CHAPTER SIX

The GB Plan: Stop That Girl!

I have been in racing situations alone, without team-mates for support. However, at least most of the time, I had to accept the situation as being within the rules. I treasure the photo of the podium at the Commonwealth Games held in Melbourne, in 2006, where the Welsh Cycling Union decided it was in my best interests to face a full team of six Aussies alone. The road race podium should feature just the first three finishers. The shot shows one podium and seven riders, six of them all delighted that they have overcome the World No.1. The six were fined for non-compliance with podium protocol – but I was very glad my competitors chose to make the compliment.

Another occasion was the British Road Race Championships of 2000 and the process was definitely not within the rules. With two identical, fluke top three finishes in succession, the great minds at Manchester had worked out they needed to change something, otherwise lightning might hit the same spot three times. They added in all the resources at their command. Two girls from the mountain bike WCPP were drafted in to join those on the road WCPP as they sought to rid themselves of ‘this turbulent priest’. Our new additions were Caroline Alexander, who was personally coached by Peter Keen, and Tracey Brunger. Many mountain bike specialists do ride road races and Caroline took part in World Cup road events through her career. The counter claim is that they just happened to show up, so presumably it was just coincidence that they queued up on my back and Caroline just happened to attack only me, while neither chased any of the other WCPP girls when they attacked me one at a time. Once again, Peter Keen did not attend to see how his protégés performed.

I have no idea who ‘Jan of Skipton’ is, but in Cycling Weekly the week after the championships, the following letter appeared:

Congratulations to Ceris Gilfillan on her win in the Women’s National Road Race, although I thought it a hollow victory – it was totally unnecessary to resort to the practice employed by the World Class Performance Plan (WCPP) riders, as Gilfillan had the talent to win anyway. Surely it must be against the rules to employ team tactics? If it’s not, then it’s certainly against the spirit of the sport. I was at the race and challenged one of the WCPP riders, and was told that the tactics were planned by the WCPP coaching staff and the team was riding to instructions. The obvious target for all this brainstorming was a 17-year-old rider, who came out of the race with dignity and proved herself to be the best on the day. Well done, Nicole Cooke.

Team tactics were strictly against the regulations of a race being held under UCI rules which stated that a national championship was an individual race. The following year, the chief commissaire (official referee) read out the rules verbatim to all the riders before the race began.

For the record, Rachel Heal and Lucy Jude did help me close down attacks of the WCPP girls. Rachel and Lucy, thank you, while Tracey Brunger did not join in the attacks on me. As to the attacks, reading my heart traces from the race now, I can see that the race was 3 hours 10 minutes long and that the first attack came after 15 minutes. Six more attacks occurred during the next 25 minutes. There was then a period without attacks, and my notes indicate that I formed a break with Yvonne McGregor and Ruth Ellway but then state ‘drift back to bunch’, so presumably Yvonne had recalled the mantra ‘do not go in a break with Nicole’. By the time we get to mid-race, 1 hour 30 minutes to 2 hours 30 minutes, I was trying to fend off attacks like midges on a sunny day. I responded 34 times during this period and had an average heart rate for that hour of 185. Eventually, they overwhelmed me. Caroline Alexander made an attack and I no longer had the strength to respond. There was then a lull until Ceris – who had been sitting behind in the group not doing anything, while the rest of the Plan attacked me – now made her first attack and got away, quickly catching Caroline. Together they finished first and second. Towards the end, Yvonne also got away and the rest of us finished as a bunch. I was an exhausted seventh.

They were paying me the highest possible compliment that day. The WCPP left no stone unturned. On the course was a single designated feed zone (where riders would be handed drinks by their support staff) and before and after this race, in 18 years of racing, myself and Dad only ever missed just one other handover. At this championship, we missed at least three that very hot day. As we entered the feed zone, a WCPP rider attacked. On such occasions, I had the choice of ignoring the attack and going slowly to pick up a bottle, or I could sprint after the attacking rider and chase before the gap became too great, trying to grab a bottle as I shot past Dad. For a team it was easy: one rider going slowly at the back of the bunch picks up the bottles and hands them over to team-mates later, when the bunch is back together. I was getting a proper working over. Not that such behaviour was unique. Two years earlier a rider had been allowed to ride on ahead to victory while the rest just dawdled behind. The chief commissaire stopped the race and threatened to cancel it because of this, so madness was not unique to 2000.

