Monday, July 14, 2008
Megavalanche
July 6th.
Arrived at Bourg D’Oisans and found La Camping Cascade with some help from the information centre. We had signed up for the platinum package and so have to sign on at the station in Oz en Oisans, because apparently we’re also racing in the Oz avalanche. This is a lovely wiggly mountain drive past Lac du Verney at Allemont. Luckily the lady at the speaks a little English and says we can’t sign on until Tuesday, but we can sign up for the week long ski pass we’d also paid for. We see a couple of riders coming off the top of the mountain and Gary and Barry get even more excited. Back at la Cascade I meet three guys from Leeds who’re here for the mega and the say that there are doing a ride tomorrow from near the lake. The are driving to the lake and catching a bus from Allemont up to Oz en Oisans for the ski lifts and routes in the area. They said they’d let us know how it went and give us some tips. I was feeling pretty over stimulated from the map reading and navigating, so shut myself away for a sleep and some recuperation. Tomorrow we will probably head out to Les Deux Alps for our tentative first riding in the alps experience.
07 July.
Woke about 7 am to torrential rain and went to sleep until 9.30. We may go shopping whilst it clears. We shopped. Some time later we set out for Alpe Duez. At the top we spoke to some riders from north London who suggested we could go to the top of Dome des Petites Rousses at 2810 hm, to ride the mega qualifier. We took the télécabine up to the next stop (no name) at 2110 and rode down a track people were calling the 4x. This was excellent, a serpentine bermed hairpin wiggle punctuated with wooden bumps all the way back to the Alpe Duez station. I felt quite nervous at the top because it was the first time I’d worn the full face helmet and was quite concerned about how much peripheral vision I had lost when it was on. It was good to get on the bike after we’d faffed about all morning. We rode this once more and then Gary and Barry wanted to go to the top of the mountain to try the top part of the qualifier. This didn’t quite go to plan. Our instructions were to take a short fire road to the next station, we took a footpath that wended it’s beautiful way around several small lakes, and tough hike a bike sections. Pure Trans alps terrain. I hate this stuff with a passion and usually try to get it over with as fast as possible, but I had to keep them in sight. My regret here is that I didn’t turn back as I felt I should, because it was obviously the wrong way. So I was furious with myself, I didn’t need to carry my bike across rocks, I needed to ride it downhill. Still, an hour later we rocked up at the station only to find a half hour wait before the next car. We grabbed a very nice coffee from the lovely proprietor who was just about to shut up shop. At the top whilst the others had a fag break I went to investigate and play in the snow. I punctured quite soon. We rode the fire road down Barry unwilling to stop to look for the right track. We reached number two, this is part of the mega and was quite enjoyable.
08 July.
Go up early to sign on for the practice of the Avalanche trophy. We put our boards on the bikes as no one was allowed on the course without. This was my first experience of a proper full on downhill course. It started on a gentle ramp and immediately dropped into a very steep chute with tight berms, which was ok I can ride this. The next section steepened more into axle deep mud on rounded rocks and was horrible! It was rideable but I felt that I’d only just got through by the skin of my teeth. Next a few more steep chutes and berms, but with more rock under the wheels. Then a flat section which pitched almost vertical downward on a large flat slab of rock with various wheel sized holes and fissures and only a narrow line through. I baulked at this and stopped to look for the way through. At this point Gary came through and rode straight down it! Well done Gary, I immediately followed his line. The rest of the course was steep chutes and berms, all very nice and doable, culminating in a couple of the classic grassy switchbacks with a floaty jump into the arena. Just like on the telly, except there was no one sitting in an inflatable chair and I didn’t skid into the barriers, a la Stephen Peat I’d enjoyed most of the course, it was just the muddy section and the rocky slab that had scared me. I felt that I’d been lucky to get through these sections. And so, hoping my luck would hold, I went straight back to the télécabine and up for another try. The mud and the slab were no easier, though the rest of the course was very nice. At the bottom I saw Barrie, who was pretty shaken up, he said that he’d lost it on the muddy section on his first run. I asked if he wanted to come up with me for another run, but he didn’t. He had the look in his eyes. I knew I had the same look. The ‘Oh my God, I’m in at the deep end and my feet don’t touch the bottom’. Which surprised me as he is the downhiller of the group. I set off for a third run, thinking that I had a mere thimble full of luck left. This time I set off with a group of riders. At the mud (la boue) section the guy in front of me flicked left and rode the rock wall and dropped in at the tail end of the mud section, I followed suit and cleared most of it. Wahey, I think I just traded some luck for skill J On the next sections I moved out to let a few of the faster guys pass on the inside. At the top of the slab we all skidded to a halt and I heard someone shouting chute, chute! At the bottom I could see them picking up and dusting someone off. After a good few minutes the marshal started to wave us through one at a time. As the guy in front was just leaving the slab the marshal waved me through, I popped onto the slab and at that moment the guy at the bottom went over the bars. The marshal screamed at me to stop, but it was too late I was on the slab. I could see him lying across the exit, at this point slomo kicked in and time stopped! I tried to track stand but the bike just moved forward with both wheels locked. So, nothing for it but to try to bunny hop him. I remember hearing my self shouting ‘Coming through!’ and wondering what it would be in French? This motivated the marshal at the bottom, who was suddenly aware that I was on the slab. He grabbed the fallen rider and dragged him to the side as I was lofting the front wheel off the rock step at the end of the slab. Then slomo kicked out and the sound came back on. At the bottom I spotted Gary and Barrie, Gary was holding his shoulder. Oh dear. He’d gone over the bars on the slab and landed on his shoulder. I now realise that Gary must have been the original chute at the top. A quick examination of the shoulder showed a grade one subluxation of his right acromio clavicular joint. We started treatment immediately with cold water and anti-inflammatories. The bike was also fubared, with a broken hose. Practice over. The guys at French Hope were very helpful and would have fixed the brake, but couldn’t let us have any fluid. Barrie took the chance to buy some parts that he’d forgotten. Back at the car Barrie immediately started to bad mouth them for not having enough brake fluid!
We decided to go back to Alpe Duez to do the first part of the qualifying course and the second part of the mega for the afternoon. The upper part of the Q course was incredibly rocky and in places didn’t seem to be a course at all! I could see a few areas where I would be walking and where others would crash. The plan was to turn back to the Alpe Duez station and do parts of the mega, but at the top Barrie followed the signs for the rest of the Q, this took us into the next valley. A quick look skyward showed no sign of cable car wires. I stopped Gary to point this out, but we could do nothing but follow, if he crashed somewhere whilst alone….etc
This section was classic alps xc riding tight rooty hairpins leading into off camber wooded sections. We took this very steady because of Gary’s injury. Though Barrie didn't want to wait.
At the bottom, we met some other guys and I recognised that we were on the road to Oz en Oisons, a couple of km’s climbing would take us to the télécabine station. Excellent if it was open! It was now well over 30’C and the road was open to the sun. I decided not to hang around in the sun and set out to the top. I caught a guy at the front and we rode together for a while until it got windy, when he sat on my wheel. I sat and spun a low gear, a 35lb bike and five inches of travel discouraged any mashing. I saved a bit for the sprint, but as I approached the top a quick check and he was off the back. The télécabine passed over the DH course we’d ridden earlier, it was now bone dry. I called Gary to tell them where to get off. At the top I waited for 20 minutes when I realised that the télécabine had stopped running, they’d missed the last one. I took the opportunity to ride the twisty 4X track to the Alpe Duez station, where I met Roger, Gary’s friend. Gary had called and asked him to go and pick them up. Gary’s car was here, but Gary had the keys in Os. As our campsite was at the bottom of the road to Alpe Duez I jumped at the chance to ride down the famous hairpins. I rode back up in the camper with Roger to pick up the others. Then they went up Alpe Duez to get the car, then Roger came back, Gary had left the key in his bag.
09 July.
The plan today was to ride down from Pic Blanc at 3330 hm to Alpe Duez station. This is the first part of the Megavalanche. At Alpe Duez we unloaded the bikes and Barrie and Gary had a smoke, I took this opportunity to catch the télécabine to the next station and ride down the 4x course. They were just finishing when I got back. The trip to Pic Blanc took two télécabine rides. The second seemed full when we got there but the attendant pushed everyone closer together and squeezed us in. No one seemed to mind that we had three huge bikes with us. The first three km’s is deep snow and very steep, great fun! On the steepest section, I fell and slid for 400 metres on my backside, I remembered to hold onto my bike with one hand! I got some good pictures of Gary tumbling down the deep snow.After the snow came some fantastic rocky singletrack with a huge drop to the left. Here Gary began to suffer with his shoulder and had to ease considerably. Barrie was struggling a lot on this terrain. After a couple of km’s of this fast rocky stuff, a guy came flying past me, his back wheel fishtailing all over the place. At the next bend I see him climbing back onto the course! I ease and wave him on, I don’t want him behind me . He disappears in a cloud of dust. At the next bend I see him overshoot the course and go off the cliff edge. I stop and look over, fearing the worst. Looking down I see that he’s suspended in the ski netting tangled and wriggling like a fly in a spiders web. I ask if he’s ok, and he pushes a hand through the net, shakes my hand and says ‘Hi I’m Chris’ I laugh and drag him up and untangle his bike. And he’s off again like a loon. Barrie passes me here and says that Gary says push to on. I remount and pass Barrie as he struggles with a rocky drop off. The trail then drops into Alpe Duez via a fast swoopy dirt singletrack. Gary crashes and is in pain, so walks back. Barrie says he went off a drop so hard that he blew his 8'' travel forks. I ride straight to the télécabine and ride up to the next station to have one more go of the 4x track. It's dried out a lot and is a bit lose on the corners. Barrie wants another go of the 4x so we go up again. Barrie takes the lead and I settle in behind keeping it nice and steady. On the first jump, he comes down a bit hard and squirrels about a bit. I ease back a bit to give me some space if he goes down. No need though as he goes straight off the next bend into the rough. :-) 10 July Today we decided to ride the second half of the Mega. Gary choose to sit this one out to rest the shoulder for race day. From Alpe Duez the track climbs and then undulates. Now I realise how much I am on the wrong bike. I hang on for Barrie here, he doesn‘t like the undulating nature of the course. We stop a bit longer for him to get his breath back. He goes through as the track turns into the woods and pitches downward with some fantastically tight hairpin bends. Barrie’s technique is quite different to mine. He tends to cut the inside line of the corner, where I swing high. This is fortunate as at the next bend Barrie goes over the bars and I swing high to miss him. I stop to let him come by again, after a couple more hairpins he suddenly brakes hard and stops. There is a large almost vertical bermed hairpin. I shout as I come up to him ‘Go on’ He pulls over and shouts ‘You do it then!’ I squeeze past and see that the exit is a straight run out so as scary as it looks it actually fine,I wait while Barrie walks it. The rest of the ride is great woodsy singletrack with some muddy bits and some stream crossings. We came out in Allemont just below the dam. Note: I had been unable to select granny today, very annoying indeed. A quick look at the bike showed that the gear cable was jamming behind the front mech. How could this happen? A the day before, Barrie had asked me if the bike was ok. I said yes, but the big ring was a little bit hard to select. He said ‘I have a look at that for you’ I said ‘no need it’s fine‘. Some time later I saw him with my bike on the stand! I had a look at the front mech to see why I couldn’t select granny. Barrie had zip tied the front gear cable behind the rear mech and it was stopping the mech front extending fully. Mega Qualifying: My start was 10.00 am Gary was 10.40 am Barrie was 12.00 am A nice early start, I was at the depart 2800 m by 8.55 ! And it was freezing, It was almost like starting a race on Everest, with snow all around, the wind whistling through the race inflatables and everyone dressed in brightly coloured wind proofs. I chatted with a couple of guys from Cornwall and one of them, Vinny, was originally from Redhill! The start dropped into a series of loose hairpins on a loose fire/access type road. I was in the third row and within metres people were overtaking and crashing. I took it quite steady, not wanting to go down on the rocky stuff. I saw the first puncture after 50 metres. Next we dropped of the rocks into snow. The next second my front wheel dropped into a deep rut and I ‘supermanned’ over the bars into the snow, just as the helicopter passed overhead. There were people and bikes all over the snow, so I ran and remounted on the rocky section. The next section was the bit I was most worried about, but it was no problem as everyone was walking anyway. On the rocky singletrack I was riding ok, not too fast but riding the stuff we hadn’t ridden when previously trying out this area. I began to think that I may get a good time, as I was still in the main front group. Then I went a little bit wide on one bend and had to brake, the guy behind me had nowhere to go and cut inside shouting ‘sorry mate’ . He clipped me and I put my right foot down. A searing pain shot through my knee and I heard myself scream. My knee collapsed and I rolled off the side of the trail dropping a couple of metres onto the rocks. I couldn’t stop myself screaming out whilst I tried to examine the knee. Then I could here myself shouting ‘I’m out, I’m out!’ after a few minutes I tried to stand but the leg kept collapsing at full extension. I dragged the bike up to the trail and decided to roll down before the next wave came through. With the knee flexed, because of the low downhill set up, I could pedal without too much pain. It seemed to be only at full extension when stabilising. The next section was open narrow singletrack so I pressed on. I felt that as long I stayed clipped in I’d be fine. I was at the back of the field now, but started to reel a few people in as this was the only climb and rolling section. The rest of the course was fast steep hairpins through the woods. I pulled back a few places here, because it’s like the North DownsJ. I moved over to let two very fast guys through on the inside of a couple of the berms, I guessed the must have been from the following group. I stepped off the bike to be reminded of the knee and yelled involuntarily. I got an ice pack from the medics and rolled down to the lake to meet Roger. I had assumed it was my lateral collateral and meniscus, but I have no tenderness on palpation of the joint margin or ligament itself. I articulated the tib/fib joint and found the pain :-o Later Gary rolled up absolutely ecstatic he'd loved it and was still whooping! Barrie rolled up in a similar state saying he'd done the best ride of his life....hurrah! I must admit I'd enjoyed the course in spite of my leg. 12 July Failed! Not of us qualified for the Mega, not even the Promo, by a loooong way J Mark Spratt just missed qualifying by one place! But managed a place in the Promo. Those who fail to qualify can do the Mega Affinity, which is a timed ride down starting any time after the main event and before 11.00 am. The Mega affinity We awake to loud thunder and rain and the mountains shrouded in cloud. We rocked up to Alpe Duez only to find the upper part of the Mega Avalanche had been cancelled, and would start from the same place as the previous day’s qualifier. So no snow! For me the mega is about the snow, most of the pictures and video show this feature. The mega is riding down the glacier! I am very disappointed to say the least. The mega is stolen away from me. I won’t be doing the Megavalanche after almost a year of looking forward to it. As we get into the second télécabine I say hi to a chap I recognise from somewhere. And he says hi back. Then I realise it’s Mikey Blue eyes, who we used to ride with in Dorking. We chat on the way up and he’s a lot more into the down hilling stuff now. At the top everything is being packed away and we’re only just in time. I roll away not really feeling like it and watch the others accelerate away. After the top rocky section as yesterday, the track turns onto one of the xc sections of the tourist rides into Alpe Duez. Here it passes through and over to the same lower wood section that is part of the Megavalanche route that me and Barrie 'rode' a couple of days ago. It starts off with a couple of short sharp climbs. On the first one I change down to granny and the chain throws straight onto the bottom bracket and wraps around. I get off and have to replace it by hand. This happens twice more, at one point I have to turn the bike over and kick the chain out, and I’m furious. The rest of the course is descending now. I think it can’t be the end already, the woody stuff is fun and greasy. I roll down here and start picking people up. I end up behind Mikey and sit with him as he’s always been a smooth rider. Part way he slips on one of the greasy roots, and I roll past on the inside. At the muddy stream I see Gary resting his shoulder, I’m surprised to see him and I’d assumed he and Barry must have finished a long time before. The last berm opens up onto large muddy drop. I try to get off and end up going down head first and sliding on my arm protection. It works! My computer says 20km., 1 hour 24 minutes. Less than half of the distance of the proper Megavalanche! I have a look at my front mech and find the stops screwed fully. Wtf! I can only assume that because Barrie zip tied the cable behind the front mech he’d then used up all of the adjustment trying to get the front mech to work. And now the mech was throwing the chain fully inboard. Although I understand the reasons for cancelling the event, I‘m very disappointed and have nothing to pat myself on the back about. Epilogue: the mega is a great event, but I think it’s more of an event where I would turn up perhaps a day before and ride it. To me it’s just a raid, a big one, but just a raid, and no different to half a day in the Trans Alp. I enjoyed the riding but after a few days I got bored of the lack of structure and the mega became the focus and eventual liberation, part of my reason for the huge disappointment For the downhill types, there are lifts to everywhere and the chance ‘session‘ the routes, and get a ‘good’ time. The mega sprint is a different matter, this was an out and out downhill course. The fact that I managed three runs impressed Mikey Blue Eyes, as he said once was enough for him. The area is great for road biking and cross country too. If I did return, then I’d want to put in a time up the hairpins of the Alpe Duez. The trails are all cross country ride able, maybe taken a little slower. Gary and Barrie can't wait for next year. Gary is a natural for this sort of riding. With his background of off road motorbikes, he's fearless and an all round nice geezer. Barrie! I had been warned about Barrie, his grasp on the difference between reality and fiction being somewhat tenuous. BS being the most used phrase :-) What I wasn't prepared for was that he is a complete Walter Mitty By the end of the trip I had come to the conclusion that, if anything he said about himself was remotely true, it was so distorted by exaggeration that the truth was utterly inconsequential. At first this is laughable, after a couple of days it becomes unbearable. Even the guys in the tent next to the chalet were dreading his visits :-) I finally snapped when he got out of the car on the return to my house and urinated in the hedge at the end of the road.
