I've been gearing up for this one all year. From getting the email confirming entry back in February I've been focussing on getting to the start line of this monster of a race. My training was pretty good (I thought)- having done more cycling than any other year in the decade. This was at the expense of running- which I have done pretty much the least in a decade- but I was feeling pretty ready.
There will be other blogs on kit and other bits and bobs, so this is going to cover getting to, and doing the race.
The Lostdot team are very keen on people getting to the race in as green a way as possible. As such- and really preferring to have a decent plan, rather than wing it- I decided to start early and work out how best to get to the start in Girona. It was March when I tried to start booking trains. Almost immediately there were a number of problems and hurdles to getting from Manchester to Girona on a train. With a bike.
Theoretically you can start in Manchester at 5am and be in Girona by 8pm the same evening. Try doing that with a bike and there are a number of spanners in the works. From having to buy non-refundable tickets where you might- or indeed might not be able to book your bike on, to worrying about connections (which wouldn't actually be resolved until you either got on the train- or not) was playing on my mind. I reckon I spent about 10 hours over a few days trying to work all this out never actually getting any closer to being happy with whether or not I'd actually be able to catch the trains or make the connections. In the end I wondered just how easy it would be on a plane. Too easy it turns out. I'd had enough worrying about the connections - and it was still 7 months til the race, there was no way I was going to buy tickets and still freak out about it for more than half a year, so I bought the plane ticket and an Airbnb in the centre of town for the 2 evenings prior to the race and the weekend at the end when I hoped I might finish.
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| Building up the bike |
Fast forward somewhat, right the way through all the training and the preparation right to being in Girona with less than 24 hours to go. It all felt a bit surreal. My training hadn't gone fantastically in the last month or so. I was listless and a bit depressed. Maybe too much training? Maybe something else? I don't know. It was fascinating to see everyone around with their various rigs. No-one really talked much about their exact route choices, but it seemed a lot of people were going to take roads wherever they could and avoid gravel. Roads tend to be faster, and there is a lower likelihood of puncturing- which slows you down even more.
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| All the hats, ready to be given out |
My primary concern was riding through the day and then booking somewhere to sleep at night- and then getting there. This is not really something I've much experience at, so was playing somewhat on the mind. The little apartment that I had rented was right in the centre of town- and was very noisy at night, so I didn't get much sleep at all in the final couple of days. Fortunately a friend of a friend lives in Girona so I was able to leave my bike box and luggage with him and almost before we knew it, the morning of the race arrived.
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| Just prior to the start |
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| Police escort ride out |
The first few miles went relatively swiftly, but a noticable headwind had kicked up and it was definitely an effort to ride along the flat. The hills weren't particularly massive at this point, but the day was certainly going to stretch out in front of us.
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| Dawn, over our shoulders |
The majority of this day was on roads, and the main thing I remember is eating and drinking and worrying about running out of water- and lots of people coming past me everytime there was any kind of remotely uphill section. I was somewhere in the top 30 or so, but it really felt like I was being very slow.
That being said, I was moving along at enough of a clip to not want to take too many photos. A lot of miles passed in a flash. I counted cats, I counted vultures, I counted donkeys. There were still many riders on the road who were passing me or being passed and the main thing in my mind was getting to La Seu d'Urgell. A main resupply town prior to the gravel parcours, and the main resupply point before Vielha, which was a long long way away, - probably somewhere I would get to in the middle of Day 2.
As I approached the town there was a brand new Supermarket on the outskirts of the town that had not come up in my research- but there were a couple of other bikes there, and the camera car, so I stopped and dived into the supermarket... and was stunned by the size of the place and the selection of everything. It was about the size of a standard Tesco at home and I probably spent faaar too long just wandering around the aisles. Eventually I made my choices and came out. Starbucks iced latte, slices of mango, an apple for later, and some bread, I think.
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| La Seu d'Argell |
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| This is what lunch looks like |
Standing there, getting ready to go, Graham, another racer asked what my plans were for later in terms of sleeping, and there was a sudden realisation that I hadn't booked a hotel yet.
