You might think racing in the UK is on a downward trajectory at the moment, but we’re not back to 2005 just yet

I was looking over some images from last month's National Track Championships, mainly for the pleasure of seeing Katie Archibald winning national titles again, when I started looking at the crowd behind her. All those happy faces.

It reminded me of my own track career when, in contrast, you’d look up at the empty, empty stands and feel confident that the plastic seats would compost before they wore out. You might think racing in the UK is on a downward trajectory at the moment, but we can still fill a velodrome. We’re not back to 2005 just yet.

Michael Hutchinson

Multiple national champion on the bike and award-winning author Michael Hutchinson writes for CW every week

All the same, there are things I miss about the small scale of the old days. I once won the individual pursuit title (and before you ask, yes, it was a soft year). It was the final event of the evening, but the backdrop to the podium ceremony wasn’t even an impatient crowd heading for the exits to avoid the queue out of the car park, it was a man standing by the light switches jangling his keys. When we rode our traditional lap of honour, complete with flowers and jersey, it was to total silence, broken only by the thunk of the floodlights going out as we passed them.

I still loved it. I’ve enjoyed some marvellously low-key podium ceremonies. I once stood on the silver medal step of a little plywood podium as they announced the name of the gold medallist. Applause. No medallist. A short silence. Finally a distant voice from the toilets shouted, “Hang on, I’m in the bog!”

When he finally got to the podium we discovered there wasn’t space for all of us to stand on it at once, unless I and the bronze medallist held onto each other’s elbows behind the winner’s back and lent outwards slightly.

On another occasion, all three medallists were in dope control and they had the prize-giving without us because the organisers forgot where we’d gone.

At the annual UK Cycling Time Trials dinner, the prize-giving lasts for about the same length of time as a graduation ceremony. But not as long as it used to. The first few I went to, not only was there a prize-giving, it was followed by the traditional “Parade of Champions”.

It sounds like it should involve flags, an open-topped bus and possibly the Red Arrows. It did not. It consisted of all the champions taking their trophies and walking round the room in a gaggle, waving our silverware at dinner tables full of people trying to finish their pudding, and demanding applause. Given that 90% of the audience consisted of the people we’d beaten, it was really just an opportunity to rub it in. We did it for hours.

Occasionally, despite the small scale of our ambitions, things got out of hand. At a National 10-mile Championships, they provided Champagne as part of the podium ceremony. Since it was 9am, I just took mine home. One of the other medallists sprayed his over the audience. Then he slipped in a pool of Champagne on his way off the podium. Finally, he got given a mop to wash the village hall floor with.

My favourite, though, was after I won the National TT Champs. I got given the jersey, which I could barely get over my head – it was about two sizes too small.

“Sorry,” said the organiser. He nodded at the bronze medallist, Stuart Dangerfield, who was about 10kg lighter than me. “We just assumed Stuart was going to win it, and we only ordered one jersey.”

I still have the jersey, and I wouldn’t dream of trading it for one that fitted.