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Sunday, 18 May 2008
Le Grand Traversée du Limousin
The Grand Traversee de Limousin adventure May 2008
It’s Tuesday morning and we set off for Dover in Paul’s shiny new van, a Mercedes Vito in subtle fire-engine red with yellow flashes and writing and orange flashing warning lights. An accident on the M25 diverts us slightly then a road closure at Folkstone alters our route and it’s raining steadily but we get to the docks in good time. Just as well as we follow the ferry signs to the wrong terminal and are provided with an owl sticker to get back through customs ‘twit, who?’! At the western docks we find our sea bat and a shop in which to stock up on all our driving abroad goodies which Paul promptly ignores to fit to the van. Manoeuvring into the vessel is interesting as the van has a 4 feet long CB aerial that rattles against the roof like the dodgems. The crossing is remarkably smooth given that the weather isn’t that good and we disembark at Boulougne at 1pm. It’s straight onto the peáge and follow the coast line south-west to Rouens where we stock up on food and diesel at an Intermarché. Back on the toll road towards Tours, the rain is coming in torrential bursts that even the speediest windscreen wiper setting can’t clear. After leaving the motorway we pass through a couple of small villages, one with some good examples of troglodyte houses, to find my friend Pascal’s house. It’s at the end of a small lane next to a forest and is a superb exhibit of 60’s e-bay art deco chic, absolutely immaculate. Over the years of knowing Pascal I’ve heard of every drop of blood sweat and tears he’s spent on this project and was fascinated to actually see it. Pascal is highly amused by our van especially as we now see that the flashing rear lights have been on for some time! He is quite the bonne viveur and convivial host, feeding us with a fantastic taboulet, asparagus and pineapple. We sleep well and awake to yet more grey skies and rain. We plan to head to Limoges but en route get side tracked to a little village museum that Raymond has been told about – Oradour-sur-Glane, a French village that the retreating German army ransacked. SS troops massacred the 635 villagers and used flame throwers to raise the buildings to the ground, it’s been kept as a reminder of the atrocities of war and is both horrific, eerie and fascinating. The weather has turned from rain to glorious sunshine and we continue to St Leonard’s, a town just east of Limoges where a friend of Paul’s has a house. We pull up in front of an enormous ancient dilapidated French townhouse. We tentatively go inside; it’s definitely a work in progress, ‘progress’ in the loosest sense of the word. We are due to meet Julie and KB here tonight, they have flown independently to Lyons and are making their way over, and while we’re waiting we go shopping and start tea. Later they arrive, take one look at the place and decide to move on to a hotel – it’s that kind of place. Unfortunately, as the food was started, the same idea didn’t occur to me.
Stage one – Nantiat to Bénévent 74km in 5:35 After a disturbed night in which every rustle was a rat, we wake and load the van and set off to the sign on village of Chataluz. This will be the eventual finish in three days time. It is misty with a fine drizzle and we arrive an hour or so later. We are directed to park in a field adjoining a lake with a hut that houses the registration. Here we hand in our self endorsed medical certificates and sign on the dotted line. This event is unique in that you can either enter the three days as a race or individual days as a randoneur. The race is solo but, as an additional category, you can nominate four riders to be in a team with the fastest three times counted. KB and Julie are already here and entered, and Raymond, Paul, KB and I enter as a team, Julie declines as she reckons she’ll be slow, I think she just wants the chance to collect wildlife and hunt for truffles as she’s riding alongJ In a white van further down the field Raymond spots Stratobiker, aka Steve Bennett, the guy responsible for us being here after Raymond stumbling upon his excellent blog ‘Stratobiker’, riding with him are his brother Andy and a friend Dave in the colours of Team Pearce and we are all introduced. The trucks to take our bikes and luggage to the starting village of Nantiat are here so we organise what stuff we have to take and load up, in other races we are limited to one bag but here they take anything, people are loading up mattresses, chairs, one even had a chaise-longue! We are then treated to a snack of bread, ham and pasta which the locals are tucking into with gusto. At 11.30 we are herded into a couple of coaches and taken on an hour and a half trip to Nantiat. At the local playing field there is a mass of cyclists as many of the ‘one dayers’ have driven directly here. As we disgorge from the bus a girl catches Raymond’s eye, after hesitating he asks whether she’s Carla, Steve’s wife and authoress of another absorbing blog ‘Limousin Life’, indeed she is and she wishes us well. It’s now almost 1pm and I’ve rather gone of the idea of cycling for the day, also it’s still grey, chilly and drizzly, not the most inviting for a bike ride. We congregate for the start and try to decipher some of the pre race briefing which is all conducted in excitable fast French, none the wiser we just follow the leaders as they set off behind the motorbikes for a neutralised 2 km down the road before turning off onto fire tracks. The next 72km are a bit of a blur, a complete sensory overload and assault on body and mind. I reckon maybe 2km was tarmac, the rest totally off-road ranging from short sections of fast double track to exquisite single-track and no flat bits, just up and down, up and down. The weather is still damp and the previous few days’ downpours have left huge swathes of muddy trails which fishtail your bike and sap every ounce of your concentration. The course is so full on that it is difficult to find an opportunity to eat and after a couple of hours I’m beginning to fade, this is most noticeable in my deterioration at negotiating the muddy sections and the exponential increase in blasphemous utterings and insistence that I AM NEVER, EVER DOING ONE OF THESE AGAIN! My hatred is aimed squarely at Raymond for getting me here in the first place with a little left for Stratobiker for giving him the idea! I curse and mutter my way onwards for another couple of hours. Much later, in the midst of a particularly vile muddy patch Raymond loses his front wheel, steps to balance himself and cracks his knee on his fork, the obscenities ring out, echoing far and wide. I sheepishly find some extra determination from this and the last few kms quickly pass and we drop into Bénévent which reserves a final sharp kick up to the village square and the finish line. We are both absolutely shagged and I rue all those weekends lying in bed when I should have been out training, rain or no rain! We find the hall that we’re sleeping in tonight and try to leave our bikes in the Parc Ferme but the lady overseeing it demands that we wash them, we try to tell her that we never wash our bikes during races, it’s unlucky, but she’s having none of it so, disgruntled, we return to the bike wash after which she admits our bikes with a radiant smile. It’s then time to wash ourselves and get fed. This is where the French excel. We sit and are served a three course meal, salad and bread for starters, steak, pasta and lentils for main course and cake for dessert all washed down with copious amounts of water and red wine. Fantastic! Satiated we retire to our sleeping bags and await the next day’s trial.
Stage Two: Bénévent – Gueret After a fitful night’s sleep it’s up at 7.00am and breakfast of cereal, yoghurt and endless amounts of bread. The sky is shot through with black and grey clouds but it looks like they’re fighting a losing battle with the blue expanse. We wear slightly less than yesterday in anticipation. Our gear is loaded onto the waiting truck and at 10.00am we are herded into some semblance of a group and talked at in French. My ‘O’ level francais is rather rusty but today I do recognise a few words. The motorbikes rev their engines and we’re off on a 2.5km neutralised section through the back streets of Bénévent into the central square where we stop. Above us on the village ramparts are the local press and event photographers and we pose en masse. The route is immediately off road on cart tracks and follows in much the same vein as yesterday albeit with a few splashes of asphalt that are long enough for you to get half a bar or a gel down your throat. The sun is shining and locals are chatting to their neighbours over their garden walls, pausing to wave and shout ‘allez’, ‘c’est dur’ et ‘bon courage’ at us. We wind our way through fields, splash through puddles of varying depth, squelch through mud of varying consistency, clamber up short, steep, boulder strewn climbs and fly down short, sharp, rutted descents. Today I have unearthed my ‘roid blocks and together with actually having the opportunity to eat am feeling much better, far fewer race hate moments and less temper tantrums. I have also come to accept the fact that I’m going to get a wet, muddy backside and stop fannying about in the mud so much – just ride the bloody stuff! I even catch up with the 2nd place girl on some lovely twisty single-track at the top of one of the last climbs but lose her again on the rooty, mulchy descent into the outskirts of Gueret. We cross the finish line in just over 4½ hours. Tonight we are based in a gym and Paul has grabbed us some gym mats to cushion our aged bones. After washing our bikes and taking a hot shower all we need to make life complete is a cold Coke and a strong coffee. Our prayers are answered as a press conference has been arranged for us foreigners and we are ushered into the bar and plied with drinks in exchange for answering questions about the race. Fortunately the Belgians get most of the attention as they don’t need a translator, we only have to answer a couple and KB gets to tackle the rest, this he does with consummate ease and professionalism. Tonight we are fed with mounds of taboulet, a chicken/turkey stew with mashed potatoes and the obligatory cakes with custard, washed down with water and red wine. All this, in a cordoned off portion of a sports hall, in the other half of which locals are playing tennis completely unfazed by our presence. It’s an early ‘lights-out’ tonight ready for an early start tomorrow and by 10pm it’s all snores and farts.
Stage Three: Gueret – Chataluz Breakfast is served at the ungodly hour of 5.30am in readiness for an 8.00am start. We go through our morning packing rituals, load our stuff on the trucks, collect our bikes and go to see how much of the race briefing we can decipher today, 25 years of dust and cobwebs are being slowly blown off my language neurons and a few more words are comprehended. The start is neutralised for 3km as we wend our way into town. We stop, things are said, we go. It is a beautiful day and getting decidedly hot. Julie, Raymond and I ride together, enjoying the scenery and ponder how it looks ‘just like Dorking’ with lush green field, dandelions, campions and bluebells. The sun is drying the trails leaving thick mud rather than watery ooze that requires some effort to get through, we don’t escape the joys of getting drenched though as the trail skirts the lakes and deteriorates into streams in some places and puddles of indeterminable deepness in others. The trick when approaching these is to have some unfortunate in front of you so that they can plough in and discover whether the puddle is only an inch or so deep and navigable or not. A happy chappy dressed in full Bettini – esque world champion white top and shorts passes us and heads for one such puddle and promptly disappears up to his waist. He yells, dismounts and steps over a branch to another puddle to his left and promptly sinks again! – we decide to go rightJ Other obstacles today include a mini waterfall as a lake we have just traversed on narrow single-track, plunges down to a lower level and the one obligatory hike-a-bike section up a slimy dirt gully. Perched here is a guy taking photos. As I struggle to get a foothold I screech that’s it’s too slippery, the man, repeating me, agrees. Raymond shouts at me to swap sides, the man says the same, then Raymond yells to pass my bike up and the man echoes his sentiments, parrot fashion – surreal! Julie is finding her legs today and puts a couple of hard digs in. Towards the end we climb up to a rocky outcrop on which stands a fine statue, a man is parked close by and we ask who it is, he answers ‘notre dame’ . We are delighted to find the trail leads up to the monument so we can get a better look, then we are bemused as the trail clambers right up to the base, throws in a couple of bomb holes and passes at the feet of Mary who just gives us a benign gaze. A rare big ring blast takes us across the last few fields and drops us into the finishing village and we recognise the lake where we left the van. A final kick and we cross the finish line in unison. We go back to shake the organisers hand and thank him for such an enjoyable race – yep, already the grumpy ‘never doing one of these again’ vibes are evaporating!
We scoot off to find the hose pipes and wash our trusty steeds down – this is becoming a habit – and load them into the van. Then it’s a quick shower and we begin to walk to the after race knees up venue, we thumb a lift off one of the orga guys and meet up with Stratobiker, Andy and Dave. Another continuous stream of food is presented, taboulet, pasta, lentils, steak, cake, wine. Finally the presentations, firstly for the stage then overall where I have come 3rd and take to the podium to collect a cup, a bag of goodies (wine, bread, sausage, cake and jam) and a bouquet. I smile a lot and say ‘merci’ in my best accent. Stratobiker collects 3rd in the Vets2 category. Then, to our bafflement, all the Equipe Anglais are called up, together with the Equipe Belgique and we are given prizes for being not French! Magnanimous to a fault! Once nearly all the competitors have prizes and good many glasses of vin rouge imbibed we all disperse, we say goodbye to Stratobiker and co, and JD and KB and hit the roads for Limoges. Hot and tired we make a half-hearted attempt to find a central hotel and see the sights but we reach the tourist information just as it closes and settle for an out-of town euro-chain with free wi-fi and very comfortable beds in which we sleep soundly.
Sunday morning we trundle on to Tours, avoiding the motorway and taking the tourist route through rustic villages. At Chatellereaux there is a car boot sale/bric-a-brac market in the town square so we stop for a wander around. Next we head through a troglodyte village and stop again for another fete this time encompassing two villages and the intervening chateau. It’s very hot and we picnic in a shaded spot next to the river in serene surroundings. Moving on to Tours we book into a hotel and set out to explore but Tours is big and we are hot and tired and another comfy bed is calling. I treat Raymond to a hotel breakfast then we hit the road for the last stretch back to Boulogne and the sea bat back to Dover. The Channel is as flat as a millpond and even the Bank Holiday traffic is light once back in Britain so we’re home before 7pm – an excellent trip all round.
It’s Tuesday morning and we set off for Dover in Paul’s shiny new van, a Mercedes Vito in subtle fire-engine red with yellow flashes and writing and orange flashing warning lights. An accident on the M25 diverts us slightly then a road closure at Folkstone alters our route and it’s raining steadily but we get to the docks in good time. Just as well as we follow the ferry signs to the wrong terminal and are provided with an owl sticker to get back through customs ‘twit, who?’! At the western docks we find our sea bat and a shop in which to stock up on all our driving abroad goodies which Paul promptly ignores to fit to the van. Manoeuvring into the vessel is interesting as the van has a 4 feet long CB aerial that rattles against the roof like the dodgems. The crossing is remarkably smooth given that the weather isn’t that good and we disembark at Boulougne at 1pm. It’s straight onto the peáge and follow the coast line south-west to Rouens where we stock up on food and diesel at an Intermarché. Back on the toll road towards Tours, the rain is coming in torrential bursts that even the speediest windscreen wiper setting can’t clear. After leaving the motorway we pass through a couple of small villages, one with some good examples of troglodyte houses, to find my friend Pascal’s house. It’s at the end of a small lane next to a forest and is a superb exhibit of 60’s e-bay art deco chic, absolutely immaculate. Over the years of knowing Pascal I’ve heard of every drop of blood sweat and tears he’s spent on this project and was fascinated to actually see it. Pascal is highly amused by our van especially as we now see that the flashing rear lights have been on for some time! He is quite the bonne viveur and convivial host, feeding us with a fantastic taboulet, asparagus and pineapple. We sleep well and awake to yet more grey skies and rain. We plan to head to Limoges but en route get side tracked to a little village museum that Raymond has been told about – Oradour-sur-Glane, a French village that the retreating German army ransacked. SS troops massacred the 635 villagers and used flame throwers to raise the buildings to the ground, it’s been kept as a reminder of the atrocities of war and is both horrific, eerie and fascinating. The weather has turned from rain to glorious sunshine and we continue to St Leonard’s, a town just east of Limoges where a friend of Paul’s has a house. We pull up in front of an enormous ancient dilapidated French townhouse. We tentatively go inside; it’s definitely a work in progress, ‘progress’ in the loosest sense of the word. We are due to meet Julie and KB here tonight, they have flown independently to Lyons and are making their way over, and while we’re waiting we go shopping and start tea. Later they arrive, take one look at the place and decide to move on to a hotel – it’s that kind of place. Unfortunately, as the food was started, the same idea didn’t occur to me.