The plan had been to get to CP1 at Espui, the top of a valley, before heading back downhill to Pobleta de Bellvei and stay in a hotel. Checking on Booking.com and then on Google, and on every other platform I could find- there were no hotels available there- or in Espui. The only real option was to go to Espui, and then come back on myself and go back over the hill to Sort, where there was a single room to be had. This was going to take a while and would be a pretty long first day.
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| The fabulous parcours after Noves de Segre |
It was already getting towards the mid to late afternoon and I would have to get a wiggle on. There were probably 150k to go, a few hills, and a bit of gravel. Would... indeed, could I get to my accommodation by midnight? Onward.
My tyres are GP5000AS's. Basically they are slicks with not a lot of grip, so getting on to gravel with them was going to prove interesting. Not wanting any snakebite punctures, I'd put a decent amount og air into them, which is fine and comfy on the road, but a bit harsh when not on the road. Still, I battered my way through the gravel, eating my way through more bars and worrying more about the fact the sun was going down, and that I'd be somewhat late for this hotel. The gravel was fun, (it would have been more so if on just a gravel bike- some said it was too much of a mountainbike trail- it was certainly no worse than anything I've been down in the Peak District). I passed some people who were taking it very easy indeed and perhaps I should have taken it a little easier, as when the road finally appeared and I took a quick break to get lights out of my bag, my shoe covers which I keep on the outside of my bag had disappeared. Fallen off. Somewhere up on the trail.
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| Gravel. The good bit of gravel. I wasn't going to take a pic on the bad bits! |
I couldn't believe it. Even on all the gravel and mountain bike stuff I have done in the past few years, I've never had ANYTHING fall out of or off of my bag. Absolutely gutted. Even though my mudguards were still attached, if the weather got bad at any point, my feet were likely to freeze. There was a bike shop in Vielha, so I was bound to be able to find somewhere that sold some the next day- I just hoped that the night wasn't going to be too cold.
Lights on and cursing my lost shoe covers (even more as I had a spare pair tucked safely back in my bag in Girona) I went down the descent to Gerri le Sal. The routing option from here took you over a hill and then north to Espui. The obvious thought from the organisers was that you could then take the gravel road over the top to Espot and carry on to Vielha from there. If I was on a tour, or a gravel holiday, that would absolutely have been my first choice. As I hit the bottom of the climb towards the Espui valley, it was dark. Any views I might have were not there- so it was certainly going to be the coming back on myself and back over the hill to Sort rather than the adventurous line over the top.
And it seemed that 100% of other people were thinking exactly the same thing. I passed a load of riders in various states of bedazzling lights from Montecortes onward. Down into Pobleta de Bellvei- where I enviously passed other riders in search of their hotel... still at least 70k to go for me, and it was marching on towards midnight. I resolved not to look at any clock until I'd done the climb to Espui, knowing I'd need to stop to put on extra layers before descending back the way I'd come. It wouldn't matter what the time was, I'd simply worry about it when I got there.
It was long. It was tedious. It was dark. At one point I saw 2 pairs of eyes running down the road towards me... a pair of cats? No- some kind of Lemur? They were definitely raccon-like with big furry tails- and I wasn't hallucinating. At the top were 2 other riders doing their admin, trying to stay warm against the cold of the night. I could see it was late, and that I definitely wouldn't be getting to my hotel for at least another hour, so went onto booking.com to amend my arrival time to between 12 and 1am, hoping that it would be ok before barrelling back down the hill, thankful of my new Exposure Race light which made light (haha) work of the descent- and scared the fox out of my way that promised to run into my wheels.
It always takes longer than you think, doesn't it. Even the downhills. It was evident that it was going to be cold down the hill, and that I was going to overheat somewhat on the climb back over to the main road, but I just kept singing the same 2 lines of a song over and over in my head. Then again, chilled off going down hill, a left turn and a main road- and a real slog for another 50 mins to eventually get into Sort at a bit after 1am.
I felt a bit blasted- 300k+ day, just about managed to find the hotel, where the owner was sitting in the bar drinking coke and smoking with her parents. I paid, was shown to my room whereupon I sat there shaking for about 10 mins. Cold? Exhaustion? Relief? I have no idea.