I had brought the Championship Cup with me and had given it to the organisers to give to Ceris. We made sure we stayed for the prize presentation, and Dad and I clapped as loudly as any when the trophy was presented to Ceris. I was no sore loser. I would prefer a contest that was within the rules of the event. The following year, somehow, the trophy was forgotten.

Just to complete the story, I offer a few quotes from Ken Matheson, the WCPP manager, and Ceris, that appeared in Cyclingnews.com, the biggest cycling website. ‘I’m very pleased with the result. It was a very powerful display of team riding,’ enthused Ken, while Ceris also confirmed the overall game plan: ‘We were committed to working together . . . The most important thing was that one of us won.’

The report ends with a poignant eulogy to Ceris, who was coached by Ken. ‘Gilfillan, from Malvern in Worcestershire has had a wonderful 12 months . . . talented in both the mountains and against the clock, she appears to have a very bright future.’ Just over 12 months later, Ceris had left the sport, disillusioned. I would have loved to work with Ceris, we would have made a great team. She is three years older than me and we could have achieved much. Certainly the Athens Olympics would have worked out differently had she been there. Sadly, poor-quality managers, who demanded via a signed Team Agreement that the riders had to obey every instruction they gave, created the conditions which ultimately resulted in her leaving the sport. All that investment was totally wasted.

I went back to school and tried to concentrate on my A-levels. I had my dignity, had ridden a fair race myself and been overwhelmed only by sheer numbers. The overt nature of what went on and the comments in Cyclingnews.com enraged many. I would go to events and the unfairness of it all was the only thing many people wanted to talk to me about. The ill feeling towards the WCPP from so many club cyclists and mums and dads of other youngsters, many of whom were following me, was staggering. As custodians of GB selection and funding, the WCPP management just ‘bunkered down’ in their offices below the track at Manchester. They did not have to answer to the club cyclist, nor to the Lottery-playing public who were expecting to see some results from all this investment. It should have been the moment for the most senior elements of British Cycling management to step forward and to defuse the rapidly polarising situation. Instead, they appeared to ignore the issues my solicitor and I raised, and appeared to have joined the management of the WCPP in their ‘bunker’.

In each age-group following me, there were plenty of girls filled with enthusiasm and talent and who loved competing in cycling. However, no British girl competed in the Junior World Championships for several years after me. Why did these girls leave? I know what they were telling me at the time, and most of it is not printable.

My first Junior World Championship would be the Mountain Bike Championships in Spain in early June. For UCI championships, riders are selected by their national federations and race for their country, as opposed to the rest of the year when riders race for their trade teams. This meant that unlike my trips to Holland, where I was simply able to enter the race by myself, I would need to be selected by my national federation. I had driven around the country to meet the selection criteria laid down by BC; however there was still one further hurdle. British Cycling required me to sign a Team Agreement.

Riding to represent your country is the ultimate privilege for a sportsman. It’s not you on display, it’s everyone at home via yourself and I understand that fully. Whenever I was about to put on my national jersey, I took a deep breath and made a pledge to myself. I hoped I would never let anyone down. Sadly, some time earlier, a few of the British track sprint men decided to re-arrange and discard some of the letters of the sponsor’s name on their aero helmets. They peeled off the stick-on letters and thought they were being very funny using them to make up other words. Another time and another place, it could have been funny. Phil Griffiths, the sponsor, was entirely right to remind BC management of their responsibilities to manage the team. So now, with this and other inappropriate antics generating the need to achieve control, there was a Team Agreement.

It was a poorly worded document. I was required to wear every item of team clothing – hats, gloves, jerseys, etc – until I had gained express permission to take them off. So each day, I was to come to breakfast like the Michelin man, with six jerseys on and two pairs of gloves, and ask permission to take some off? I don’t think so. I could point out other trivial things, but at its heart was a serious issue. I had to obey every decision of the coach or manager and I did not have any right of appeal.

I didn’t object to BC officials making decisions, as long as they were ‘reasonable’ – that was their prerogative – but the denial of appeal rights was over the top and I refused to sign. I negotiated with Peter Keen and we agreed an amendment. I inserted the word ‘reasonable’ and had a means of appeal. So now I would abide by all ‘reasonable’ decisions. I actually think we resolved it all quite well.