Stage one – Nantiat to Bénévent 74km in 5:35 After a disturbed night in which every rustle was a rat, we wake and load the van and set off to the sign on village of Chataluz. This will be the eventual finish in three days time. It is misty with a fine drizzle and we arrive an hour or so later. We are directed to park in a field adjoining a lake with a hut that houses the registration. Here we hand in our self endorsed medical certificates and sign on the dotted line. This event is unique in that you can either enter the three days as a race or individual days as a randoneur. The race is solo but, as an additional category, you can nominate four riders to be in a team with the fastest three times counted. KB and Julie are already here and entered, and Raymond, Paul, KB and I enter as a team, Julie declines as she reckons she’ll be slow, I think she just wants the chance to collect wildlife and hunt for truffles as she’s riding alongJ In a white van further down the field Raymond spots Stratobiker, aka Steve Bennett, the guy responsible for us being here after Raymond stumbling upon his excellent blog ‘Stratobiker’, riding with him are his brother Andy and a friend Dave in the colours of Team Pearce and we are all introduced. The trucks to take our bikes and luggage to the starting village of Nantiat are here so we organise what stuff we have to take and load up, in other races we are limited to one bag but here they take anything, people are loading up mattresses, chairs, one even had a chaise-longue! We are then treated to a snack of bread, ham and pasta which the locals are tucking into with gusto. At 11.30 we are herded into a couple of coaches and taken on an hour and a half trip to Nantiat. At the local playing field there is a mass of cyclists as many of the ‘one dayers’ have driven directly here. As we disgorge from the bus a girl catches Raymond’s eye, after hesitating he asks whether she’s Carla, Steve’s wife and authoress of another absorbing blog ‘Limousin Life’, indeed she is and she wishes us well. It’s now almost 1pm and I’ve rather gone of the idea of cycling for the day, also it’s still grey, chilly and drizzly, not the most inviting for a bike ride. We congregate for the start and try to decipher some of the pre race briefing which is all conducted in excitable fast French, none the wiser we just follow the leaders as they set off behind the motorbikes for a neutralised 2 km down the road before turning off onto fire tracks. The next 72km are a bit of a blur, a complete sensory overload and assault on body and mind. I reckon maybe 2km was tarmac, the rest totally off-road ranging from short sections of fast double track to exquisite single-track and no flat bits, just up and down, up and down. The weather is still damp and the previous few days’ downpours have left huge swathes of muddy trails which fishtail your bike and sap every ounce of your concentration. The course is so full on that it is difficult to find an opportunity to eat and after a couple of hours I’m beginning to fade, this is most noticeable in my deterioration at negotiating the muddy sections and the exponential increase in blasphemous utterings and insistence that I AM NEVER, EVER DOING ONE OF THESE AGAIN! My hatred is aimed squarely at Raymond for getting me here in the first place with a little left for Stratobiker for giving him the idea! I curse and mutter my way onwards for another couple of hours. Much later, in the midst of a particularly vile muddy patch Raymond loses his front wheel, steps to balance himself and cracks his knee on his fork, the obscenities ring out, echoing far and wide. I sheepishly find some extra determination from this and the last few kms quickly pass and we drop into Bénévent which reserves a final sharp kick up to the village square and the finish line. We are both absolutely shagged and I rue all those weekends lying in bed when I should have been out training, rain or no rain! We find the hall that we’re sleeping in tonight and try to leave our bikes in the Parc Ferme but the lady overseeing it demands that we wash them, we try to tell her that we never wash our bikes during races, it’s unlucky, but she’s having none of it so, disgruntled, we return to the bike wash after which she admits our bikes with a radiant smile. It’s then time to wash ourselves and get fed. This is where the French excel. We sit and are served a three course meal, salad and bread for starters, steak, pasta and lentils for main course and cake for dessert all washed down with copious amounts of water and red wine. Fantastic! Satiated we retire to our sleeping bags and await the next day’s trial.
Stage Two: Bénévent – Gueret After a fitful night’s sleep it’s up at 7.00am and breakfast of cereal, yoghurt and endless amounts of bread. The sky is shot through with black and grey clouds but it looks like they’re fighting a losing battle with the blue expanse. We wear slightly less than yesterday in anticipation. Our gear is loaded onto the waiting truck and at 10.00am we are herded into some semblance of a group and talked at in French. My ‘O’ level francais is rather rusty but today I do recognise a few words. The motorbikes rev their engines and we’re off on a 2.5km neutralised section through the back streets of Bénévent into the central square where we stop. Above us on the village ramparts are the local press and event photographers and we pose en masse. The route is immediately off road on cart tracks and follows in much the same vein as yesterday albeit with a few splashes of asphalt that are long enough for you to get half a bar or a gel down your throat. The sun is shining and locals are chatting to their neighbours over their garden walls, pausing to wave and shout ‘allez’, ‘c’est dur’ et ‘bon courage’ at us. We wind our way through fields, splash through puddles of varying depth, squelch through mud of varying consistency, clamber up short, steep, boulder strewn climbs and fly down short, sharp, rutted descents. Today I have unearthed my ‘roid blocks and together with actually having the opportunity to eat am feeling much better, far fewer race hate moments and less temper tantrums. I have also come to accept the fact that I’m going to get a wet, muddy backside and stop fannying about in the mud so much – just ride the bloody stuff! I even catch up with the 2nd place girl on some lovely twisty single-track at the top of one of the last climbs but lose her again on the rooty, mulchy descent into the outskirts of Gueret. We cross the finish line in just over 4½ hours. Tonight we are based in a gym and Paul has grabbed us some gym mats to cushion our aged bones. After washing our bikes and taking a hot shower all we need to make life complete is a cold Coke and a strong coffee. Our prayers are answered as a press conference has been arranged for us foreigners and we are ushered into the bar and plied with drinks in exchange for answering questions about the race. Fortunately the Belgians get most of the attention as they don’t need a translator, we only have to answer a couple and KB gets to tackle the rest, this he does with consummate ease and professionalism. Tonight we are fed with mounds of taboulet, a chicken/turkey stew with mashed potatoes and the obligatory cakes with custard, washed down with water and red wine. All this, in a cordoned off portion of a sports hall, in the other half of which locals are playing tennis completely unfazed by our presence. It’s an early ‘lights-out’ tonight ready for an early start tomorrow and by 10pm it’s all snores and farts.
Stage Three: Gueret – Chataluz Breakfast is served at the ungodly hour of 5.30am in readiness for an 8.00am start. We go through our morning packing rituals, load our stuff on the trucks, collect our bikes and go to see how much of the race briefing we can decipher today, 25 years of dust and cobwebs are being slowly blown off my language neurons and a few more words are comprehended. The start is neutralised for 3km as we wend our way into town. We stop, things are said, we go. It is a beautiful day and getting decidedly hot. Julie, Raymond and I ride together, enjoying the scenery and ponder how it looks ‘just like Dorking’ with lush green field, dandelions, campions and bluebells. The sun is drying the trails leaving thick mud rather than watery ooze that requires some effort to get through, we don’t escape the joys of getting drenched though as the trail skirts the lakes and deteriorates into streams in some places and puddles of indeterminable deepness in others. The trick when approaching these is to have some unfortunate in front of you so that they can plough in and discover whether the puddle is only an inch or so deep and navigable or not. A happy chappy dressed in full Bettini – esque world champion white top and shorts passes us and heads for one such puddle and promptly disappears up to his waist. He yells, dismounts and steps over a branch to another puddle to his left and promptly sinks again! – we decide to go rightJ Other obstacles today include a mini waterfall as a lake we have just traversed on narrow single-track, plunges down to a lower level and the one obligatory hike-a-bike section up a slimy dirt gully. Perched here is a guy taking photos. As I struggle to get a foothold I screech that’s it’s too slippery, the man, repeating me, agrees. Raymond shouts at me to swap sides, the man says the same, then Raymond yells to pass my bike up and the man echoes his sentiments, parrot fashion – surreal! Julie is finding her legs today and puts a couple of hard digs in. Towards the end we climb up to a rocky outcrop on which stands a fine statue, a man is parked close by and we ask who it is, he answers ‘notre dame’ . We are delighted to find the trail leads up to the monument so we can get a better look, then we are bemused as the trail clambers right up to the base, throws in a couple of bomb holes and passes at the feet of Mary who just gives us a benign gaze. A rare big ring blast takes us across the last few fields and drops us into the finishing village and we recognise the lake where we left the van. A final kick and we cross the finish line in unison. We go back to shake the organisers hand and thank him for such an enjoyable race – yep, already the grumpy ‘never doing one of these again’ vibes are evaporating!
We scoot off to find the hose pipes and wash our trusty steeds down – this is becoming a habit – and load them into the van. Then it’s a quick shower and we begin to walk to the after race knees up venue, we thumb a lift off one of the orga guys and meet up with Stratobiker, Andy and Dave. Another continuous stream of food is presented, taboulet, pasta, lentils, steak, cake, wine. Finally the presentations, firstly for the stage then overall where I have come 3rd and take to the podium to collect a cup, a bag of goodies (wine, bread, sausage, cake and jam) and a bouquet. I smile a lot and say ‘merci’ in my best accent. Stratobiker collects 3rd in the Vets2 category. Then, to our bafflement, all the Equipe Anglais are called up, together with the Equipe Belgique and we are given prizes for being not French! Magnanimous to a fault! Once nearly all the competitors have prizes and good many glasses of vin rouge imbibed we all disperse, we say goodbye to Stratobiker and co, and JD and KB and hit the roads for Limoges. Hot and tired we make a half-hearted attempt to find a central hotel and see the sights but we reach the tourist information just as it closes and settle for an out-of town euro-chain with free wi-fi and very comfortable beds in which we sleep soundly.
Sunday morning we trundle on to Tours, avoiding the motorway and taking the tourist route through rustic villages. At Chatellereaux there is a car boot sale/bric-a-brac market in the town square so we stop for a wander around. Next we head through a troglodyte village and stop again for another fete this time encompassing two villages and the intervening chateau. It’s very hot and we picnic in a shaded spot next to the river in serene surroundings. Moving on to Tours we book into a hotel and set out to explore but Tours is big and we are hot and tired and another comfy bed is calling. I treat Raymond to a hotel breakfast then we hit the road for the last stretch back to Boulogne and the sea bat back to Dover. The Channel is as flat as a millpond and even the Bank Holiday traffic is light once back in Britain so we’re home before 7pm – an excellent trip all round.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Trans Schwarzwald 2007 by RH
Stage 1: Pforzeim - Bad Wildbad
The race begins:
Having just returned from the very tough Ironbike two weeks previously, with Jane not sure of her form and insisting she was going to take it easy. I was prepared for a holiday of cycle touring through the Black Forest.
After a nice 8k of neutralised zone, we stopped and prepared for the race start proper. Go, and everyone got off and walked the first uphill. Once over the top,we with met some fire road where kb kicked off with jd on his wheel. Jane soon responded and I began to yo-yo off the back. At the next fire road climb, Jane took the front and I found my climbing legs to just about hang with her. She'll soon ease up. I thought, she hasn't got the km's in her legs. 4 hours 24 minutes later I'm still hanging on as we cross the line in 5th place of the mixed category. Still she won't be able to do that tomorrow.... We are 25 seconds behind the 4th placed Bad Wildbad team.
Stage 2: Bad Wildbad - Bad Schapbach.
A lesson taught, a lesson learnt:
We get a good start on a steep asphalt track, putting distance into everyone around us. After a bit of up and down with me hanging onto Jane's wheel, I notice her body language change and the pace quicken slightly. This can mean only one thing........another mixed team ahead! They turn out to be the very strong 3rd placed team who put 25 minutes into us yesterday. My idea is to hang on to their wheel as long as we can, Jane has other ideas. And, in the true belligerent style of a young Lance Armstrong attacking 'le Patron'. She launches an attack on the next rise, they immediately respond and after about 10 minutes flat out, we drop back with a bloodied nose ;) and they rocket off into the distance. We'd like to think that we gave them a scare, but in reality I think we amused them :-) This has pushed me into the red and we have to ease a while to recover. On the last climb, a hike section, I hear a female voice. I see one of the mixed teams and JD. Jane puts puts on a spurt and rides the ridiculously muddy technical downhill(that has lots of people over the bars, notably our own Jim :-)) into the arena to finish 4th mixed. 46 seconds in front of Bad Wildbad. We are 4th overall mixed by 21 seconds!
Stage 3: Bad Schapbach - Wolfach
'Apply pressure relentless pressure, no mistakes' - kb
The Bad Wildbad team came past us just after the fist climb today, with JD in tow. She gave us her wheel and pulled us back to them. We rode with them from now on, Markus puting in strong bursts whenever the trail was flat. Jane's descending improved a lot today and in some instances they were holding us up on the way down. At around five km to go Jane began to weaken a little, changes in pace don't suit her very well, and they began to creep away slightly. At two km to go they made their move. As they attacked all out on the last climb I saw Markus jump off his bike and pull at his chain. He'd jammed his chain around the bottom bracket. Pressure applied mistakes made; now we attacked. He saw us coming and picked up his bike and ran. As we passed him Petra was waiting at the top of the last technical descent, he shouted for her to go, go! Toooo late! Jane had spotted this and cut the corner into the downhill, getting in front now she couldn't hold us up. We came out of the descent onto a small road and a few hundred metres to the finish. Jane was gone in a flash and I had to chase hard, we looked at each other and wondered if we should wait for them and ride back together. We settled for offering commiserations once we'd crossed the line ;-)
Stage 4: Wolfach - Schonach
Hitch a lift on the pink train
Today's stage looked to be the stage for us, a nice hilly profile of six km climb to start and an 8km climb in the middle. We now had 90 seconds on our fifth place rivals Bad Wildbad. We decided to ride with them and let them work for it. Somehow we managed to get in front of them on the first climb and just before it became tight singletrack for the next three km, Jane pushed hard to get past a very slow team struggling as the climb steepened. Result!! No one would be able to pass them for 3 km's. We pushed hard now to get some distance on the other paired teams and then cruised the rest of the stage, staying out of the red and taking it easy, and at one point hanging on to the back of the Pink Ladies as they hammered past on a flat bit. In their haste to catch us our rivals took a wrong turn and lost time(suspiciously JD was with them:)
Stage 5: Schonach - Engen
Out on the wiley and windy moors we'd roll and fall in green....' kb
116 km a bad stage for us. Not the distance,but the profile. A pimple at either end with around 40 km of rolling stuff in the middle. This was a stage for the strong riders and flat landers. We expected to lose time on this stage and maybe even 4th place. We got over the first bump well with our rivals nowhere in sight. On the early part of the flat section some of the bigger boys and girls started to pass us. Then Bad Wildbad passed us going very strongly, slosely followed by the mixed swiss team of Max and Birgit. This was the oldest team in the race, and Max is bulit like a horse and sooo strong on the flat. We just had to watch them go. Some time later, Frank and Irina of the Vaude team eased up to our wheel. They waited a minute or two, must have decided that we were having a bad day and attacked. I was very impressed because it was sooooooo slick. Irina came through very fast on the opposite side of the track alone. When we didn't react Frank sprinted past and slotted straight in front of Irina, who hadn't changed pace at all. And they were gone... fabulous! We kept to our plan of damage limitation and rode steadily, begging for the hills to arrive soon.
Stage 6: Engen - Grafenburg
Team tactics - putting a man up the road.
This stage starts with a six km climb, good for us, but at the top of the climb the race is stopped. There is a wild bull on the trail! After ten minutes, the race slowly resumes and we pass the most beautiful fluffy long haired 'teddy cow 'corralled behind an electric fence. This effectively removes any advantage we had just gained on our rivals. We set off hard, knowing that bad Wildbad are close behind. We hold them off until the flat section around the midway point, when they come barrelling past on the otherside of the trail. Jane immediately jumps onto Petra's wheel and tucks in. I take a little while to bridge the gap, Markus is pulling us along at 40 kph! I wonder how long we can hold this,and how long Markus can too. We hit the bottom of the next steep climb at this speed and they slow up dramatically. This catapults us up the climb and we hit it hard. We meet Jim and Paul here and ride the rest of the climb with them. At the top they give us a tow and we start to put some time into Bad Wildbad. At the check point I sprint ahead grab a bottle of water and Jane rides straight through, Paul and Jim stop to eat. Ten minutes later they catch us again and report that they hadn't seen Bad Wildbad. They have though, pulled the Belgian mixed team up to us. We let Paul and Jim go, and ride for a while with the Belgians. We drop them on the last climb of the day and they come in behind us, but in front of Bad Wildbad.