Just about managed to have a shower which helped, and then, finally, I got out my leatherman, cut my apple into quarters and had the best meal of the entire day!
Before going to sleep I put everything on charge that I could, set an alarm for about 5:30am, to be on the road for 6 and then struggled to get to sleep. It had been a hard first day, and a bit longer in terms of hours than I had hoped- but the distance was within range of what I was expecting.
327km and 6371m in 17:32. (moving time 16:22). Although this seemed like an easy day on paper before I actually did it, I think I most certainly underestimated it.
Day 2-
Up early and ate the second half of the apple for breakfast. Got my stuff ready to go, found my bike, which was in a room just downstairs and crept out of the door. It was going on 6am as I slipped and slithered down the cobbles and onto the road, turning left, looking up and seeing an amazing amount of stars, and then looking at the road and starting up it.
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| A bus stop in Llavorsi |
Ah, that road. Again, into a headwind, and up hill. Long and indeterminable. From Sort to Rialp, to Llavorsi and onward and northward. It was chilly and I wished I had my foot warmers. The road kept climbing at varying gradients and slow, slow progress was made. I knew there were 2 significant climbs before getting to Vielha, but quite how significant was lost on me until I started on them.
For some reason, no matter which direction you went in, there was a headwind. Not only that, but there was also the hint of precipitation as well. I remember stopping as the road kinked left onto the climb into the first col, looking up and thinking "its a LONG way to anywhere that looks like it might remotely be a col here The road holds up pretty straight up towards Port del Boniagua- which mens climbing very slowly into the teeth of a headwind. It was a while before you could see the 15 or so hairpins which wind their way up to the top of the hill- and the main thing I noticed was the fact that the rain was indeed turning white, and there was a bit of snow laying on the ground.
Just great. No overshoes, snow, and not just stuff on the ground, but coming out of the sky as well. Ideally I needed somewhere to stop and put on a warmer jacket and another pair of gloves. Even going uphill was pretty cold, so when I eventually hit the top, it was going to be bitter on the way down. After 5 hairpins, as the signs for Roadworks got inevitably closer (I had noticed that there was some VERY nice tarmac earlier on the climb, so they must have been working their way up), there was a small building off to the left where I could shelter out of the wind and spitting snow. Brilliant. I cycled over to it, lent my bike against the wall, and noticed that there was smoke coming from the boiler vent. Could it.... could it be open?
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| Heavy metal Cortado |
I pushed against the door of the Refuge les Ares and walked into a bar with a fire roaring and peak 70's heavy metal Deep Purple blasting through the speakers. It wasn't exactly a religious experience, but it was a blessed relief! 2 Cortado's later and I was warmed up a bit, found my warm gear from my saddle bag, packed away my big lights as it was now very much day time and was on my way up and over the col with a new earworm. Looking at my Wahoo, the distance travelled was very very low and I was beginning to get anxious that I might not hit my day's target, especially considering that I still had another hill after Vielha, which was then 4 hills away from where I wanted to be.
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| Yep. That'd be snow then |
The ride down the other side to Baquiera and into Vielha was a mixture of cold and sun. I wasn't sure if I was going at the speed where you get speed wobbles or if I was shivering so much that I was inducing speed wobbles myself- and had a flashback to the same thing going down from Espui the night before. It was getting onward towards "food time", but there was something I very much needed to do as soon as getting into Vielha (not knowing exactly when the shops open/shut/have a siesta), as I cruised down into town I kept my eyes open for a bike shop- found one and immediately bought the thickest shoe covers they had before heading to a cafe in the centre of town for coffee, a big old samdwich and a toilet stop.
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| Breakfast/lunch at Vielha |
I have no idea how long I was here for, it probably wasn't all that long. Deciding that I had plenty of food on the bike, the decision was made not to worry about going to a Supermarket here. I wasn't eating quite as much as I had expected, despite making sure that I was eating SOMETHING every 35 mins or so. In comparison to the guys at the front I had a lot more food actually on the bike, and so was finding that there was always something to eat.