GB had an appalling record in the World Mountain Bike Championships: no gold medals in any category, and many years since their last medal in cross-country. The Sierra Nevada circuit was tricky, particularly one steep and rocky descent which presented a dilemma: do I ride and risk falling, or dismount and clamber down? There was only one way to find out, so in training I rode off the edge, realising almost immediately that it was the wrong decision. Halfway down I lost control and went over the handlebars. Imagine a ‘black’ ski slope with rocks. I did a complete flip and landed on my back, cutting the ends of three fingers on one hand.

Not that falls and rocks were my biggest problem. The support staff decided that they would modify my bike for me. At the time, the equipment was such that you either rode with a ‘long’ chain or a ‘short’ chain. With a ‘long’ chain, you would be able to get the big front ring and biggest sprocket at the rear, and this enabled you to put it in any gear during the race. The disadvantage was that in the middle ring and smallest sprocket, the chain was loose and could jump off very easily and you would normally have to dismount to put the chain back on. With a ‘short’ chain, there was little danger of unshipping the chain during a race, but it required that you remember not to select the biggest sprocket and large chain-ring, otherwise you would wreck the shifter mechanism. I never found remembering that too taxing and always rode with a ‘short’ chain. Also, if you were dull enough to ride in big ring, big sprocket, the chain was most out of line and most inefficient. I was rather keen on winning, so did not have lots of spare power to waste in this manner. I always made sure the alignment was good.

This was my first time away with GB. I did my recce of the course the day before my race, decided on my strategy and left my bike with the mechanic, alongside all of the state-of-the-art machines bought with Lottery funds for the WCPP riders. When I collected my bike on the morning of the race, the gear mechanism had been changed and the chain was now ‘long’. My bike had been changed without me being asked or consulted in any way. It was my bike, my equipment, so I got the mechanic and the team manager, Simon Burney, together and asked them to change it back. I was very polite and explained that I was not used to riding with my chain long. Simon was having none of it; he told me the mechanic was not changing it, and I had to ride it like it was. I insisted I wanted it changed, but they seemed annoyed that I was questioning their decision. Simon is very tall and even if he doesn’t intimidate some people, he intimidated me then. Nowadays I would just tell him he was an overbearing fool and if the mechanic wouldn’t do it, I would find someone else who would, but at that stage I didn’t feel I could do this.

The race was two laps. During the last lap, I was in the lead and just ahead of Sonja Traxel of Switzerland as we both elected to run down the tricky descent. At the bottom, we both leapt on our bikes. The long chain had become unshipped during the run, just as I feared it would, and I was left at the side of the track putting a long chain on, as Sonja rode past and away from me to win.

As I crossed the line, the GB staff all came and congratulated me on getting a bronze medal. I cried; I was in the lead and could have won. As I chased after Sonja I made mistakes, becoming more upset after each one, so I was even passed for silver. Simon never apologised, nor did British Cycling. Even after Dad wrote to the CEO, Peter King, the only concession we got was the assurance that as the bike I rode was my property, not a WCPP machine, the mechanics could do only what I specifically asked. No longer could they modify my bike against my wishes. Was this an unreasonable request? Given the reluctance with which the agreement was given, this seemed to be the case.

There is one more necessary twist to recount from Sierra Nevada. At the end of 1998, I had asked BC to send me, as other nations chose to do for their riders, to the Junior World Championships despite being one year younger than the UCI age range. BC informed me that they would not do this. Had they done so, then during 1999 they would have seen a number of performances which may have prevented the ‘shock’ that occurred in August of that year. I had been British Youth U16 champion for four years and not lost a single race in that time. In the GB team at Sierra Nevada was a girl the same age as me. We were talking about attending the event and I was telling her that it was the first World Championships for me. ‘Oh, BC sent me to the World Championships last year,’ was her response. I was speechless. It took all my self-control not to run down the corridor and storm into the manager’s room.

That summer was a tough time. I was trapped in a surreal vortex: age restrictions coming out of nowhere, Olympic selection issues, travelling to the flattest place in the country to ride behind the ‘Fun’ riders to qualify for the Mountain Bike World Championships. There was the pack hunting me at the National Road Race and then the fiasco with the chain. It was all crazy. My form was beginning to disappear under the stress of it all.