Stage 7: Grafenburg - Niederhof.
float like a butterly...... Mohammed Ali
Our rivals, Bad Wildbad are seen riding up and down the hill at the start. Warming up, for one last ditch attack? No point, Jane is absolutley flying today and I spend the whole stage just hanging on to her wheel! There are two small small glitches: when we take a sharp left hand bend and there's a small patch of gravel in the centre. I see Jane's front wheel slide and then the back. She recovers the slide but must have grabbed a handful of front brake and is almost stationary when the bike endos and pushes her to the ground. She's back up quickly, but has lost a bit of confidence on the next couple of bends. Then a couple of km away from the finish I see Jane wobbling around and looking at her leg. She's been stung by a wasp! We push on and cross the finishing line, where a glass of beer and a finishers tee shirt are thrust into our hands!
Epilogue: A great race in a beautiful part of Germany. Made all the more fantastic by having our own pit babe the lco, who for a plate of frits and a glass of beer looked after us all week. We met some great people, who helped make it a great trip: Team pink ladies and their pit babe, Rolf and Adrian, Markus and Petra, Frank and Irina, Nel and Michel, Rik, Kai, Sebastian....
Raymond
The race begins:
Having just returned from the very tough Ironbike two weeks previously, with Jane not sure of her form and insisting she was going to take it easy. I was prepared for a holiday of cycle touring through the Black Forest.
After a nice 8k of neutralised zone, we stopped and prepared for the race start proper. Go, and everyone got off and walked the first uphill. Once over the top,we with met some fire road where kb kicked off with jd on his wheel. Jane soon responded and I began to yo-yo off the back. At the next fire road climb, Jane took the front and I found my climbing legs to just about hang with her. She'll soon ease up. I thought, she hasn't got the km's in her legs. 4 hours 24 minutes later I'm still hanging on as we cross the line in 5th place of the mixed category. Still she won't be able to do that tomorrow.... We are 25 seconds behind the 4th placed Bad Wildbad team.
Stage 2: Bad Wildbad - Bad Schapbach.
A lesson taught, a lesson learnt:
We get a good start on a steep asphalt track, putting distance into everyone around us. After a bit of up and down with me hanging onto Jane's wheel, I notice her body language change and the pace quicken slightly. This can mean only one thing........another mixed team ahead! They turn out to be the very strong 3rd placed team who put 25 minutes into us yesterday. My idea is to hang on to their wheel as long as we can, Jane has other ideas. And, in the true belligerent style of a young Lance Armstrong attacking 'le Patron'. She launches an attack on the next rise, they immediately respond and after about 10 minutes flat out, we drop back with a bloodied nose ;) and they rocket off into the distance. We'd like to think that we gave them a scare, but in reality I think we amused them :-) This has pushed me into the red and we have to ease a while to recover. On the last climb, a hike section, I hear a female voice. I see one of the mixed teams and JD. Jane puts puts on a spurt and rides the ridiculously muddy technical downhill(that has lots of people over the bars, notably our own Jim :-)) into the arena to finish 4th mixed. 46 seconds in front of Bad Wildbad. We are 4th overall mixed by 21 seconds!
Stage 3: Bad Schapbach - Wolfach
'Apply pressure relentless pressure, no mistakes' - kb
The Bad Wildbad team came past us just after the fist climb today, with JD in tow. She gave us her wheel and pulled us back to them. We rode with them from now on, Markus puting in strong bursts whenever the trail was flat. Jane's descending improved a lot today and in some instances they were holding us up on the way down. At around five km to go Jane began to weaken a little, changes in pace don't suit her very well, and they began to creep away slightly. At two km to go they made their move. As they attacked all out on the last climb I saw Markus jump off his bike and pull at his chain. He'd jammed his chain around the bottom bracket. Pressure applied mistakes made; now we attacked. He saw us coming and picked up his bike and ran. As we passed him Petra was waiting at the top of the last technical descent, he shouted for her to go, go! Toooo late! Jane had spotted this and cut the corner into the downhill, getting in front now she couldn't hold us up. We came out of the descent onto a small road and a few hundred metres to the finish. Jane was gone in a flash and I had to chase hard, we looked at each other and wondered if we should wait for them and ride back together. We settled for offering commiserations once we'd crossed the line ;-)
Stage 4: Wolfach - Schonach
Hitch a lift on the pink train
Today's stage looked to be the stage for us, a nice hilly profile of six km climb to start and an 8km climb in the middle. We now had 90 seconds on our fifth place rivals Bad Wildbad. We decided to ride with them and let them work for it. Somehow we managed to get in front of them on the first climb and just before it became tight singletrack for the next three km, Jane pushed hard to get past a very slow team struggling as the climb steepened. Result!! No one would be able to pass them for 3 km's. We pushed hard now to get some distance on the other paired teams and then cruised the rest of the stage, staying out of the red and taking it easy, and at one point hanging on to the back of the Pink Ladies as they hammered past on a flat bit. In their haste to catch us our rivals took a wrong turn and lost time(suspiciously JD was with them:)
Stage 5: Schonach - Engen
Out on the wiley and windy moors we'd roll and fall in green....' kb
116 km a bad stage for us. Not the distance,but the profile. A pimple at either end with around 40 km of rolling stuff in the middle. This was a stage for the strong riders and flat landers. We expected to lose time on this stage and maybe even 4th place. We got over the first bump well with our rivals nowhere in sight. On the early part of the flat section some of the bigger boys and girls started to pass us. Then Bad Wildbad passed us going very strongly, slosely followed by the mixed swiss team of Max and Birgit. This was the oldest team in the race, and Max is bulit like a horse and sooo strong on the flat. We just had to watch them go. Some time later, Frank and Irina of the Vaude team eased up to our wheel. They waited a minute or two, must have decided that we were having a bad day and attacked. I was very impressed because it was sooooooo slick. Irina came through very fast on the opposite side of the track alone. When we didn't react Frank sprinted past and slotted straight in front of Irina, who hadn't changed pace at all. And they were gone... fabulous! We kept to our plan of damage limitation and rode steadily, begging for the hills to arrive soon.
Stage 6: Engen - Grafenburg
Team tactics - putting a man up the road.
This stage starts with a six km climb, good for us, but at the top of the climb the race is stopped. There is a wild bull on the trail! After ten minutes, the race slowly resumes and we pass the most beautiful fluffy long haired 'teddy cow 'corralled behind an electric fence. This effectively removes any advantage we had just gained on our rivals. We set off hard, knowing that bad Wildbad are close behind. We hold them off until the flat section around the midway point, when they come barrelling past on the otherside of the trail. Jane immediately jumps onto Petra's wheel and tucks in. I take a little while to bridge the gap, Markus is pulling us along at 40 kph! I wonder how long we can hold this,and how long Markus can too. We hit the bottom of the next steep climb at this speed and they slow up dramatically. This catapults us up the climb and we hit it hard. We meet Jim and Paul here and ride the rest of the climb with them. At the top they give us a tow and we start to put some time into Bad Wildbad. At the check point I sprint ahead grab a bottle of water and Jane rides straight through, Paul and Jim stop to eat. Ten minutes later they catch us again and report that they hadn't seen Bad Wildbad. They have though, pulled the Belgian mixed team up to us. We let Paul and Jim go, and ride for a while with the Belgians. We drop them on the last climb of the day and they come in behind us, but in front of Bad Wildbad.
Stage 7: Grafenburg - Niederhof.
float like a butterly...... Mohammed Ali
Our rivals, Bad Wildbad are seen riding up and down the hill at the start. Warming up, for one last ditch attack? No point, Jane is absolutley flying today and I spend the whole stage just hanging on to her wheel! There are two small small glitches: when we take a sharp left hand bend and there's a small patch of gravel in the centre. I see Jane's front wheel slide and then the back. She recovers the slide but must have grabbed a handful of front brake and is almost stationary when the bike endos and pushes her to the ground. She's back up quickly, but has lost a bit of confidence on the next couple of bends. Then a couple of km away from the finish I see Jane wobbling around and looking at her leg. She's been stung by a wasp! We push on and cross the finishing line, where a glass of beer and a finishers tee shirt are thrust into our hands!
Epilogue: A great race in a beautiful part of Germany. Made all the more fantastic by having our own pit babe the lco, who for a plate of frits and a glass of beer looked after us all week. We met some great people, who helped make it a great trip: Team pink ladies and their pit babe, Rolf and Adrian, Markus and Petra, Frank and Irina, Nel and Michel, Rik, Kai, Sebastian....
Raymond
Ironbike Italy
The big storm closed Gatwick airport at lunch time for a short while, just long enough to stop our flight to Turin. We were given a flight from Heathrow to Paris, and then Paris to Turin the next day(with overnight accomodation thrown in.)Four hours later we arrived at Heathrow, our flight was delayed three hours. So,in Paris after midnight we only had three hours to check in. We slept on the floor. At check in we were charged for excess luggage,Paul disagreed and asked for our luggage to be taken off the plane. So we missed that flight. Five hours later we arrived in Turin and were met by Gianfranco and after a bonkers two hour drive with Gianfranco at times with his specs over his sunglasses to see signs, we arrived at Entracque(pron.Entrakway) the village depart. Gianfranco became a good friend, and was the man to know. He and the chef helped us out a lot.
The prologue itself consisted of ski run into the village. The course was about 1.5 km., with two 30%+ descents on grass! A couple of km's climbing on asphalt to reach the start showed that three hours of sleep is not a good way to start an eight day race :-)
Stage 1 - Entracque to San Damiano
At 80km this was to be a nice introduction to Ironbike.We started on a nice long asphalt descent for 6 km. Then a steep off-road climb which immediately had me in the 22/34 which I didn't change for the whole 8km!!I caught Paul on the first off-road descent, which was unusual. When we hit a descent I normally don't see him again! He said he was having trouble getting used to riding a hardtail. The terrain ensured that over the next few days he relearned the ways of the hardtail:-)On an exposed singletrack section at the top with Paul riding behind me, the helicopter suddenly appeared from behind the mountain in front of us, I think the pilot was enjoying himself in the Apocalypse Now style. He then swooped towards quite closely and as he passed the force from the rotors blew me off the bike. Cue....Bernard Manning style jokes from Paul about me "getting blown off" as he rode past.On the last asphalt climb to the finish I saw a group working together in front so I eased up to them and we worked together for the last few km's. The approach to the town lit up by the low sun was stunning, and the church front glowed golden in it's rays.Campo base here was in a beautiful sunny field and tea was held in the small piazza in town.
Altogether a nice steady ride to introduce the Ironbike. Ride time for me was about 6hrs.24m. Paul was 6.38San Damiano is named after the run down church in Assisi, where St Francis(one of my favourite saints)heard the word of God from the painted cross, telling him to restore God's house. After repairing St Damiano, Francis later realised that God meant him to restore the Church as a whole:-) aww bless... Wiki
Stage 2 - San Damiano to La Condamine
Today we needed lights!!Over the top of the first climb I start to descend some really rough stuff and a couple of hikers start to shout "Bolsa, bolsa and point at me. I stop and remember that bolsa means bag. My under saddle bag is swinging loose only held on by a few threads. As I move off the trail Paul passes, that's the last I'll see of him I think. It takes a couple of minutes to find some way to tie my bag on and I set off. This is a great slightly cambered singletrack and very fast and enjoyable. But, less than five minutes later I see Paul, this time he's in trouble by the trail... I stop.His rear brake rotor has come loose and the bolts are lost. He has two in his hand, I reason that three should hold it and take one of mine from the rear.The trail now enters a huge rockfield with big drops and slabs of slick rock. I overtake team mamiani here and make good time until I find a gap that the front wheel fits perfectly and I go over the bars. I hang back a to see if Paul's ok, he catches up and then sprints past for the finish of the special stage.At the CP luckily there's a mechanic and he has spare rotor bolts for us both, and we set off together. On a long fast asphalt descent, I notice that it's getting quite cold. After crossing a few beautiful bridges and through small tunnels, we head to the next climb.After starting the climb of the Col de Vars, with a group, I find myself with just a Catalunyan guy at the top. We work together on the descent which takes us to Les Claux. Here, I'm a little bit confused as we pull into a cable car station. Senor Catalan explains that we take a car up the mountain!......bonkers, I must have missed this in the briefing. We share, then spend a nice ten minutes talking about why Catalunya is not in Spain:-) We disembark and ride part way back down the mountain to get on a chairlift over the next part of the mountain. Here the nice French operator bloke takes my bike, stands me on the platform, gives me the bike to hold at chest height and points over my shoulder. At that moment a chair swings in behind me and sweeps my legs from underneath me and I'm away up the mountain trying desperately to hold my bike and grip the swinging seat with my buttocks. Once the seat stops rocking about I find I can pass one arm through the frame work of the armrest and relax a bit. At this point Paul passes underneath on his way to the station.At the top the next descent is footpath designated and the race is only allowed to use it if we respect this and don't ride.From the check point at the bottom we climb the 10km col de Parpaillon on wide off-road double track. Then we discover why we need lights, at the summit is the Tunnel de Parpaillon.
Taken from the Internet Landrover Club website: The road was built by the french army's corps of engineers in the late1800's. What makes it special is the high altitude of 2656m and the 800m longtunnel on top. After the invention of tarmac the neighbouring Col de Vars wasgranted a hard surface as it offered access to the same regions at 500m loweraltitude.
We were stopped at the mouth of the Tunnel by French soldiers and given rather fetching and warm looking green quilted jackets. I declined the offer and set off into the dark.....it was freeeeeezing!!!. It was full of huge puddles of crank deep icy water, I was shaking with cold when I eventually got to the other side of the tunnel.Now only an 18km off-road descent of loose gravel hairpins to finish..hurrah! Five km's later I have to stop to rest my hands and feet! And then again...etc. The last few km's are fabulous rocky singletrack switchbacks which drop us into camp.distance - 118kmI came in at 11hrs 15mins and Paul 11.34
From the IB site:As a note: applause to the French tandem team that after the stage was obligedto abandon the race, for a technical problem. They trained so hard! And weredefeated by the brakes (two sets has been changed since the beginning of theIB!).
Stage 3 - La Condamine to Barge
The Bargesi throw a party.
At breakfast it throws it down! It's not looking good as we line up to start in the pouring rain at 7'C, and so 20 riders decide not to start today. The stage started as a long 20 km grey climb that lasted for ever, I met Paul at the CP and where everything suddenly got better. A switch to narrow singletrack with a huge drop to the left and then some stupid steep rocky descents where I was able to overtake lots of people who were walking. Some hikers went past in the opposite direction and I said 'Good morning' and one said "are you English? We're walking to the Med."....bonkers!At the next CP it was blisteringly hot and Paul sat in a van, before we attacked the Col de Longet. A lot of this was a very difficult carry, sometimes climbing and the dragging the bike up after or helping other riders to pull their bikes up. As the col opened out it revealed beautiful lakes and huge grassy prairees. Then up 15 km's to the Colle del Prete and back into Italy for 20 km's of very technical downhill, culminating in some woodsy singletrack to Barge. My feet are sore!!!! Barge is a special town for the Ironbike and the Bargesi put on a special party in our honour. In the large sports hall of today's campo base (pron. bazzay), rows of tables had been laid with bread, wine and water. Center stage was the local crooner singing along to backing tracks. The songs were performed in Italian, but were almost recognisable British pop songs. A few notes would ring a bell and you'd think 'I know this one!' and then it would slip back into a soupy euro schmaltzy croon:-) ...absolutely fabulous!
I retired to bed early to catch up on some sleep. The Bargesi had other ideas. Half an hour later there was a loud bang, the ground shook and the sky lit up! The fireworks!! I'd forgotten about them and they were directly above. I lay, trying to ignore them for a while, but then got paranoid that sparks might set my tent alight.Paul was outside enjoying the spectacle, as were the locals. Who'd lined up chairs in an orderly fashion to sit and watch the show. It looked like a night at the opera as everyone sat, clapped and applauded each individual battery of fireworks. Until the grand finale when everyone cheered to a standing ovation. This seemed to be how it was done. Each time there was a show the locals would sit in a quite restrained manner to be entertained, and then show their appreciation with rousing applause. L'Italia è bella :-)
distance 116 km
Today I took 11.00 and Paul 11.30
Stage 4 - Barge to Torre Pellice
The lost hour.