Having said that, even by now it was difficult to force myself to eat and chew. Normally I have no issues with eating on the bike, but it was a real challenge to co-ordinate movements to get food out and multi-task eating and swallowing with riding. My mouth was dry, which didn't help, but no amount of liquid was helping to reduce that problem. I was beginning to get an ulcer on the inside of my lip as well. Things were going ok-ish, but my speed was low and it was frustrating to realise that I wasn't going as fast as I expected.
Learning from yesterday, I had already booked a cheap hotel room at Torla-Ordessa where I expected to be that evening, but even now, it was looking less and less likely that I was actually going to make it in time. Apart from worrying about what time I might finish for the day, time had no real meaning. It was simply distance that was stretching away in front of me that was the over arching thought. That, and the consistent headwind that had been my companion for the last day and a half.
Eventually I upp'ed and got myself away from Vielha, knowing that another hill lay between me and Bagneres de Luchon- or BDL as I was dubbing it. The Col du Portillon, another long climb. Not quite as big as the 2000 metre col I had just got over in order to get to Vielha, but still a decent hill. Onward to Bossost and then another sharp left and up the hairpins.This was the place where I had to start stopping.
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| Top of something |
To give you an idea, I've *never* had to stop on a hill before, even with luggage. The idea is a complete anathama to me. You just keep pedalling until you get to the top. But here, on the hill, my back was starrting to hurt, my legs were tired, my hands were on and off pins and needles and I simply found myself unable to continue. A stop at the kilometre markers for a short time enabled me to gather myself, grab a bite to eat, and continue. Going up the Portillion my right knee started clicking. Nothing huge to worry about- it was a kneecap tracking issue, but it was something to keep an eye on.
Start/stop all the way to the top and then a cruise down into BDL, it was somewhere around 7.5 hours in and I realised I was going to need resupply of *something*. There is definitely a Lidl in BDL, not that I knew where it was, but I knew vaguely where it was, so went off route slightly and found a Mercardo where haribo were topped up and a couple of other things got bought and stuffed into a bag. Now for ANOTHER hill before I get to the hill that is the checkpoint. It's really getting on a bit now and I'm really considering that getting to Torla might not be feasable, with the recognition that the final hill is going to be another 2000m+ climb with a hike-a-bike down the other side. I don't fancy doing that in the dark with no rest. Bad decisions might be made, and then you're stuck on a hill in the dark in the snow with not a lot of choices. Not good.
Not something I need to think about right now as I begin to climb the Peyresoude, thinking of the people that had simply gone north at Vielha around the long detour of a top road in order to miss both of these climbs. As I stopped again and again on the long slow road, it seemed like I must be the only idiot to be doing this route. The sun was definitely beating down now, and I was back in just a cycling jersey, but the shoe covers were still on. Again and again I had to stop, worrying about lost time and being astonished that my body simply wasn't responding to continued urging to just keep pedalling. I had a 40t cog on the back, which, in normal times is easily enough to get up even the steepest climbs, but here, I was having real trouble.
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| Crepes at the top of the Peyresourde |
Towards the top, the podcast crew were there, and chatted with me aimably as I cycled towards the top. Ah. Evidently not going much more than walking pace then... and then, the creperie appeared and a stop for some local crepes was made. 2 eaten and 2 saved for later, washed down with a coke as a couple more riders appeared from behind and sailed past me down the hill. Time was getting on, and if I was going to get to Torla, there were now 3 hills, 2 of more than 2000m to go.
Out of the creperie and down the hill to Arreau. The descents, even in the heat of the day were pretty cold, and I was shivering before being even halfway down. Onward into the town and through and then onto the beautiful Col d'Aspin. The top of which is the next checkpoint. It isn't a huge hill, and it isn't all that steep. Previously I really enjoyed the climb, but now I'm 140km into the day- not enough at this stage of the day, but a fair amount, and worrying about how fatigued I was feeling. I wound my way up the hill, stopping a few times on the way for food and drink- my co-ordination for riding and consuming things was pretty much shot by now and my body was craving the rest from the consistent climbing. It wasn't quite getting towards sun-set yet, but considering the next hill was the Tourmalet, I would be lucky to get to the top of that without needing any kind of light.
