At the weekend Malcolm Elliott, one of Britain's most brilliant road racers, added another win to a career that stretches to heights few riders could dream of matching. Flamboyant and fast Elliott epitomises the sort of racer that draws youngsters into the sport. There's just one thing about him that I struggle to come to terms with: his age.

Malcolm is now in his mid-40s (45 if we want to be brutally precise about it). He was winning races before I'd even mastered riding my Raleigh Budgie without stabilisers. He'd retired before I even owned a racing bike (I was still riding my Raleigh Burner Mark II in 1997) having won the points jersey at the Vuelta and Tour of Britain, among a long list of achievements.

He made his return to the British domestic scene in 2003 and has been picking up wins ever since. In September 2006 I watched him win the Bob Chicken Grand Prix (part of the British Elite Circuit Series) on The Mall from Rob Hayles, a man who is 12 years his junior and no slouch on a bike.

I don't want to detract from Malcolm's win in the East Midlands International CiCLE Classic but shouldn't someone be beating him by now? There were some exciting young British riders in the top 20, including Alex Dowsett who is being tipped as a genuine prospect, but it was still Malcolm who took the sprint, despite admitting "when I did open it up for the line, I wasn't as strong and as fast as I would normally be."

Part of me says that there's something wrong with a domestic scene where a veteran like Malcolm can still be a serious contender in pretty much every race he turns up at. There's another part of me that is hugely cheered that there is still a space for his class to shine through and for the youngsters to learn from when they're not too busy trying to stay on his wheel.

Perhaps it's a case that once talent is spotted it has a habit of going down the traditional route to becoming a professional and skips across the water to the continent to learn their trade in the world of kermesse racing. Or perhaps it's just the case that Malcolm is a rider who deserves to be up there with Robinson, Simpson, Millar and Boardman in the list of Britain's greatest riders.

Ok, I'll own up, there's nothing I enjoy more than hearing how some youngster, full of that brash lack of fear, got his legs torn off in the sprint by a wily old pro who has seen pretty much everything there is to see in the world of bike racing. So long as cyclists can tell that tale, there's hope for all of us who are no longer looking to wear the white jersey.