Today was a later start after last night's celebrations, and consequently everyone felt relaxed and that it was all over bar the shouting. Even when Claudia announced that an hour was being taken off today's limit no one batted an eyelid.At the 9.00 am start it was already very hot and we set off up a baking asphalt climb out of Barge. This first climb was effectively 26 km's and soon moved onto a steep tree covered off road climb that became very dark and humid. Here I found Paul crouched over his bike. I stopped to help, but he said he was ok and I rolled on. After passing colle de Rucas, a renowned ski resort, we topped out on the colleto Super Valanza. The descent was a wide white chalky powdered track into a quarry, with huge lorries full of stone coming in the opposite direction. From the ironbike website:.....From Rucas athletes go up and down the Col Valanza (1530 m) passing on rough streets full of stones falled down from the trucks that work in this area. Infact, in this valley, the famous “stone of Barge” is produced. It is used for pavements and roofs, all over the world. I took a wrong turn here but was called back almost immediately by the riders Paul was with. I only lost about 500m but it took half an hour to get back up to Paul, he was strong today. After some rolling up and down stuff, we suddenly came to an almost vertical climb. Paul shows me how to shoulder the bike and we hike-a-bike to the top. An almost as steep descent follows where Paul goes over the bars on a muddy section. He's ok, so I roll on.At the CP Paul rolls in just as I'm about to leave and says we'd better hurry, there's only four hours to get back.There's a short descent which leads to the climb of the day ,15 km's the rifiugio Barant. The climb began with an impossibly steep asphalt section, I was in 32/34 and standing for the few km's. After five km's the road became a rough double track, now in the sun the temperature was 35'C plus. The road winds up and up, I glue myself to the backwheel of a friendly Italian rider. I ask the time at the top and realise that It's taken three hours and have an hour to cover almost 30 km's , luckily it's all downhill.....according to the map anyway. I need to be back before 6.30pmI have to average 30kph! I set off down the loose gravel off-road hairpinned descent, as fast as I dare go, the bike sliding around all over the place. But, as is always the case in Ironbike the downs are full of ups too! And I now feel time slipping away from me, this starts doing things to me emotionallyAt first I start to feel angry with ironbike for taking an hour off todays time limit and have a bit of a shout at them. Next I'm frustrated with myself for being weak and not training hard enough, so I have a bit of a shout at myself. Then I start to think about all of the people who've wished me well, and I'm consumed with an enormous and overwhelming sense of shame. Shame that I'm out of the race already, shame that I'm not trying hard enough, shame that I'm letting everybody down, shame that everyone's faith in me is being squandered.I think about each person who has wished me well : Jane, LCO, Maam, tios Grim and Beryl, Greg, The mighty D, KB..... Then the weird stuff happens and I start crying, sobbing with tears running down my face. I start to draw a lot of strength from this, then I pray........Is this the road to Damascus?15 km's of asphalt left and I'm flying, big ring and chain fully to the right. I like to think I'm gritting my teeth, but it somehow feels like a beatific grin :-). It's still very close and I cross the finish line and knowing that I'm within a few minutes either side of 6.30. I ask a guy watching the race what the time is and he says 5.27 and I think excellent three minutes inside the time.As I walk away I realise that he said five not six, and I walk back and say six? "No, five" he says.I'm too weirded to work out what has happened, so I get my bag and tent.On the way in I hear "Vegeteriano!" and see Chef waving to me. He's found me some Italiano veggie burgers and gives me a packet. It seems I've become his pet Vegetariano solo- their term for vegan :-) Just another example of how considerate and friendly the IB is.Tonight we camp inside an ice rink and pitch the tents on the concrete base, the other end is set up for tea. I have a little lie down and and Paul comes over and says " Did you make the cut off?" I said. "Yes" And he tells me that he didn't. I then explain that we didn't need to be in until 6.30 and he smiles. We work out that somehow he'd heard we'd got nine hours to finish(which we had after deducting an hour from the original ten hours)and had taken the hour from the nine. So, he thought we'd only got eight hours for the day!After tea I noticed Claudia had posted something on the wall. It was a print out of the messages that friends and family had put on the website. It was wonderful, everybody I been thinking about earlier had sent us both well wishes and luck. Now I had that stupid happy grin again.Later, I wandered the short way into town. Torre Pellice (pron.torray pelleechay) had put on a little show for us in the main piazza. It was about 10pm and a gently warm evening, people were sitting eating gelato, walking arm in arm or just chatting in groups. In the piazza they were sitting in orderly rows, oldsters all in deck chairs watching the show.The show was a middle aged songstress in tight jeans 'giving it large' to trashy europop, ie Born to be alive..etc - with a gaggle of local teen girls doing an enthusiastic synchronised dance routine in the background. Stupendous!!!!
distance 78km
I take 7.57 and Paul 8.26
Stage 5 - Torre Pellice to Pragelato
La Scala Reale (The Royal Stair Case)
We roll out of Torre Pellice on cobbles to start the huge 20km first climb to the colle de Vaccera, then we have a nice technical downhill to follow.Sometime later I find myself on a long steep busy road, when I hear shouting. I look across and on the other side of the river I see three IB riders, somehow I've missed a sign so turn back and find a bridge a km or so down the road. The trail now wanders along the river, occasionally crossing bridges for forays into small hamlets and then back to the river. I pass Jurgen the friendly Austrian fixing a flat and wailing in despair"It voz a nail" he says. "A nail, a nail on ze road, how can zis be?" and as I ride up the road I can still hear "A nail, a nail on ze road.....how?"A little further on I meet Paul, he's in a bad way, so I decide to ride with him. we ride past huge beautiful lakes and gradually the huge fort of Fenestrelle comes into view. Rising up the side of the valley and perched on the top of a pinnacle is a fairy tale style castle. We cross the road, enter the walls and zig zag our way up a steep ramp to the gate. And shoulder the bikes for a wide set of stone steps to the court yard. This is the start of a special stage and has a CP stacked with food, Paul tells me to try the bread and tomato and...........
......today was the day I discovered bruschetta (pron.brooshkettah locally) At home we might call it tomato sandwiches. In Italy it is a devine feast! Ingredients: A hunk of bread, some chopped tomato, some basil, some sunshine, lots of laughing and loads of loud talking! Ridiculously tasty, it made me bend double in delight :-)
We decided to get moving and rolled down to the start of the special stage, as we got there Paul stopped to fiddle with his bike and I set off. Paul came through the start a minute or so later and called up to me. I stopped and waited for him and we hiked and carried the bikes the 4 km or so of steep spiral track that wound it's way around the peak to the top.Now is the bit we've been waiting for, the Scala Reale 900 steps back down to where we started the climb. Initially the steps are rideable and then we move into the fort and so pitch blackness, now the height of the steps starts to vary and some are missing altogether. In the darkest parts volunteers are shining torches. I try to bail out on one of these sections and hit the wall with my shoulder, leaving a lovely manly graze on my right deltoid. Once outside again we ride bits and walk bits, quite disappointed at how much we have to walk. At the bottom Paul nips past to the stage finish.
Meanwhile at the front of the race sometime earlier:from the IB site-Many of them make all steps on the saddle (unbelivable) others, instead, come down with the bike on the shoulder. It’s exactly on one of those external starways that the brazilian rider does not succeed to brake properly. He falls down, careless of the safety protections. He raises immediately after, under the eyes of emergency personnel that was there to take care of him. He starts again and continues with a scratched arm, while the Cezck Sibl Radoslav and his fried Miroslav were behind him, fighting with the steps of the covered stairway.The fall, gives the brasilian a new force, never seen. He assults the steps with increased determination and comes down until he reaches the square at the feet of the fortress. He detaches Sibl of 6 minutes by because of coefficient 2, minutes become 12. Therefor, in the general classement Hugo Prado Neto is always 2nd but with just 25 points of distance from Sibl.
Now it's just a steady 12 km to Pragelato. It's very hot and the steady ride turns out to be a roller coaster of short sharp climbs each higher than the next, followed by cruel sharp descents that steal any height gained. Paul is seriously flagging now and getting slower and slower, I ease back to wait several times. Eventually we reach the outskirts of the town and are joined by a group of Belgian guys, one them of does a bit of a jokey sprint as we approach the finish and because I'm feeling a bit fresh from riding slowly with Paul, I have a bit of a dig too. Great fun.
Tonight's camp is in a pine wood at the edge of town, and we pitch between the trees.I go down to tea, and see Paul and he says I've checked the results and we're still in the race and under 50,000 points. We managed to get some potatoes which is unusual and delicious.I decide to go back to get my gps that I've left charging in the massage room. While I'm there I have look at the results. It's true we are still in the race, but I notice that Paul is now above me in the standings. I assume that they've made a mistake and reversed our finishing times, but can't understand why Paul didn't mention it earlier when he checked the points. At this point Paul and Claus appear and I say 'I think they've mixed us up when we came in today. Paul then explains that it's not only where you come overall but also how fast you do the special stages and today's special stage was double points.I feel that this is crazy , because it feels like I been penalised by the race for helping a mate when he wasn't going to well.I could have ridden back by myself and saved time, in fact I could have pressed on at the fort when he held back at the beginning of the special stage and called up to me, when I waited. Or when I helped with his rotor and he jumped past at the end of the special stage.............er hold on a minute. And the day after the rotor incident when he suddenly jumped ahead over the special stage finish line, which I mentioned at the time and he said "It doesn't make any difference, you started after me". ............mmmm.As I lay in my tent I started laughing to myself when I realised what could have been happening :-)Did he know all along? As I write this I hear a loud and definite shout in reply from those who know Paul....." Of course he did! It's soooooo Paul" ................ But, I'm not sure.Tomorrow is the day I'm looking forward to, we go to Mount Chaberton!
90km
I took 9.26 Paul 9.29
Stage 6 - Pragelato to Mont Chaberton
The Queen stage:
At breakfast it was announced that only the first 50 people reaching the last Check point would race on to Fort Chaberton, where they would spend the night in the ruins.I was bitterly disappointed, my whole reason for the trip was to climb the mountain to Chaberton - the symbol of the whole race to me. I was lying around 65th at the time and felt like pulling out of the race there and then.
But, first we have to be taken to the start of the race, this means a 15 minute freezing cold chair lift to the top of the mountain. This time I accept their kind offer of a warm green quilted jacket. I wear it like a smoking jacket, but for some reason the danish men amongst us snatch this opportunity to wear it as a skirt! I don't know much about Denmark and so must accept this behaviour as normal :-) Here is where I pick up my first real injury of the race. As the chair swings under my legs, the chain ring stabs into my knee cap and draws blood....ouch!
The start of the stage was a fast, and in places, very steep wooded singletrack. I managed to get a good start not far behind the fast boys and was able to hold on through the technical descent. A fast wide trail then ran alongside the river where I could roll a big gear. The next section was an asphalt climb of about eight km's. I attacked this as hard as I could out of the saddle all the way up. Later I spotted Ludmilla and tried to stay with her. Another eight km's or so of off-road double track followed and then some ups and downs, where the air smelled strongly of coriander. I couldn't see any, but it was incredibly strong and and made me feel a little bit giddy with it's pungency......delicious. This led to a sharp peak with antennae on top. This was a hike-a-bike section extreme! I had fitted my ironbike carrying strap (...... patent pending:-)) and used it in anger for the first time.At the CP at the top I saw Benoit, one of the Belgians who bears a striking resemblance to Paul's favourite tdf rider... Vinikourov, tucking into the food. I thought he must be having a bad day as I've never ridden in his company before. I passed through and left him there.The next 14km was a mix of off-road, road and singletrack descent that dropped me into the CP and to my disbelief people are still setting off to Chaberton! I run around trying to find if I can still go and Lana and Andre grab my bike take it to the front and I run to get some food. They and Gianfranco push me over the line with a jam sandwich.
-Lana and Andre were a wonderful dutch couple we met in the food queue on the first night in Entraque. Andre was racing the Ironbike himself, but crashed out quite spectacularly on day two and spent the rest of the week wearing a neck brace and hobbling around on crutches -
My mind is still a blur, as I set off for Chaberton. I made it, then whoops! I nearly go off a loose bend. I get a bit paranoid in case I crash and don't make it. Then a flying thing gets under my helmet strap and stings or bites me, it's very painful and now I start to worry about anaphalaxis preventing me from finishing today :-) It's now very hot as I start the first part of the climb, some locals pass water to me and one woman runs alongside me and tips a full jug of ice cold water over my groin!!! I yell loudly in shock and everybody laughs - it must be how they amuse themselves in the mountains :-)
Mount Chaberton on Google earth here: You need google earth installed on your machine.
From here we head off-road, at first shaded by trees and then opens up to the grey rock of the mountain itself. Soon it's impossible to ride and I start to push, the track becomes narrower and much more rocky and I shoulder the bike using my carrying device. An hour later and I drink the last of my water and I have no food. It is still blisteringly hot. I assume that there will be water on the trail somewhere, but I can't see anything as I look up the mountain - only the track winding on for ever. For the next two hours I carry the bike, occasionally getting a chance to push it on the smoother sections. I'm beginning to feel quite thirsty and dizzy from hunger. Now the mountain rears up quite steeply and as I look up, I see a figure walking quite sprightly down the trail. I say hello and he says. " I am hiking to Cesana. I have told them to send water down, everyone has been asking for water. Do you have water?" I say I have no food or water. He replies " I have no water, but I have some biscuits." And before I can protest he hands me half a dozen. I thank him, put them into my pack and press on. Now is the real test. I'm a vegan, but are the biscuits? I'm feeling very hungry and quite dizzy from the low blood sugar. I decide that I can't be sure if the biscuits are safe for me to eat. I look to see if my friendly benefactor is nearby, he's not. I cast the biscuits down the mountain, so that they can't tempt me anymore. I rationalise this by telling myself that "I'm hungry, but not starving" In my addled state I start to think it was a test, the IB is testing me to see if I am strong enough. "Yes, that's it, it was a test" I say to myself......... "Get thee behind me Satan, begone!" ........ :-)
An hour later, I'm three hairpin bends from the finish and breathing is a little more difficult at over three thousand metres of altitude. I carry the bike for 30 steps and rest, 30 steps and rest....... until the top hoves into view and I see the finish line, I stagger across and they write down my number and that's it! No cheers, no fanfare just my rasping breath. I see a bottle of water on the table, take it and down it in one. All around people are lying around in the warm rays of the evening sun, all wearing red fleece jackets, black fleece leggings and white hats. Claudia grabs me and drags me into the ruined building and I am surprised to be walking in six inches of snow! And it's cold, freezing cold, I immediately begin to chill and shake. Claudia hands me a bundle of clothing and shows me to my bed in the snow. I rush outside to get some heat and get changed.
I find my bag that had been sent up - we had to hand in a small bag at registration, containing riding kit for the day after Chaberton - in it I had stashed two energy bars and packet of noodles. Once I'd devoured these, I started to feel a bit better and thought I'd better get a few photographs. I sat on the peak and asked Heinrich to take my picture, an oldish distinguished looking guy moved up next to me and smiled to the camera.
I didn't know who this chap was but found this later on the IB website:
Turin Major Chiamparino climbed the Mountain by feet, in the morning,and wasthere to plause the first to come. He was together with the majors ofClavière,Cesana and Montgenèvre.
Politicians!..... never miss a photo opportunity:-)
I sit on the edge of the mountain and phone Jane in Ibiza, it sounds like she's a few feet away. Tentatively, she says. "Did you get up the mountain?" I say."yes". I hear Yaaaaaaaaaay! and then Yaaaaaaaaaay! in the background, it's LCO on the extension. After several euros worth of yaaaaaays(it's expensive to call Ibiza from Italy), Jane confesses that they'd been practising commiseration platitudes all day. Such as: Never mind I'm sure you tried your best, There's always next time.......etc. So I guess I must have caught them unprepared :-)
As the sun sets it begins to get very cold, someone lights a huge bonfire and warms up an equally huge vat of red wine. We tuck into some pasta..........siempre pasta!
The sky was so clear that you could see a billion stars.