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| CP2! |
Stopping at the top of the Aspin, another rider came past and expressed his surprise at my ambitious plans to be at Torla by the end of the day. I was very much beginning to doubt it as well. A cold descent off the Aspin and then a swift left turn. I had decided not to take the road all the way into Artigaux at the bottom, but rather opted for a small road and gravel "shortcut" onto the Tormalet climb a few kilometres up. It wasn't fast, and I very much doubt that anyone else did it, especially with the ridiculous gradient right at the end, pulling me back up onto the main climb. I spent a lot of the time cursing myself that I should have simply taken the road route, it would have been faster and easier. (had I done that, Im sure that I would have been thinking that the gravel route was faster instead!).
Farms were passed, cows, gravel was ridden on and eventually, as I say, I pushed my bike up a brutal 20%+ slope to get back onto the road. It took a lot out of me, much more than expected and it was good to be back on the bike and climbing up the hill- though time was escaping now and it was becoming obvious that the intelligent choice was going to be stopping prior to the final climb of the day, and doing that tomorrow.
The Tourmalet is long. You just have to keep going. Yes, I stopped, yes, it was getting towards dusk, and yes the cloud was coming in. My left knee was now beginning to actually hurt- not a benign click like the right one, but pain when I was putting power through it, which was kind of solved a little by clicking down a gear. It was getting hard to stand to pedal as well, which is normally a way that I change position and give my limbs rest.. but that was beginning to become a challenge too.
As the road got higher, there were fewer cars and fewer people and eventually I topped out into the mist and finally had signal again as the light finally faded. Absolute recognition of the fact I was not going to make it to Torla so an alternative had to be found. I was hoping for a place in Luz Sant Saveur (LSS), down at the bottom of the hill, but again, I had left it too late. There was precious little anywhere around, and basically no-where that was affordable. With no bivvy kit, though, a decision had to be made, and I settled on a 3star hotel in Gavarnie, on the climb out of LSS on the way up the massive climb I would have to do in the morning instead of at the end of this day, as intended.
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| Top of the Tourmalet. I faffed so much with hotels it then got dark. |
By the time I'd finished faffing with my phone and booking a hotel, it was dark. I was on top of the Tourmalet and looking at a long, cold descent. On with another pair of gloves, and on with the BIG light, lets do this as well as possible- and off I set down the ridiculous descent, badly wanting to be in a hotel room as soon as possible. It took quite a long time to get down the hill, even though I was hitting decent speeds. The light was excellent and allowed me to ride pretty much as if it was daytime, and by the time I rode into LSS, I remembered why there were no hotels here. There was a huge street party going on- a local festival with numerous bands, food stands and crowds wandering around. Wandering round on the main street that my route took me straight down. Argh.
I wasn't entirely sure exactly where my hotel was, so had to plug it into google maps on the phone, look where it took me- up the route I was intending to go, but was aghast when it said it would take me a futher 3 hours to get there.... thats midnight! Oh. No. That's to the top of the col where I'm going tomorrow. The hotel is just under an hour away. ok. I wheeled my bike through the chaos that was LSS and got on the ascent to Gavarnie. A 10km slog that would bring my distance to 210km for the day. Not quite as many as I was hoping for, but a decent day, nevertheless. It was a bit after 9pm when I made it into the hotel. The rest of the climb looked like a 2 hour monster, and with the potential for a 4 hour hike a bike after- would have seen me get to Torla at 2 or 3am at best, I considered this was a good (if expensive) option.
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| Kit explosion |
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| Charging stations |
Breakfast was offered, and although it would mean a late start, (730am), it would mean a good feed, some food for the road, and the opportunity for a long sleep, good rest and good charging opportunity. Again, once in the room that familiar feeling of the body shutting down. Shivering and feeling sick at the same time. Not able to control my temperature and just feeling *awful*.
The shower was tremendous and the sheets were plush. Although I was annoyed and concerned at not getting over the next hill on this day, it was a good decision as the top and descent were the main parts of the route that were not on a road. Making a mistake up there would not have been good.
