Finding out the hard way that all the expensive upgrades in the world won’t stop you getting dropped

There were a couple of minutes about halfway up a twisting, gloriously smooth Lanzarote climb that I enjoyed one of those rarest of moments of complete contentment on the bike — legs fresh, a brand-new lightweight carbon machine with all the fanciest upgrades you could ever want providing the perfect companion for this effortless ascent in the delightfully pleasant October Canarian sun.

It was midway through the second of three timed segments on the Vuelta Ciclista a Lanzarote, a two-stage 200km event, perfectly organised and based out of the famous sports holiday destination Club La Santa, that mixes relaxed sportive riding with a trio of all-out raced sections totalling 25km. 

By the end of the weekend you’ve seen almost the entire island, sampled the best of its climbs and given your legs a test. Plus, it’s the first weekend in October so there’s every chance you get to leave the UK looking like this and arrive with blue skies and not a cloud in sight.

As it happened, I was surprising myself, the previous weeks’ panic training on my local hills leaving me close enough to see the fastest riders just a few hundred metres up the road on this particular climb, but thankfully far enough away to dispel any ego-fuelled need to go into the red and blow up spectacularly. Perhaps even more surprising was that I’d managed to drag myself away from the pool and buffet at the Barceló Lanzarote Active Resort at all, given the glorious mid-20s October temperatures and Storm Amy I’d escaped from back at home.

One robotic, mechanically satisfying click of a perfect Ultegra electronic gear change later and I was back surging out the saddle and daydreaming about whether it was too late to consider sending my Strava profile to some pro teams. It would be worth it just to get to ride something as expensive as this BMC Teammachine R 01 Four on a daily basis, the helpful folks at Tribike having the previous day taken this brand-new racing machine out of its box and built it up for me to be trusted with its maiden voyage. If Carlsberg did hire bikes, and all that.

As I climbed my way towards the event’s top 30, my contented glow was suddenly shattered in one supersonic blur of Lidl-Trek team kit. Just giving me enough time to fumble for my camera to capture the moment, Giro d’Italia stage winner Carlos Verona, in the big ring — doing that thing pro riders do where they barely look like they’re straining a muscle while gliding up an ascent at 30km/h — flew by and quickly became a blue, yellow and red dot in the distance. Reality check received, daydreaming over, maybe there’s more to this cycling lark than just getting the most expensive bike you can find and transforming into Tadej Pogačar overnight.

To make matters worse, I’d been following the Spaniard’s wheel into the bottom of the climb. While the rest of us kept our momentum from the descent that led into the timed segment, desperate to get as much of a head start on the gradient as possible, Verona coolly pulled over at the side of the road to say hello to someone.

From there he must have given everyone, including the top-level amateurs who’d contest the ‘win’, at least a minute’s headstart before picking off the entire field one by one, getting on the front over the top and leading out the fastest two riders for their moment of glory. It’s not about the bike, I believe a certain someone’s ghostwriter once said.

Even if it’s not I thoroughly enjoyed my weekend with the BMC and would have loved to spend longer getting to know it, if any benevolent comments section philanthropist fancies giving an £8,000 Christmas gift this year. For me, it was mainly an interesting comparison between entry-level and the best kit money can buy.

All my riding at home for the past decade has been done on two aluminium frames — previously a Vitus, now Giant. Both still with rim brakes and a cheap and cheerful mechanical Claris groupset. Out the box I get my own saddle on, fit a longer stem, 36cm bars, and don’t skimp on tyres. That combination of a more aerodynamic position and fast tyres is enough to get an entry-level bike riding like something far more expensive. I’ve raced them (admittedly pretty unsuccessfully), thrashed along in fast group rides, pootled about town, and taken the Giant on an 800km bikepacking trip to Scotland.

But has the BMC tempted me to sell a kidney for fancy carbon wheels or a top-of-the-range electronic groupset?

Not really. The whole thing’s about value for money, right? Obviously if given the option I’d swap bikes immediately, but in the real world it doesn’t work like that unfortunately. Ultegra and my first experience of electronic shifting was cool, but fundamentally very little changed once I got back to cold, dark England and got back on Claris. Four extra gears at the back and lesser gaps between cogs, but I can’t say I ever really notice that or find myself yearning for 12-speed. Well-maintained gears and regularly replaced cables shift perfectly anyway. For the giant increase in upfront price and ongoing component replacement, groupset upgrades don’t excite me. 

In a weird way I also quite like having a ‘cheap’ bike that doesn’t matter if you scuff it, crash it (within reason), take it on some questionable gravel shortcuts, lock it outside the supermarket or learn how to fix or replace just about anything simply by giving it a go from YouTube videos.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t, like on this trip, thoroughly enjoy getting a hire bike with some posh upgrades, but back in the real world on a budget, tyres, your position, clothing and eating enough definitely strike me as more useful upgrades. Wheels probably fall into my ‘luxury but effective’ upgrade category, and the Teammachine R’s CR 50 SL wheelset did impress me, but I can happily leave Ultegra to the pros.

There’s probably a middle ground and one day I’ll be a diehard 105 man. Slightly more performance, significantly less than kidney-selling territory. I guess, where I’m heading with this is that it’s the riding of a bike that is what got me into cycling in the first place.

As fun as taking a 7kg superbike for a spin in a closed-roads event was, I probably still would have had (almost) as much fun exploring Lanzarote’s climbs, rolling roads and stunning views if I’d brought mine in a bike box instead. 

Even now, as I sit looking out at the rather grey autumn scene outside my window, it’s Lanzarote’s 28°C forecast, smooth roads and flowing descents that I’d really love to go back to ride more of, the bike was just the cherry on top.