The prologue itself consisted of ski run into the village. The course was about 1.5 km., with two 30%+ descents on grass! A couple of km's climbing on asphalt to reach the start showed that three hours of sleep is not a good way to start an eight day race :-)
Stage 1 - Entracque to San Damiano
At 80km this was to be a nice introduction to Ironbike.We started on a nice long asphalt descent for 6 km. Then a steep off-road climb which immediately had me in the 22/34 which I didn't change for the whole 8km!!I caught Paul on the first off-road descent, which was unusual. When we hit a descent I normally don't see him again! He said he was having trouble getting used to riding a hardtail. The terrain ensured that over the next few days he relearned the ways of the hardtail:-)On an exposed singletrack section at the top with Paul riding behind me, the helicopter suddenly appeared from behind the mountain in front of us, I think the pilot was enjoying himself in the Apocalypse Now style. He then swooped towards quite closely and as he passed the force from the rotors blew me off the bike. Cue....Bernard Manning style jokes from Paul about me "getting blown off" as he rode past.On the last asphalt climb to the finish I saw a group working together in front so I eased up to them and we worked together for the last few km's. The approach to the town lit up by the low sun was stunning, and the church front glowed golden in it's rays.Campo base here was in a beautiful sunny field and tea was held in the small piazza in town.
Altogether a nice steady ride to introduce the Ironbike. Ride time for me was about 6hrs.24m. Paul was 6.38San Damiano is named after the run down church in Assisi, where St Francis(one of my favourite saints)heard the word of God from the painted cross, telling him to restore God's house. After repairing St Damiano, Francis later realised that God meant him to restore the Church as a whole:-) aww bless... Wiki
Stage 2 - San Damiano to La Condamine
Today we needed lights!!Over the top of the first climb I start to descend some really rough stuff and a couple of hikers start to shout "Bolsa, bolsa and point at me. I stop and remember that bolsa means bag. My under saddle bag is swinging loose only held on by a few threads. As I move off the trail Paul passes, that's the last I'll see of him I think. It takes a couple of minutes to find some way to tie my bag on and I set off. This is a great slightly cambered singletrack and very fast and enjoyable. But, less than five minutes later I see Paul, this time he's in trouble by the trail... I stop.His rear brake rotor has come loose and the bolts are lost. He has two in his hand, I reason that three should hold it and take one of mine from the rear.The trail now enters a huge rockfield with big drops and slabs of slick rock. I overtake team mamiani here and make good time until I find a gap that the front wheel fits perfectly and I go over the bars. I hang back a to see if Paul's ok, he catches up and then sprints past for the finish of the special stage.At the CP luckily there's a mechanic and he has spare rotor bolts for us both, and we set off together. On a long fast asphalt descent, I notice that it's getting quite cold. After crossing a few beautiful bridges and through small tunnels, we head to the next climb.After starting the climb of the Col de Vars, with a group, I find myself with just a Catalunyan guy at the top. We work together on the descent which takes us to Les Claux. Here, I'm a little bit confused as we pull into a cable car station. Senor Catalan explains that we take a car up the mountain!......bonkers, I must have missed this in the briefing. We share, then spend a nice ten minutes talking about why Catalunya is not in Spain:-) We disembark and ride part way back down the mountain to get on a chairlift over the next part of the mountain. Here the nice French operator bloke takes my bike, stands me on the platform, gives me the bike to hold at chest height and points over my shoulder. At that moment a chair swings in behind me and sweeps my legs from underneath me and I'm away up the mountain trying desperately to hold my bike and grip the swinging seat with my buttocks. Once the seat stops rocking about I find I can pass one arm through the frame work of the armrest and relax a bit. At this point Paul passes underneath on his way to the station.At the top the next descent is footpath designated and the race is only allowed to use it if we respect this and don't ride.From the check point at the bottom we climb the 10km col de Parpaillon on wide off-road double track. Then we discover why we need lights, at the summit is the Tunnel de Parpaillon.
Taken from the Internet Landrover Club website: The road was built by the french army's corps of engineers in the late1800's. What makes it special is the high altitude of 2656m and the 800m longtunnel on top. After the invention of tarmac the neighbouring Col de Vars wasgranted a hard surface as it offered access to the same regions at 500m loweraltitude.
We were stopped at the mouth of the Tunnel by French soldiers and given rather fetching and warm looking green quilted jackets. I declined the offer and set off into the dark.....it was freeeeeezing!!!. It was full of huge puddles of crank deep icy water, I was shaking with cold when I eventually got to the other side of the tunnel.Now only an 18km off-road descent of loose gravel hairpins to finish..hurrah! Five km's later I have to stop to rest my hands and feet! And then again...etc. The last few km's are fabulous rocky singletrack switchbacks which drop us into camp.distance - 118kmI came in at 11hrs 15mins and Paul 11.34
From the IB site:As a note: applause to the French tandem team that after the stage was obligedto abandon the race, for a technical problem. They trained so hard! And weredefeated by the brakes (two sets has been changed since the beginning of theIB!).
Stage 3 - La Condamine to Barge
The Bargesi throw a party.
At breakfast it throws it down! It's not looking good as we line up to start in the pouring rain at 7'C, and so 20 riders decide not to start today. The stage started as a long 20 km grey climb that lasted for ever, I met Paul at the CP and where everything suddenly got better. A switch to narrow singletrack with a huge drop to the left and then some stupid steep rocky descents where I was able to overtake lots of people who were walking. Some hikers went past in the opposite direction and I said 'Good morning' and one said "are you English? We're walking to the Med."....bonkers!At the next CP it was blisteringly hot and Paul sat in a van, before we attacked the Col de Longet. A lot of this was a very difficult carry, sometimes climbing and the dragging the bike up after or helping other riders to pull their bikes up. As the col opened out it revealed beautiful lakes and huge grassy prairees. Then up 15 km's to the Colle del Prete and back into Italy for 20 km's of very technical downhill, culminating in some woodsy singletrack to Barge. My feet are sore!!!! Barge is a special town for the Ironbike and the Bargesi put on a special party in our honour. In the large sports hall of today's campo base (pron. bazzay), rows of tables had been laid with bread, wine and water. Center stage was the local crooner singing along to backing tracks. The songs were performed in Italian, but were almost recognisable British pop songs. A few notes would ring a bell and you'd think 'I know this one!' and then it would slip back into a soupy euro schmaltzy croon:-) ...absolutely fabulous!
I retired to bed early to catch up on some sleep. The Bargesi had other ideas. Half an hour later there was a loud bang, the ground shook and the sky lit up! The fireworks!! I'd forgotten about them and they were directly above. I lay, trying to ignore them for a while, but then got paranoid that sparks might set my tent alight.Paul was outside enjoying the spectacle, as were the locals. Who'd lined up chairs in an orderly fashion to sit and watch the show. It looked like a night at the opera as everyone sat, clapped and applauded each individual battery of fireworks. Until the grand finale when everyone cheered to a standing ovation. This seemed to be how it was done. Each time there was a show the locals would sit in a quite restrained manner to be entertained, and then show their appreciation with rousing applause. L'Italia è bella :-)
distance 116 km
Today I took 11.00 and Paul 11.30
Stage 4 - Barge to Torre Pellice
The lost hour.
Today was a later start after last night's celebrations, and consequently everyone felt relaxed and that it was all over bar the shouting. Even when Claudia announced that an hour was being taken off today's limit no one batted an eyelid.At the 9.00 am start it was already very hot and we set off up a baking asphalt climb out of Barge. This first climb was effectively 26 km's and soon moved onto a steep tree covered off road climb that became very dark and humid. Here I found Paul crouched over his bike. I stopped to help, but he said he was ok and I rolled on. After passing colle de Rucas, a renowned ski resort, we topped out on the colleto Super Valanza. The descent was a wide white chalky powdered track into a quarry, with huge lorries full of stone coming in the opposite direction. From the ironbike website:.....From Rucas athletes go up and down the Col Valanza (1530 m) passing on rough streets full of stones falled down from the trucks that work in this area. Infact, in this valley, the famous “stone of Barge” is produced. It is used for pavements and roofs, all over the world. I took a wrong turn here but was called back almost immediately by the riders Paul was with. I only lost about 500m but it took half an hour to get back up to Paul, he was strong today. After some rolling up and down stuff, we suddenly came to an almost vertical climb. Paul shows me how to shoulder the bike and we hike-a-bike to the top. An almost as steep descent follows where Paul goes over the bars on a muddy section. He's ok, so I roll on.At the CP Paul rolls in just as I'm about to leave and says we'd better hurry, there's only four hours to get back.There's a short descent which leads to the climb of the day ,15 km's the rifiugio Barant. The climb began with an impossibly steep asphalt section, I was in 32/34 and standing for the few km's. After five km's the road became a rough double track, now in the sun the temperature was 35'C plus. The road winds up and up, I glue myself to the backwheel of a friendly Italian rider. I ask the time at the top and realise that It's taken three hours and have an hour to cover almost 30 km's , luckily it's all downhill.....according to the map anyway. I need to be back before 6.30pmI have to average 30kph! I set off down the loose gravel off-road hairpinned descent, as fast as I dare go, the bike sliding around all over the place. But, as is always the case in Ironbike the downs are full of ups too! And I now feel time slipping away from me, this starts doing things to me emotionallyAt first I start to feel angry with ironbike for taking an hour off todays time limit and have a bit of a shout at them. Next I'm frustrated with myself for being weak and not training hard enough, so I have a bit of a shout at myself. Then I start to think about all of the people who've wished me well, and I'm consumed with an enormous and overwhelming sense of shame. Shame that I'm out of the race already, shame that I'm not trying hard enough, shame that I'm letting everybody down, shame that everyone's faith in me is being squandered.I think about each person who has wished me well : Jane, LCO, Maam, tios Grim and Beryl, Greg, The mighty D, KB..... Then the weird stuff happens and I start crying, sobbing with tears running down my face. I start to draw a lot of strength from this, then I pray........Is this the road to Damascus?15 km's of asphalt left and I'm flying, big ring and chain fully to the right. I like to think I'm gritting my teeth, but it somehow feels like a beatific grin :-). It's still very close and I cross the finish line and knowing that I'm within a few minutes either side of 6.30. I ask a guy watching the race what the time is and he says 5.27 and I think excellent three minutes inside the time.As I walk away I realise that he said five not six, and I walk back and say six? "No, five" he says.I'm too weirded to work out what has happened, so I get my bag and tent.On the way in I hear "Vegeteriano!" and see Chef waving to me. He's found me some Italiano veggie burgers and gives me a packet. It seems I've become his pet Vegetariano solo- their term for vegan :-) Just another example of how considerate and friendly the IB is.Tonight we camp inside an ice rink and pitch the tents on the concrete base, the other end is set up for tea. I have a little lie down and and Paul comes over and says " Did you make the cut off?" I said. "Yes" And he tells me that he didn't. I then explain that we didn't need to be in until 6.30 and he smiles. We work out that somehow he'd heard we'd got nine hours to finish(which we had after deducting an hour from the original ten hours)and had taken the hour from the nine. So, he thought we'd only got eight hours for the day!After tea I noticed Claudia had posted something on the wall. It was a print out of the messages that friends and family had put on the website. It was wonderful, everybody I been thinking about earlier had sent us both well wishes and luck. Now I had that stupid happy grin again.Later, I wandered the short way into town. Torre Pellice (pron.torray pelleechay) had put on a little show for us in the main piazza. It was about 10pm and a gently warm evening, people were sitting eating gelato, walking arm in arm or just chatting in groups. In the piazza they were sitting in orderly rows, oldsters all in deck chairs watching the show.The show was a middle aged songstress in tight jeans 'giving it large' to trashy europop, ie Born to be alive..etc - with a gaggle of local teen girls doing an enthusiastic synchronised dance routine in the background. Stupendous!!!!
distance 78km
I take 7.57 and Paul 8.26
Stage 5 - Torre Pellice to Pragelato
La Scala Reale (The Royal Stair Case)
We roll out of Torre Pellice on cobbles to start the huge 20km first climb to the colle de Vaccera, then we have a nice technical downhill to follow.Sometime later I find myself on a long steep busy road, when I hear shouting. I look across and on the other side of the river I see three IB riders, somehow I've missed a sign so turn back and find a bridge a km or so down the road. The trail now wanders along the river, occasionally crossing bridges for forays into small hamlets and then back to the river. I pass Jurgen the friendly Austrian fixing a flat and wailing in despair"It voz a nail" he says. "A nail, a nail on ze road, how can zis be?" and as I ride up the road I can still hear "A nail, a nail on ze road.....how?"A little further on I meet Paul, he's in a bad way, so I decide to ride with him. we ride past huge beautiful lakes and gradually the huge fort of Fenestrelle comes into view. Rising up the side of the valley and perched on the top of a pinnacle is a fairy tale style castle. We cross the road, enter the walls and zig zag our way up a steep ramp to the gate. And shoulder the bikes for a wide set of stone steps to the court yard. This is the start of a special stage and has a CP stacked with food, Paul tells me to try the bread and tomato and...........
......today was the day I discovered bruschetta (pron.brooshkettah locally) At home we might call it tomato sandwiches. In Italy it is a devine feast! Ingredients: A hunk of bread, some chopped tomato, some basil, some sunshine, lots of laughing and loads of loud talking! Ridiculously tasty, it made me bend double in delight :-)
We decided to get moving and rolled down to the start of the special stage, as we got there Paul stopped to fiddle with his bike and I set off. Paul came through the start a minute or so later and called up to me. I stopped and waited for him and we hiked and carried the bikes the 4 km or so of steep spiral track that wound it's way around the peak to the top.Now is the bit we've been waiting for, the Scala Reale 900 steps back down to where we started the climb. Initially the steps are rideable and then we move into the fort and so pitch blackness, now the height of the steps starts to vary and some are missing altogether. In the darkest parts volunteers are shining torches. I try to bail out on one of these sections and hit the wall with my shoulder, leaving a lovely manly graze on my right deltoid. Once outside again we ride bits and walk bits, quite disappointed at how much we have to walk. At the bottom Paul nips past to the stage finish.
Meanwhile at the front of the race sometime earlier:from the IB site-Many of them make all steps on the saddle (unbelivable) others, instead, come down with the bike on the shoulder. It’s exactly on one of those external starways that the brazilian rider does not succeed to brake properly. He falls down, careless of the safety protections. He raises immediately after, under the eyes of emergency personnel that was there to take care of him. He starts again and continues with a scratched arm, while the Cezck Sibl Radoslav and his fried Miroslav were behind him, fighting with the steps of the covered stairway.The fall, gives the brasilian a new force, never seen. He assults the steps with increased determination and comes down until he reaches the square at the feet of the fortress. He detaches Sibl of 6 minutes by because of coefficient 2, minutes become 12. Therefor, in the general classement Hugo Prado Neto is always 2nd but with just 25 points of distance from Sibl.
Now it's just a steady 12 km to Pragelato. It's very hot and the steady ride turns out to be a roller coaster of short sharp climbs each higher than the next, followed by cruel sharp descents that steal any height gained. Paul is seriously flagging now and getting slower and slower, I ease back to wait several times. Eventually we reach the outskirts of the town and are joined by a group of Belgian guys, one them of does a bit of a jokey sprint as we approach the finish and because I'm feeling a bit fresh from riding slowly with Paul, I have a bit of a dig too. Great fun.
Tonight's camp is in a pine wood at the edge of town, and we pitch between the trees.I go down to tea, and see Paul and he says I've checked the results and we're still in the race and under 50,000 points. We managed to get some potatoes which is unusual and delicious.I decide to go back to get my gps that I've left charging in the massage room. While I'm there I have look at the results. It's true we are still in the race, but I notice that Paul is now above me in the standings. I assume that they've made a mistake and reversed our finishing times, but can't understand why Paul didn't mention it earlier when he checked the points. At this point Paul and Claus appear and I say 'I think they've mixed us up when we came in today. Paul then explains that it's not only where you come overall but also how fast you do the special stages and today's special stage was double points.I feel that this is crazy , because it feels like I been penalised by the race for helping a mate when he wasn't going to well.I could have ridden back by myself and saved time, in fact I could have pressed on at the fort when he held back at the beginning of the special stage and called up to me, when I waited. Or when I helped with his rotor and he jumped past at the end of the special stage.............er hold on a minute. And the day after the rotor incident when he suddenly jumped ahead over the special stage finish line, which I mentioned at the time and he said "It doesn't make any difference, you started after me". ............mmmm.As I lay in my tent I started laughing to myself when I realised what could have been happening :-)Did he know all along? As I write this I hear a loud and definite shout in reply from those who know Paul....." Of course he did! It's soooooo Paul" ................ But, I'm not sure.Tomorrow is the day I'm looking forward to, we go to Mount Chaberton!
90km
I took 9.26 Paul 9.29
Stage 6 - Pragelato to Mont Chaberton
The Queen stage:
At breakfast it was announced that only the first 50 people reaching the last Check point would race on to Fort Chaberton, where they would spend the night in the ruins.I was bitterly disappointed, my whole reason for the trip was to climb the mountain to Chaberton - the symbol of the whole race to me. I was lying around 65th at the time and felt like pulling out of the race there and then.