207km and 5469m of ascent in 15:30.
Day 3
Woke early and realised that I could have just got up and gone.. and it felt like I was kicking around wasting time before breakfast opened. This was annoying especially due to the lower distance yesterday- and the fact that the breakfast was going to cost me as well, driving the cost of the hotel up even further. I did all the bits and bobs that needed to be done, getting things into bags and getting it all onto the bike, and then hit the breakfast at 7:30. Coffee, croissant, bread, jam, juice, the baguette went into a bag, meat, etc. and I was out, paid and riding away by 7:50. Up the hill and onward towards the Col des tentes. It's a 12km ride up, and I was hoping that I'd just be able to get up and over it now that it was daylight- but again, the headwind from hell sprung up. Barrelling across the col and down the road directly into my face. Ok, there were some sections of the road that zigzagged around which meant that the wind wasn't always a direct headwind, but there were others that just went directly into it.
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| Going up the Gavarnie climb |
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| Looking back down |
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| self portrait in a moment of non-headwind |
Progress was painfully slow, the left knee pain was intermittent, and I took some anti-inflammatories to try to keep on top of it. Not great on day3, but it would have to do. Despite myself, I had to keep stopping on the way up. I felt dragged down by the weight of expectation that I *should* have been over this hill yesterday and I *should* have been further up the course and into the hills beyond Jaca by now. The time dragged and I slowly made my way up the hill and towards the top. I can't even imagine how slowly I was going, but at the top there were 4 people standing there expectantly- and belatedly I realised it was the podcast crew. I took a moment at the end of the road to chat to them whilst chewing down some shotblokz, looking around at the scenery and enjoying the fact that I was finally there at the top.
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| This would be the top then. |
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| Hike a bike |
From the end of the road the trail starts and is initially tarmacked, so I was able to ride another few hundred metres before the ground gave way to rocks and gravel- it was a walk from here. Not much of an ascent to get to the actual Col- where a load of alpinists were standing behind a rockwall, putting on warm layers- so I did much the same, putting on my warm primaloft layer, before venturing to the col, taking a few pictures and assessing the route down. There was a route to the left- which still looked like it had some ice on it, and a route to the right, which was tussocky and grassy, but with some trail on it. Neither were ridable, but I chose the latter option knowing that grass is a lot better for getting down than icey rubble.
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| about to blast down this... |
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| just been down that! |
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| looking down towards Torla |
I won't say I danced down the hill, but I rolled the bike and certainly took some moments to enjoy some running on this section. It was fairly technical, but not overly so and pretty soon I was most of the way down the "easy" bit to the cabin, across the river and onto the section that gets steadily steeper and goes into and through the treeline. From here, the route would be fairly challenging even without a bike. Rock steps, walking down riverbeds and generally battering your way down through some fairly exciting terrain.
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| This was a good bit. It got markedly worse. |
I loved it. Partially due to my running background, and partially due to the fact my Fairlight is Steel- not carbon and I didn't really mind if it got a few more dings. However, my rather cavalier attitude to getting down had a minor downfall in that my storage bottle, containing my multitool, spare brake pads, emergency trauma bandage, spare cleat and a load of other fixings came out of its bracket somewhere on that climb. There was no way of knowing where it was, and I certainly wasn't going to go back up and get it. If I got a puncture now- I still had tubes, but no way of getting the wheel off the bike. I continued on swearing at myself for not having secured it more tightly. That's the second thing that has fallen off my bike now- I couldn't believe it! In all the years of having this bike, I've done a lot of offroad and this is the first time it's ever happened.
The only thing for it was to hope I didn't get a puncture, and at the first opportunity- get some allenkeys at the very least, then I'd be able to get the wheel off if needed. I still had my leatherman, so had some version of some tools, but damn. That's annoying.
I passed a number of people walking up. Most ignored me, but one asked "is this some kind of race"- to which I replied in the affirmative... "Ah- that explains it then" came the reply.