I was still keen, however, and there was still plenty to look forward to with the Junior World Track Championships ahead in Italy. Craig and Dad would drive down to the Alps, drop Mum off and then head over to Fiorenzuola d’Arda to watch me race. Ahead of them, I would be going to Italy with Shane Sutton and Marshall Thomas. Marshall was the British junior track team manager and although an employee of the WCPP, he never gave the impression of wanting to be involved in the politics, which was a blessed relief. He just did his job, very well. He rang up twice on the night of 13 June just before the ill-fated National Championships, trying to get me to miss the race and concentrate on the World Track Championships instead. Why did he ring up twice? Had he got wind of what was afoot? Certainly he was not ringing up to try and be difficult, Marshall was always totally supportive.

My first race was the individual pursuit where I felt I was a medal contender. I had completed my warm-up routine and was moving across ready to race, when one of the support staff announced that one of my wheels had a puncture. There was now a general panic as a replacement wheel had to be found. During this time, I was losing the timing effect of my warm-up routine, as well as being made nervous by the general pandemonium of the helpers. This was in complete contrast to when Craig and I rode track meetings, where Dad always had a spare wheel ready for instant replacement and everything like this was handled calmly and quietly. Spooked out, I finished in seventh place, which was disappointing and well below my expectations.

I was really down and needed my family with me. All those miles, Thetford and back, Manchester and back, Cheshire and back – the stress was building and it was then I got a phone call. The car had broken down and my family were marooned a hundred miles away. I made a tactical mess of my other world title bid, the points race, and missed out on the bronze medal by just one point. I was distraught. My attempts at World Championship level that summer had produced a third, fourth and seventh, which was a long way short of what I knew I could do. I didn’t fear the riders I was competing against. I had beaten the girl who took gold several times when riding against her in Achterveld. There was a different and bigger threat to me.

Straight after the track championships, I joined the family at our regular campsite in the Alps. We went out for a gentle ride and had a swim in the mountain lake. After supper, Dad said it would make a relaxing job to repair the punctured tubular on the track wheel. He pumped it up to find out where the air was leaking from. There was no hissing. We left it and checked it the next day. It was fully inflated – in fact, on our return to the UK, Craig used the wheel for the rest of the season without replacing the tube – and as we sat around that evening I realised very clearly where the main threat was coming from. It was a real low point, but from that nadir I started to feel strong and confident. I rode the mountains with Craig, Mum and Dad and had a great few days with them.

My mood lifted again when I got home and received an ‘A’ grade in my A-level Maths and would have one less A-level to do in the Upper Sixth, which meant one thing – more time for training.

The debacle at the National Road Race had certainly reverberated around a lot of places. The British Olympic team were due to ride a stage race in Canada in late August, as preparation for the Sydney Olympics. Other nations were adopting the same strategy, so there was going to be a strong field there. Louise and Phil Jones were sympathetic to my situation: they arranged Elite Cymru funding and they planned a trip for a Welsh team to compete in the Canadian race, which would be ideal preparation for the World Junior Road Race. With Phil heading up the support crew, I wouldn’t have to inspect my bike every time I picked it up. I could relax and enjoy the racing which consisted of 470km in six stages over five days. It was the longest race I had ever attempted, and I needed to conserve energy to make sure I was competitive to the end. Apart from Louise, our Welsh team was relatively inexperienced, but nevertheless we were highly motivated to do our best. The GB team, managed by Ken Matheson, included Sara Symington and Ceris Gilfillan who had been selected for Sydney. Yvonne, the third selected rider, had opted to complete her Olympic preparations back in Manchester, with Peter Keen. One out of every six riders in the field was off to Sydney for their respective nations; this was going to be a good race.

The first day over 97km was about settling into the race for me and I finished a respectable 14th in a bunch sprint. I also played it carefully on the second day, which at almost 130km was the longest. I was not unhappy to miss a breakaway of two riders, but at the end of the stage, and now feeling confident, I put everything into winning the bunch sprint for third place. My first senior international podium was a great boost.

Stage 3 was 100km that climbed into mountains comparable with the Alps. With 15km to go, I broke away with three other riders, Ceris, Lyne Bessette (the Commonwealth Road Race champion from Canada) and reigning Olympic champion Jeannie Longo of France. We were still together at the end. It was an unusual and exciting finish. Lyne was racing into her home town and judged it perfectly to win; I nearly got up to her, with Ceris and Jeannie behind. I was content to have just beaten the defending Olympic champion and almost pipped the Commonwealth champion, not to mention the recent winner of the British Championships.