But, first we have to be taken to the start of the race, this means a 15 minute freezing cold chair lift to the top of the mountain. This time I accept their kind offer of a warm green quilted jacket. I wear it like a smoking jacket, but for some reason the danish men amongst us snatch this opportunity to wear it as a skirt! I don't know much about Denmark and so must accept this behaviour as normal :-) Here is where I pick up my first real injury of the race. As the chair swings under my legs, the chain ring stabs into my knee cap and draws blood....ouch!
The start of the stage was a fast, and in places, very steep wooded singletrack. I managed to get a good start not far behind the fast boys and was able to hold on through the technical descent. A fast wide trail then ran alongside the river where I could roll a big gear. The next section was an asphalt climb of about eight km's. I attacked this as hard as I could out of the saddle all the way up. Later I spotted Ludmilla and tried to stay with her. Another eight km's or so of off-road double track followed and then some ups and downs, where the air smelled strongly of coriander. I couldn't see any, but it was incredibly strong and and made me feel a little bit giddy with it's pungency......delicious. This led to a sharp peak with antennae on top. This was a hike-a-bike section extreme! I had fitted my ironbike carrying strap (...... patent pending:-)) and used it in anger for the first time.At the CP at the top I saw Benoit, one of the Belgians who bears a striking resemblance to Paul's favourite tdf rider... Vinikourov, tucking into the food. I thought he must be having a bad day as I've never ridden in his company before. I passed through and left him there.The next 14km was a mix of off-road, road and singletrack descent that dropped me into the CP and to my disbelief people are still setting off to Chaberton! I run around trying to find if I can still go and Lana and Andre grab my bike take it to the front and I run to get some food. They and Gianfranco push me over the line with a jam sandwich.
-Lana and Andre were a wonderful dutch couple we met in the food queue on the first night in Entraque. Andre was racing the Ironbike himself, but crashed out quite spectacularly on day two and spent the rest of the week wearing a neck brace and hobbling around on crutches -
My mind is still a blur, as I set off for Chaberton. I made it, then whoops! I nearly go off a loose bend. I get a bit paranoid in case I crash and don't make it. Then a flying thing gets under my helmet strap and stings or bites me, it's very painful and now I start to worry about anaphalaxis preventing me from finishing today :-) It's now very hot as I start the first part of the climb, some locals pass water to me and one woman runs alongside me and tips a full jug of ice cold water over my groin!!! I yell loudly in shock and everybody laughs - it must be how they amuse themselves in the mountains :-)
Mount Chaberton on Google earth here: You need google earth installed on your machine.
From here we head off-road, at first shaded by trees and then opens up to the grey rock of the mountain itself. Soon it's impossible to ride and I start to push, the track becomes narrower and much more rocky and I shoulder the bike using my carrying device. An hour later and I drink the last of my water and I have no food. It is still blisteringly hot. I assume that there will be water on the trail somewhere, but I can't see anything as I look up the mountain - only the track winding on for ever. For the next two hours I carry the bike, occasionally getting a chance to push it on the smoother sections. I'm beginning to feel quite thirsty and dizzy from hunger. Now the mountain rears up quite steeply and as I look up, I see a figure walking quite sprightly down the trail. I say hello and he says. " I am hiking to Cesana. I have told them to send water down, everyone has been asking for water. Do you have water?" I say I have no food or water. He replies " I have no water, but I have some biscuits." And before I can protest he hands me half a dozen. I thank him, put them into my pack and press on. Now is the real test. I'm a vegan, but are the biscuits? I'm feeling very hungry and quite dizzy from the low blood sugar. I decide that I can't be sure if the biscuits are safe for me to eat. I look to see if my friendly benefactor is nearby, he's not. I cast the biscuits down the mountain, so that they can't tempt me anymore. I rationalise this by telling myself that "I'm hungry, but not starving" In my addled state I start to think it was a test, the IB is testing me to see if I am strong enough. "Yes, that's it, it was a test" I say to myself......... "Get thee behind me Satan, begone!" ........ :-)
An hour later, I'm three hairpin bends from the finish and breathing is a little more difficult at over three thousand metres of altitude. I carry the bike for 30 steps and rest, 30 steps and rest....... until the top hoves into view and I see the finish line, I stagger across and they write down my number and that's it! No cheers, no fanfare just my rasping breath. I see a bottle of water on the table, take it and down it in one. All around people are lying around in the warm rays of the evening sun, all wearing red fleece jackets, black fleece leggings and white hats. Claudia grabs me and drags me into the ruined building and I am surprised to be walking in six inches of snow! And it's cold, freezing cold, I immediately begin to chill and shake. Claudia hands me a bundle of clothing and shows me to my bed in the snow. I rush outside to get some heat and get changed.
I find my bag that had been sent up - we had to hand in a small bag at registration, containing riding kit for the day after Chaberton - in it I had stashed two energy bars and packet of noodles. Once I'd devoured these, I started to feel a bit better and thought I'd better get a few photographs. I sat on the peak and asked Heinrich to take my picture, an oldish distinguished looking guy moved up next to me and smiled to the camera.
I didn't know who this chap was but found this later on the IB website:
Turin Major Chiamparino climbed the Mountain by feet, in the morning,and wasthere to plause the first to come. He was together with the majors ofClavière,Cesana and Montgenèvre.
Politicians!..... never miss a photo opportunity:-)
I sit on the edge of the mountain and phone Jane in Ibiza, it sounds like she's a few feet away. Tentatively, she says. "Did you get up the mountain?" I say."yes". I hear Yaaaaaaaaaay! and then Yaaaaaaaaaay! in the background, it's LCO on the extension. After several euros worth of yaaaaaays(it's expensive to call Ibiza from Italy), Jane confesses that they'd been practising commiseration platitudes all day. Such as: Never mind I'm sure you tried your best, There's always next time.......etc. So I guess I must have caught them unprepared :-)
As the sun sets it begins to get very cold, someone lights a huge bonfire and warms up an equally huge vat of red wine. We tuck into some pasta..........siempre pasta!
The sky was so clear that you could see a billion stars.
Trans Wales 2007 by PF
And so on Saturday 12 August 2006 I headed for Wales with Julie M Dinsdale.
What's the M for? It's the road we took to get to Wales.
We were doing a mountain bike event that started the next day.
There were long rides every day that weren't timed but had to be completed within time limits.
On four out of the seven days there was also a time trial which was timed.
Are you following this?
And we would have to camp. This meant putting up a tent every night and taking it down and packing every morning. The food would all be provided.
And in the morning I feasted on a bowl of baked beans, two bowls of porridge & peaches and a bowl of tinned grapefruit.
For those that wanted it there was bacon or sausages.
Anyway we set off the next morning heading north from Builth Wells. There was of course a strong northerly wind.
How annoying was it?
Imagine someone sat opposite you in the pub and just blowing in your face all evening.
Still, it's better than someone blowing off in your face.
It was all on trails I had never ridden before and we were extremely rural.
The trails were excellent. Even the river crossings. I'm second from the right.
We had two bread roll sandwiches for lunch and a cereal bar. I also ate three bananas and a bar of my own.
I arrived back within two hours of the time limit so set up tent then a shower in a trailer in a field. I then started on the snacks I'd bought with me. A bowl of cereal then a scoop of mixed nuts, raisins and prunes.
I then walked up to get some water and passed the finish as I returned to my tent.
As I did a girl crossed over the finish. She got off her bike muddy but not filthy. She started to walk and took her helmet off. She took her hair pin out, ruffled her hair and this long thick stream of red hair cascaded around her. And the glamourous woman headed towards the tents. It was like watching Clark Kent go into a telephone box and Superman come out. Unfortunately she wasn't very tall otherwise I would have been besotted.
Anyway it was nearly time for tea and I was starving.
The toilets were about 400m away, which is a long way to go in the night. Fortunately we had camped by a bush. All that effort and I didn't even need to go in the night.
Breakfast was at 6.00am and I was eating porridge by 6.30. By 6.35 I was onto my second bowl when I looked up. The glamourous redhead was sat at one of the tables with a cafetiere (one of those things you push down on to get real coffee).
Now that's what I call camp style. Get your priorities.
Anyway. This morning was the first time trial. Or 'special stage' as they were called.
We went off individually every 30 seconds in numerical order. As number 216 (it went up to 240) I had a long wait before it was my turn. And I don't mean barbells, they're more heavy weights than long.
But my turn came and I set off. 16km. Up hill for 7km, across the top of the hill for a kilometre then down for most of the rest. I caught the man in front within a minute. In all I passed five people. But two came past me, numbers 224 and 226. They were second and first respectively. I was 13th (in category).
Then it was time for a snack before we did the un-timed time limit stage. We finished in Machynlleth.
It's in Wales. Apparently it was once the capital. Anyway we were camping on the rugby pitch. This meant that the guys who came to do rugby training had to do it on the football pitch. I imagined the footballers were on the campsite.
My god. The redhead's tent was a large four person one. With a pattern on it. Flower silhouettes all over it. I was sharing a two man tent.
Just why didn't I know we would have room to carry so much stuff.
Anyway. There was a pub in town and this was the last we would see all week. So after fish and chips Andy, Julie, Graeme and I had a couple of drinks (each!) in the beer garden.
Then we went back to the campsite for the race food.
There were some Italians in the race and now they were all parading around the campsite on the way back from the showers in bathrobes. Classic Italian cut stripey pattern bathrobes.
I thought I had come to a bike race but somehow seem to have ended up in a lifestyle show.
I've even forgotten my best cycling sunglasses.
Tonight I was glad I'd pitched the tent near a bush. It must have been the beer.
The official toilets for the rugby club had no light in them. Fortunately the ones in the car park were a big secret and only cost 10p. No queues and natural light. Well worth it and a bargain as the man who collects the money wasn't there at 6.00 in the morning.
Yes, by now we had gotten into the swing of early rises.
Anyway. It was a hilly ride today. Again. But something new today. It rained. Nothing unusual about that especially in Wales. No, but when we started the race Wales was actually on drought alert and they hadn't had rain for 8 weeks. And now it starts.
But it was only a contiously heavy shower and was all over before I got back to camp. I started putting tents up when low and behold it started raining again. Very heavily. I put my waterproof overtrousers on and was envied by all I knew.
It did stop raining again which was fortunate as we had to go out and race in the dark.
Yes, we had a night time time trial around the trails of Coed-y-Brenin. We were going off in quickest time order. This meant fastest first. I would be one of the earlier ones to go. Still, there were enough people in front of me to ride past a few with mechanicals. At least four punctures and what looked like a broken chain. The fellow patting the grass around him as he looked for bits he'd only just put down.
I was more concerned about finishing and rode conservatively as a result. Especially on the tight, twisty and bumpy course where I would sometimes have to stop dead and track stand whilst turning the bars frantically to look for the direction of the trail. The only light I had was on my bars so I could only see in the direction they were pointing. Going over drop-offs I just had to react to whatever was on the other side. Anyone who remotely knew the trails had a distinct advantage in knowing what to expect.
Towards the end I was passing people who were running due to mechanicals.
But I finished in one piece and headed back to the campsite for a shower. At 11.40pm I got into bed and set the alarm for 6.30am - I wanted a bit of a lie in after the late night.
zzzzzzzzz
We set off in a misty damp morning. The first section was part of the Coed-y-Brenin trails. Miles of gnarly singletrack. The signposting could have been more frequent but I made it through. A girl in front of me crashed at one point. She was fine but at the next technical bit she tried to put the brake on only to discover the lever wasn't where it was meant to be. Luckily she was fine again although the crash with the tree down the steps could have been worse.
I finally emerged from the trails. 75km of singletrack might actually have taken me up to the time limit, although I was getting quicker and more adept at riding it. Anyway there was now a section on road. Along and down, round a sharp left hander and then straight up the valley side.
As I slowly made my way up the hill I looked to my right. Behind the wall of trees I could see into a garden. It went all the way up the valley side. Tiering like rice plantations in the Andes. But instead of rice were hundreds of lush plants. A thousand greens with a melee of coloured flowers.
It took me quite a while to ride past them and after I'd gone my train of thought was trying to convince myself I hadn't just seen the hanging gardens of Babylon. Not quite the Garden of Eden but could civilisation in the west really have begun in Wales? Could this be a reason why Brutus choose Wales as his place of excommunication after the murder of Caesar?
I feel obliged to mention the rain as this was now a common occurence. Although in between the torrential downpours it was actually very warm and a pleasant August day. But that was only between the downpours.
I arrived at the campsite in between showers and put the tents up leaving them open and covers off to dry from the night before. It immediately started raining heavily.
I finished putting the tents up and put all the gear inside and it stopped raining. I should at this point explain I was putting a tent up for me and Andy to share and I also put Julie's tent up. They took them down and packed them in the morning.
Anyway, next was a shower. We were staying on a campsite. There were two sets of showers. One was pretty good by all accounts but I didn't find those. I only found the ones that could more favourably be referred to as dribbles rather than showers.
I gave up after five minutes and headed for the river. I put my towel on the bank and just got in. It wasn't deep enough to bath but I could just submerge myself by lying down.
The reported sightings of Gollum that day in the Welsh Enquirer should be put down to coincidence. I for one still have a tan from Poland. But yes, it is true we have never been seen in the same room together.
But the day wasn't over and we still had the results ceremony from the night before's time trial.
Cutting through the faff, I won a light. It would have been more useful the night before the time trial so I could have used it. But so what. I'd won an Exposure Lights Joystick:
http://www.use1.com/exposure/products/exposure_joystick/index.php
Street value £165.
Sharing a two man tent isn't the most sociable place to play with your joystick but I awoke the next morning and my first thought was,
"I won a light."
Another day another time trial. Today it was the 15km Cli-Machx trail.
I don't name these things. I thought of Climb-Axe, Climb-Max and O-ive-Come on my way round the course.
Anyway.
Today I was ready to pounce. Go hard and break into the top ten. Perhaps even the top five.
Ha, I'm lying. Kidding myself? No, just lying to you.
I would ride as always. A steady plod. A fast plod, but a plod.
And ten seconds after I started my chain came off when I changed gear. Serves me right for thinking I would hammer this course today.
But I still overtook someone on my way to the top of the course. It was on the way down that more than ten people rode past me like I was standing still.
Well I wasn't standing still. I was frantically trying to change my rear tube as I'd punctured. It wasn't long though before my frantic actions subsided into resigned movements.
Then off I set again, at least I overtook two others on the way down but this didn't make up for the fact that I'd lost upto eight minutes in one of the timed sections. What a slow change.
Fill in your own swear words here.
There was a lovely visitor centre with cafe at the start/finish of the trail and it was about two hours before the afternoon ride.
This meant a flushing toilet then a bowl of hot fresh minestrone soup.
65km this afternoon. Strangely it had stayed dry for the morning time trial. In the afternoon it didn't stay dry. Quite the opposite. It surely was monsoon season. Although I'm not sure if I got wetter from above or from below. The course during the week went through an unfeasible number of river crossings.
Today though was also the day we got lost.
At some point we cycled through a town. Now towns are where people live and some people are right little shits. And it was here that someone removed an arrow that marked our direction to turn so we all rode miles along a road blindly following each other. Eventually the lead motorcycle at the front realised he'd gone astray so those of us near the front all stopped and decided what to do. I didn't care but thought, "The adventure starts here."It didn't. Someone made a decision to go across country. We did and only had to turn back once and go a different way. We weren't lost without hope for any moment and not long later we rejoined the course. And we all made it to the finish within the cut-off time.
Campsite tonight was another sports field. Nice and flat and the sun was out. So everyone tried to dry everything and I found myself in the middle of a Chinese laundry. Alhough I can't confirm what a real Chinese laundry looks like.
Showers weren't very powerful again tonight so I looked for a river. There was a large stream in the woods down the bank from the campsite. I headed down there, walked 100m along a nice little footpath then cut through the forest, undressed and got in the stream. Just deep enough to wash in.
A strange echo in the forest though, it sounded like there was a car driving towards me. I looked up and there must have been a minor road that cut through the forest. About fifteen meters away. There was no point trying to run to get my towel so I just sat down in the stream and watched as the car drove past.
Nothing else to do all evening except eat, clean my bike and eat some more. My massage wasn't until 9.00pm tonight so it was quite late before I got to bed. Easily ten o'clock.
Still it gave us plenty of time to swap our stories of the day.