Down and down until finally the cobbled bridge appeared and I got back on the bike and down the "road" which was very much in the "gravel" side of things. Overtaking cars on the way down as they tried to avoid potholes, I was very very aware of not overdoing things in case of puncture. The gorge was hugely impressive with a beautiful river thrashing it's way down through massive rocks. The road turned to a stone road with a lot of buzz, and then at last came to a road where I turned right and sped down toward Torla. It was nigh on midday and I was far, far behind schedule.
Having said that- I look back on this section now where people were sometimes taking upwards of 2-3 hours to do it and this was the only place on the entire route that I got any kind of decent feedback from Strava. In fact, I got something that rarely happens. A top 10!
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| Look at that! |
It was not long until Torla came into view, and I followed my route... mapping around small towns in Spain where all the streets are tiny and it is uncertain exactly where you need to go did not mean this was entirely useful. There was a 1 way street that would have been easy to go along, but I decided to be law abiding and follow my route, which ended up on the mainroad outside the town and looking up at a massive staircase made of stone to get into the town. Dammit.
So I shouldered the bike and hiked up the stairs, eventually getting to weave through tourists to CP3, my first manned checkpoint.
I followed a volunteer in, got my brevet stamped and saw Graham- who I had been chatting to on day 1 at La Seu d'Argill. He had stopped in the town before the Tourmalet last night, was up super early and had evidently overtaken me while I waited for breakfast in Gavarnie. He was about to leave, but it was entirely likely that we would end up meeting in Jaca in the MacDonalds- a mecca, it seems for TPR riders this year. I took a few moments to gather myself, refill my water bottles, curse a bit more at the loss of my tool box and work out my plans from here. There was a Repsol in Biecas just down the road where I was hoping to get some allen keys, so as long as I stayed puncture free until then, all was good. (and there was no reason to suspect otherwise, considering everything the bike had been through up until now).
Setting off into the midday sun there was a short downhill, followed by a significant up and over and then down into Biecas. Ok, that sentence didn't take long to write, but damn, it took a long time to get over. My left knee was beginning to hurt more on each pedal stroke and my lower back was beginning to hurt a bit. 2 things that in the run up to the event if you asked me what might end up being a problem, I would have given 20 other things to consider before even thinking about them!
I spun my gears lower and lower and was getting more worried by my lack of progress on such a low % hill- thinking about all that was to come. Not only that, but it was more than halfway through the day and I still hadn't even done 50k- and this was meant to be a 300+... from Torla, not the wrong side of the Col des Tentes.
Up and over and down to Biecas where I stopped at the Repsol, marched in and procured a set of allen keys, a pile of chorizo and a cold latte. Hallelujah! I wandered back out and saw Graham sitting the shade on the other side of the road and joined him for a quick bite to eat, chomping through my breakfast baguette with the newly acquired chorizo.
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| My new multitool |
Downing the coffee, I left Graham there and continued down towards Jaca. A long A-road which I kind of motored along, so long as the gradient was downhill. As soon as it became flat or anything approaching uphill the left kne hurt and I had to skip through the gears until I was barely moving. Standing up provided no relief at all and I was getting more and more frustrated as Graham cruised past me on the barely 1% rise towards Jaca.
As you ride in there are a number of ramps onto and off the motorway, and at each one I looked at it thinking- "its only about 40 metres... but I don't think I could get up that, even if I had to". Really unsure about the future of my race, I pulled into MacDonalds in Jaca and grabbed my first MaccyD's in over a decade.
Now for a dilemma. Do I continue? Do I rest up in Jaca and see how I feel in the morning. I was pretty miserable, it has to be said. Graham had gone by the time I thought I might as well ride up the road and see how I go. Sometimes the knee hurt, sometimes it didn't, but on anything that went uphill in any way the overwhelming sharp pain came back. It wasn't in my knee- it was the end of the hamstring tendon on both sides of the knee. Not great. I climbed a hill and thought: No. I'm done. And lay on a bench for a while contemplating my options.
Having looked at hotel options further along the route- from here it goes into some fairly remote villages where there was nothing- the most intelligent plan was to go back to Jaca and stay there. Reluctantly, I made that decision and cycled back down the road to find a hotel.