I often found I had quite a few GB jerseys around me for the rest of the race. I felt that if I had turned off the course and gone into a Wal-Mart car park, I would have been trailed in there by my new ‘fans’, so keen were they to follow in a little queue behind my rear wheel.

For the time-trial the next day, Ceris, Jeannie and all the Olympians were on their state-of-the-art, low-pro carbon fibre bikes with aero helmets doing a run-out for a couple of weeks later at Sydney. Nicola Bedwell’s husband and I were at my machine where we took off a bottle cage and struggled to get the special ‘clearance offer’ tri-bars, of which Dad had invested in four sets, onto my road bike. The Welsh team was on a shoestring but we loved it. I was so grateful of the opportunity to race there and the financial backing from Elite Cymru that made our little adventure possible. Each rider had one jersey for the week and we washed them every night and hung them in our rooms hoping they would be dry for the next morning.

In the time-trial I was okay, but without all the equipment I was never going to be competing for the win. However, in the afternoon came another chance. The Sydney Olympic course was so flat it was more than likely going to come to a bunch sprint, and the selected GB Olympic sprinter was Sara Symington. In the short 40km criterium, a break of five riders went away early in the race, which left Sara and myself available for the bunch sprint. We both knew that it was not about sixth place. Sara and the GB team had been shaken that I had won the bunch sprint for third place on the second day. Sara couldn’t go on the climb on the next day; that was Ceris’s forte and I had beaten her there. My GB ‘fan club’ deserted my rear wheel and were now setting up Sara. I saw her looking at me. We both knew what this meant. One sprinter was going to the Olympics and another wasn’t. It was a fair and square sprint and Ken didn’t look very happy after I had beaten Sara.

Five continuous days’ racing was four more than I had done at this level before, and blowing up on the final hill of the final day was nothing for me to get worried about. Ceris won the General Classification (GC), narrowly beating Jeannie Longo, with me in fifth, about two minutes behind. I was fully satisfied to have shown to myself that I could hold my own with some of the world’s best riders. Did I deserve to go to the Olympics? Well, the facts were that I certainly beat quite a few who were going. I had made my point.

I returned to the UK while the British team went on to Sydney. As they prepared for the Olympics, British Cycling had requested that I attend yet another qualifying event, this time for the World Junior Time-Trial Championships. I had to win to guarantee to be selected; any other places were entirely discretionary. I knew exactly how to translate ‘discretionary’ when it related to me. What I had done in Canada was irrelevant. Instead, I had to do my best on a dodgy course which we had to share with quite an assortment of local traffic. At one stage, a tractor created a mobile roadblock and then I punctured.

A possible – probable – scenario played out in my mind. I might have beaten the GB Olympic team and a whole pile of other Olympians in Canada, but I felt sure that a DNF (did not finish) would absolutely guarantee my non-selection for a junior event, as I felt there was one set of rules for me and, as the Mountain Bike World Championships showed, rules could be applied differently to other riders. I knew what I had to do. Dad was riding round the course watching and he came across a man with a puzzled look on his face, holding my bike. Dad stopped and spoke to him. He had a tale of a little girl pulling up and asking, very politely, if she could borrow his bike for a short time. I jumped on his bike and sped off, leaving mine with him. I won and I was on my way.

A few nights later, I was up in the early hours of the morning with Mum, Dad and Craig watching the Women’s Olympic Road Race. Yvonne and Ceris did an excellent job as the leadout train. Sadly, they had not worked out that they needed to have Sara Symington, rather than the Dutch riders, behind them. Leontien van Moorsel, the winner, should forever be in their debt. If we were disappointed by the result, at least Ken Matheson sent us back to bed with some great memories. I don’t know where doing live TV interviews during the race sits in the team manager’s job description, but Hugh Porter, the BBC commentator, was speaking to Ken during the race. At one stage, Hugh asked him what he thought about the current position of the race, and Ken said he didn’t know because he had just been out for a coffee.

Just been out for a coffee! It’s the biggest race in four years for the GB WCPP and he doesn’t know what’s going on.

I knew I would have to be patient and wait another four years for my turn at Olympic glory. In the meantime, there were plenty of races to look forward to, starting the following month with the World Junior Road Race Championships title in Plouay.