own rally team. We arrive at the ‘Oude Kwaremont’ and Andy pulls onto the verge. Paolo Bettini leads the group followed by Erik Zabel, the veteran German's face set in an inscrutable expression. Andy stops to chat with a Davitamon mechanic who is waiting with some spare wheels. By now we can see the fatigue in the rider’s eyes and legs. I watch them pass with interest. The pedalling has lost its fluid motion and jaws are slack with mouths hung open. We climb back in the car and attempt to pull back onto the road but it’s clear that the wheels have sunk into the mud. Not to worry, Inge and I are helped by a couple of spectators. We’re soon on our way but not before a few people are sprayed with a liberal coating of 'toothpaste' from the tires.

The race is nearing its end. We drive to the finish and find Andy’s gift of the gab has bagged us a parking space next to the team buses. The barriers keep out the other spectators but we arrive just as Boonen and Hoste are approaching the final kilometre. By this point, it's impossible to find a spot to view the finale. A sea of people are compressed across the railings. However, Andy isn’t going to let a few thousand fans stop him seeing his son in law finish this monument of the sport. He wastes no time in scaling a nearby scaffolding to secure his observation point.

Soon we find out the favourite, Boonen, has taken the win. The finish area is a cacophony of noise. Hoste arrives a close second and George Hincapie takes the third step of the podium for the Discovery team. Bert’s team mate Peter Van Petegem finishes a disappointing fourth. Van Petegem’s wife is in tears beside the team bus. She knows the sacrifice, the hours spent pounding the roads and days away from home that went into preparing for this event. Bert himself comes in twenty third, covered in mud and looking dog tired. A good result considering the massive amount of work he contributed for his team leader. I ask him about the race and despite the fatigue he shares a few words. “It was a hard day but I had good legs.” Boonen was just too strong. Suddenly, we realise the time. We make our final dash to the car, we only have two hours to reach Calais. Accelerating away, leaving Flanders behind, we carry hapy memories and a spattering of Belgian toothpaste for the ferry home.

(This article first featured on Pezcyclingnews.com)