The afternoon and evening were spent wandering around Jaca, which had a medieval festival on- so lots of people running around with swords etc. Watching other riders come and go and generally feeling sorry for myself.
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| My hotel, blazing in the sun |
Could I continue? I could dose myself up on ibuprofen- but lets face it, day 1- 300km. day 2- 200km. day 3- 100km. I'm 600km into a nigh on 2000km race and not really able to cycle up hills... which is the main point of the entire way back along the Raid Parcours. I chatted with the guy on reception about how to get back to Girona and he informed me that although there is a train station in Jaca, there are no trains. There might be a bus, but no way to know if bikes were allowed on... so the option was "ride to Huesca"- which is 90k away. Great.
That evening I sat in a pizzaria with Rob Gardiner, who had scratched in Jaca stating that he was no longer having fun and that he was going to have a holiday with his girlfriend who had volunteered at Torla. Nice.
I eventually retired to my hotel with the fairly consistent thought that I was going to scratch. Knee pain towards the end of a race - yes, you can probably ride through it. Knee pain in the first 1/3 of a race... it would be silly to carry on. Trying to get to sleep, I realised that I was also in pain on my right sit bone- just where you sit on a saddle. Nothing abnormal about that- saddle soreness is part of the game. I touched it and then thought. Oh. Blister. Not only that, but HUGE blister. Damn.
It's quite hard to see a blister there, even in a mirror, but once I had, I realised that not only was it a massive blister, but there was an accompanying bruise there as well. Having been sparing my left leg due to pain, more pressure must have been going through my right leg and sitbone and then caused increased friction etc. to the point of... ouch.
Out comes the leatherman and a very delicate operation of slitting the blister before using my sole compeed dressing to (hopefully) go over as much of the blister as I could manage. Well. That's pretty much settled it then. I'm done.
111km, 2583m. 9:58.
Day 4.
It's not easy to quit. Despite lots of encouraging text messages and well meaning support from a lot of people, the decision had been made. I was quite gutted to be leaving the race. Not only because of all the effort I had ploughed into it, but also because I was aware of all the people that were watching my dot. Still. An injury is an injury. There are a number of people who would later very much be of the opinion of "you should have just taken more pain killers and carried on". This macho culture within ultra-cycling is not overly helpful. Had I continued, I have no doubt that I would have run myself into the ground and had a real issue extracting myself and then been recovering for a substantial amount of time.
As it was, I still needed to cycle 90km on day 4 just to get somewhere that I could then travel home- well, to Girona. It was a long, slow cycle on some absolutely beautiful roads. It was still morning, so the descents were cold- but the ascents were at a low enough gradient that I could just abouut get up them without walking. It was the slowest 90km of my life and I rolled into Huesca to the bus station to meet Thomas Lier, another rider who had scratched just a little further from me (and then lucked out with a ride in someone's campervan 100km to Huesca!).
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A panicked 10 mins followed as I bought a ticket to Barcelona, and then had to take the wheels off the bikes and wrapped it in plastic bags and parcel tape so that it would go on the bottom of the bus. The journey was long- and having sat in the wrong seat for a while chatting to Thomas, I was turfed into another seat where I chatted to a Spanish national, who was a nurse in Dublin, but had been back at her hometown- which I had cycled through not 24 hours before- where she had spent 3 days partying at the town festival. We spoke for hours and at Barcelona she got Tom and I onto the right train to Girona, and by the time we got back, just after 9, I was ravenous, having not really eaten anything apart from emergency rations that I had on the bus, as my kit was all still on the bike- wrapped up in the compartment below.
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| Thomas on the final train back to Girona |
There were not a lot of hotels in Girona. A champions league match was on the next evening, so the scramble for hotels was somewhat undignified but I managed to get something for the few days from when we arrived to when I was due back in my airbnb at the end of the week.
Ah. Back in a hotel room. Scratched. Done. A welter of emotions and thoughts. All of which are going to have to wait for another blog.
88km, 1197m. 5:38.
Yes, the story finishes here. However, I have a load of stuff that I have learned, a load of things to think about in terms of my training etc. and that will all be written up in the next few days. For the moment, though- this is the story. That was what happened. Thanks for reading.
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