Clip in, start the Garmin, juggle to the front of the start line next to the Band Stand on the cobbles. I know what’s coming. Forty minutes of pain. Check the sunglasses and the energy gel on the thigh for the last lap boost.

On the big ring. I take a last swig from the bidon. I look down at my heart rate and it’s already nudging 140bpm (the warm up lap complete), it’s going to hit 180 – max heart rate and stay there.

The gun goes. Past Jaz and into Sow Hill like a swarm of bees. Out of the saddle and the rear wheel slips with the first pedal revolution, the combination of granite cobbles switching to tarmac leaves me desperately searching for traction. I am swamped either side and the pace is getting incredibly fast. Past Michael Glover’s and the bus station and horrendous high wall into Walkergate. If I don’t hug it I’ll lose a place. Too close and I’ll lose my face. Why does it look so easy for the pros? It’s getting quicker and I’m out of the saddle, my legs are on fire, my chest is making a terrible wheezing sound.

Hunched low over the bars past the Registry Office and the Conservative Club the Garmin beeps, it’s 25mph. The peloton is still packed and the pace is picking up. The leading group will stay away. The road is too narrow and one touch of a wheel will bring us all down. I must control the nerves and my breathing. This is madness. I don’t want to fall in front of this crowd. They are all cheering. Five deep in Wednesday Market, clutching beer and a smile, laugh at the Tour de France wannabes.

Richard Dean in criterium action in Beverley

This is the fastest turn of the course. Line it up wrong and you’ll fall in Railway Street as you hit a barrier. Too slow and you’ll be swamped. Carbon bikes are very expensive to fix. Out of the saddle and sprinting to get on, this is fast, but the safest turn at Champney Road. As I storm past Wilco’s towards Curry’s, the tarmac road surface changes to stand stone blocks. Toll Gavel shoppers would be wiped out if they cross the barriers. Still wheezing, legs burning and sweat in my eyes the only option is to push as hard as I can.

A bike should never be flying down here at 35mph, but pedestrians are cheering louder as I reach the pits. Finally the first lap is finished as I smash across the cobbles and the Garmin is showing 33mph. My legs and my lungs hurt. Another 33 minutes to go.

Richard Dean
Hull Thursday Road Club