Today I punctured just as it stopped raining. Amazing, I was able to change my tube in the dry and even let my waterproof dry and air for ten minutes as I did so. I was in no hurry today and had decided to have a relaxing day before this evening's time trial. I even set off almost last. Well I was trying to shelter from the rain before I started. No good though, I would have to start in the persistant rain. Persisting it down it was.
Today was a great route. We followed a beautiful river valley down for miles. Singletrack for endless stretches.
Today was a ridiculous route. We followed a river down stream crossing it eleven times. Not on bridges but fords. The track was flooded in places anyway.
Strangely all of the fords were rideable. This was in spite of the water completely submerging my front wheel at one point.
But all the water, weather and mud takes it's toll. Well it did on me.
I was starting to slow down. Finding it hard to ride, I felt like I didn't have the strength needed to keep the pedals turning. Then on a down hill section I actually slowed down.
It wasn't me then it was the bike. That was some sort of a relief but hopefully my wheel wasn't ruined.
I checked. No the wheel was fine. It must be the brakes. They must be rubbing. I had just ridden hard then descended. Now I took hold of my brake disc. For a fraction of a split second.
I squeeled as loud as possible. The disc was so hot.
My poor fingers. Burnt. Singed. Throbbing. Hurting. What an idiot.
But again the rain had stopped so I was able to bodge a repair in under half an hour and carry on going. The wheel rotated freely but the brake had no modulation, it was either on or off. I sucked my fingers. Later the blisters would be perfectly shaped like the pattern of my disc.
It wasn't far to the end from here but we first had to ride the Cwm-Rhyiadr course. This was fine going up and amusing going down, what with such sharp back brake action.
Today I arrived back at the campsite after Julie and Andy and they had put the tents up. Andy also had a baked potatoe and a burger. He now blamed the burger for his sickness.
There was a timetrial this evening but Andy didn't ride it, instead choosing to extremely projectile vomit.
I did ride it and strangely nothing untowards happened. Ok my back brake made everything on the descent hairy and sketchy but surely that only added to the fun?
On the way up I rode past a rabbit. It was dazed and just sat breathing as I rode past. My wheel inches away. It must have run into someone's wheel. I wondered if it needed putting out of it's misery. That would mean turning round and going back to it. I carried on.
I put enough time back into Graeme to overtake him on the general classification after losing time on the puncture.
So a shower after the timetrial and we even got a selection of beans with the food this evening and not just cheesey pasta.
Also I even had the tent to myself. Unfortunately though this was due to Andy's sickness getting sufficiently bad that he'd abandoned the race and gone to stay in a cottage.
(Visited him the next day and he'd started to recover).
Tomorrow we only had to ride back to the start. No more timed events.
There was a nursery rhyme when I was young:
Rain, rain go away
Come back another day.
Well today was that day. For every time ever a child recited that rhyme a raindrop fell on my head. That's not counting the ones that fell on my neck, shoulders and every square inch below. Some kids really are too big and fat for their own good though, at one point they really hurt. Smashing off my teeth even as I breathed heavily.
Yes, today it rained. And rained and rained.
Did I mention the rain.
The wettest day I can remember. The heaviest rain I have known.
At least it couldn't get any worse. Well that's what I thought at one point. Ten seconds later it did.
This is what hyperbole should be saved for. I was astonished, I was flabbergasted, I was shocked, I was wet.
One of the other racers simply put their arms up to the skies and shouted,
"Bring it on, bring it on."
We crossed many small streams today. Although they could have been footpaths or bridleways as our tracks were equally wet with just as much running water on them.
Many people asked me if my gears worked. One guy who'd spent £67 the night before having his fixed couldn't use more than three gears.
I was turning the shifter and pulling the cable to change the front. The raer needed a quick back heeled kick everytime I needed to downshift.
I ate bananas in the rain, I ate energy bars in the rain and I ate two peanut butter sandwiches under a tree trying to shelter from the rain and failing miserably.
We started in drizzle and it even stopped whilst I rode up the first big climb so I could take my waterproof off. How kind. Then at the top it started again. I put my waterproof back on and didn't remove it until the finish. There was no let up.
Did I mention the rain?
But I wasn't cold and I could keep riding. A puncture or a fall today would have been depressing. Landing in the surface mud that was everywhere.
Oh, today I did have my only fall of the race. Riding down a track stuck in a long long rut, I eventually caught the side and went flying. Amazingly I landed on a grassy bank grazing only my finger and trimming my fingernail.
Then at some point I recognised the trail. We were back on the Cli-Machx trail only heading home. There was a feed station at the lovely visitor centre with cafe. Amazing. It was the only time I needed a flushing toilet and here was one. It must have been the four bananas every day for a week.
The road retraced the first 20 or so kilometres to the start and had cut out a chunk of the original planned route due to the weather. Softies.
Anyway. This meant a long stretch on the road back to Builth Wells. I was with an Italian and we took it in turns to get soaked off each others back wheels as we bit and bitted. (Slipstreamed each other in turn).
And then we entered civilisation. It was strange riding into and through Builth Wells. High brick buildings and streets and shops. People who weren't cyclists or marshalls.
Then the finish.
I showered in the women's showers having arrived home in time before they put a stop to this and increased the length of the queues in the men's.
Hot water. Wasn't I sick of water pouring down on me? Somehow this was different. Perhaps 30 degrees of separation, each one a centigrade.
I hosed my bike and had a massage. Julie and Graeme had finished by now and we could go home. As the sun came out.
Great event. Brilliant course, good organisation for the first year and only one bad point. Did I mention the rain?
Paul Facer
Home and dry.
What's the M for? It's the road we took to get to Wales.
We were doing a mountain bike event that started the next day.
There were long rides every day that weren't timed but had to be completed within time limits.
On four out of the seven days there was also a time trial which was timed.
Are you following this?
And we would have to camp. This meant putting up a tent every night and taking it down and packing every morning. The food would all be provided.
And in the morning I feasted on a bowl of baked beans, two bowls of porridge & peaches and a bowl of tinned grapefruit.
For those that wanted it there was bacon or sausages.
Anyway we set off the next morning heading north from Builth Wells. There was of course a strong northerly wind.
How annoying was it?
Imagine someone sat opposite you in the pub and just blowing in your face all evening.
Still, it's better than someone blowing off in your face.
It was all on trails I had never ridden before and we were extremely rural.
The trails were excellent. Even the river crossings. I'm second from the right.
We had two bread roll sandwiches for lunch and a cereal bar. I also ate three bananas and a bar of my own.
I arrived back within two hours of the time limit so set up tent then a shower in a trailer in a field. I then started on the snacks I'd bought with me. A bowl of cereal then a scoop of mixed nuts, raisins and prunes.
I then walked up to get some water and passed the finish as I returned to my tent.
As I did a girl crossed over the finish. She got off her bike muddy but not filthy. She started to walk and took her helmet off. She took her hair pin out, ruffled her hair and this long thick stream of red hair cascaded around her. And the glamourous woman headed towards the tents. It was like watching Clark Kent go into a telephone box and Superman come out. Unfortunately she wasn't very tall otherwise I would have been besotted.
Anyway it was nearly time for tea and I was starving.
The toilets were about 400m away, which is a long way to go in the night. Fortunately we had camped by a bush. All that effort and I didn't even need to go in the night.
Breakfast was at 6.00am and I was eating porridge by 6.30. By 6.35 I was onto my second bowl when I looked up. The glamourous redhead was sat at one of the tables with a cafetiere (one of those things you push down on to get real coffee).
Now that's what I call camp style. Get your priorities.
Anyway. This morning was the first time trial. Or 'special stage' as they were called.
We went off individually every 30 seconds in numerical order. As number 216 (it went up to 240) I had a long wait before it was my turn. And I don't mean barbells, they're more heavy weights than long.
But my turn came and I set off. 16km. Up hill for 7km, across the top of the hill for a kilometre then down for most of the rest. I caught the man in front within a minute. In all I passed five people. But two came past me, numbers 224 and 226. They were second and first respectively. I was 13th (in category).
Then it was time for a snack before we did the un-timed time limit stage. We finished in Machynlleth.
It's in Wales. Apparently it was once the capital. Anyway we were camping on the rugby pitch. This meant that the guys who came to do rugby training had to do it on the football pitch. I imagined the footballers were on the campsite.
My god. The redhead's tent was a large four person one. With a pattern on it. Flower silhouettes all over it. I was sharing a two man tent.
Just why didn't I know we would have room to carry so much stuff.
Anyway. There was a pub in town and this was the last we would see all week. So after fish and chips Andy, Julie, Graeme and I had a couple of drinks (each!) in the beer garden.
Then we went back to the campsite for the race food.
There were some Italians in the race and now they were all parading around the campsite on the way back from the showers in bathrobes. Classic Italian cut stripey pattern bathrobes.
I thought I had come to a bike race but somehow seem to have ended up in a lifestyle show.
I've even forgotten my best cycling sunglasses.
Tonight I was glad I'd pitched the tent near a bush. It must have been the beer.
The official toilets for the rugby club had no light in them. Fortunately the ones in the car park were a big secret and only cost 10p. No queues and natural light. Well worth it and a bargain as the man who collects the money wasn't there at 6.00 in the morning.
Yes, by now we had gotten into the swing of early rises.
Anyway. It was a hilly ride today. Again. But something new today. It rained. Nothing unusual about that especially in Wales. No, but when we started the race Wales was actually on drought alert and they hadn't had rain for 8 weeks. And now it starts.
But it was only a contiously heavy shower and was all over before I got back to camp. I started putting tents up when low and behold it started raining again. Very heavily. I put my waterproof overtrousers on and was envied by all I knew.
It did stop raining again which was fortunate as we had to go out and race in the dark.
Yes, we had a night time time trial around the trails of Coed-y-Brenin. We were going off in quickest time order. This meant fastest first. I would be one of the earlier ones to go. Still, there were enough people in front of me to ride past a few with mechanicals. At least four punctures and what looked like a broken chain. The fellow patting the grass around him as he looked for bits he'd only just put down.
I was more concerned about finishing and rode conservatively as a result. Especially on the tight, twisty and bumpy course where I would sometimes have to stop dead and track stand whilst turning the bars frantically to look for the direction of the trail. The only light I had was on my bars so I could only see in the direction they were pointing. Going over drop-offs I just had to react to whatever was on the other side. Anyone who remotely knew the trails had a distinct advantage in knowing what to expect.
Towards the end I was passing people who were running due to mechanicals.
But I finished in one piece and headed back to the campsite for a shower. At 11.40pm I got into bed and set the alarm for 6.30am - I wanted a bit of a lie in after the late night.
zzzzzzzzz
We set off in a misty damp morning. The first section was part of the Coed-y-Brenin trails. Miles of gnarly singletrack. The signposting could have been more frequent but I made it through. A girl in front of me crashed at one point. She was fine but at the next technical bit she tried to put the brake on only to discover the lever wasn't where it was meant to be. Luckily she was fine again although the crash with the tree down the steps could have been worse.
I finally emerged from the trails. 75km of singletrack might actually have taken me up to the time limit, although I was getting quicker and more adept at riding it. Anyway there was now a section on road. Along and down, round a sharp left hander and then straight up the valley side.
As I slowly made my way up the hill I looked to my right. Behind the wall of trees I could see into a garden. It went all the way up the valley side. Tiering like rice plantations in the Andes. But instead of rice were hundreds of lush plants. A thousand greens with a melee of coloured flowers.
It took me quite a while to ride past them and after I'd gone my train of thought was trying to convince myself I hadn't just seen the hanging gardens of Babylon. Not quite the Garden of Eden but could civilisation in the west really have begun in Wales? Could this be a reason why Brutus choose Wales as his place of excommunication after the murder of Caesar?
I feel obliged to mention the rain as this was now a common occurence. Although in between the torrential downpours it was actually very warm and a pleasant August day. But that was only between the downpours.
I arrived at the campsite in between showers and put the tents up leaving them open and covers off to dry from the night before. It immediately started raining heavily.
I finished putting the tents up and put all the gear inside and it stopped raining. I should at this point explain I was putting a tent up for me and Andy to share and I also put Julie's tent up. They took them down and packed them in the morning.
Anyway, next was a shower. We were staying on a campsite. There were two sets of showers. One was pretty good by all accounts but I didn't find those. I only found the ones that could more favourably be referred to as dribbles rather than showers.
I gave up after five minutes and headed for the river. I put my towel on the bank and just got in. It wasn't deep enough to bath but I could just submerge myself by lying down.
The reported sightings of Gollum that day in the Welsh Enquirer should be put down to coincidence. I for one still have a tan from Poland. But yes, it is true we have never been seen in the same room together.
But the day wasn't over and we still had the results ceremony from the night before's time trial.
Cutting through the faff, I won a light. It would have been more useful the night before the time trial so I could have used it. But so what. I'd won an Exposure Lights Joystick:
http://www.use1.com/exposure/products/exposure_joystick/index.php
Street value £165.
Sharing a two man tent isn't the most sociable place to play with your joystick but I awoke the next morning and my first thought was,
"I won a light."
Another day another time trial. Today it was the 15km Cli-Machx trail.
I don't name these things. I thought of Climb-Axe, Climb-Max and O-ive-Come on my way round the course.
Anyway.
Today I was ready to pounce. Go hard and break into the top ten. Perhaps even the top five.
Ha, I'm lying. Kidding myself? No, just lying to you.
I would ride as always. A steady plod. A fast plod, but a plod.
And ten seconds after I started my chain came off when I changed gear. Serves me right for thinking I would hammer this course today.
But I still overtook someone on my way to the top of the course. It was on the way down that more than ten people rode past me like I was standing still.
Well I wasn't standing still. I was frantically trying to change my rear tube as I'd punctured. It wasn't long though before my frantic actions subsided into resigned movements.
Then off I set again, at least I overtook two others on the way down but this didn't make up for the fact that I'd lost upto eight minutes in one of the timed sections. What a slow change.
Fill in your own swear words here.
There was a lovely visitor centre with cafe at the start/finish of the trail and it was about two hours before the afternoon ride.
This meant a flushing toilet then a bowl of hot fresh minestrone soup.
65km this afternoon. Strangely it had stayed dry for the morning time trial. In the afternoon it didn't stay dry. Quite the opposite. It surely was monsoon season. Although I'm not sure if I got wetter from above or from below. The course during the week went through an unfeasible number of river crossings.
Today though was also the day we got lost.
At some point we cycled through a town. Now towns are where people live and some people are right little shits. And it was here that someone removed an arrow that marked our direction to turn so we all rode miles along a road blindly following each other. Eventually the lead motorcycle at the front realised he'd gone astray so those of us near the front all stopped and decided what to do. I didn't care but thought, "The adventure starts here."It didn't. Someone made a decision to go across country. We did and only had to turn back once and go a different way. We weren't lost without hope for any moment and not long later we rejoined the course. And we all made it to the finish within the cut-off time.
Campsite tonight was another sports field. Nice and flat and the sun was out. So everyone tried to dry everything and I found myself in the middle of a Chinese laundry. Alhough I can't confirm what a real Chinese laundry looks like.
Showers weren't very powerful again tonight so I looked for a river. There was a large stream in the woods down the bank from the campsite. I headed down there, walked 100m along a nice little footpath then cut through the forest, undressed and got in the stream. Just deep enough to wash in.
A strange echo in the forest though, it sounded like there was a car driving towards me. I looked up and there must have been a minor road that cut through the forest. About fifteen meters away. There was no point trying to run to get my towel so I just sat down in the stream and watched as the car drove past.
Nothing else to do all evening except eat, clean my bike and eat some more. My massage wasn't until 9.00pm tonight so it was quite late before I got to bed. Easily ten o'clock.
Still it gave us plenty of time to swap our stories of the day.
Today I punctured just as it stopped raining. Amazing, I was able to change my tube in the dry and even let my waterproof dry and air for ten minutes as I did so. I was in no hurry today and had decided to have a relaxing day before this evening's time trial. I even set off almost last. Well I was trying to shelter from the rain before I started. No good though, I would have to start in the persistant rain. Persisting it down it was.
Today was a great route. We followed a beautiful river valley down for miles. Singletrack for endless stretches.
Today was a ridiculous route. We followed a river down stream crossing it eleven times. Not on bridges but fords. The track was flooded in places anyway.
Strangely all of the fords were rideable. This was in spite of the water completely submerging my front wheel at one point.
But all the water, weather and mud takes it's toll. Well it did on me.
I was starting to slow down. Finding it hard to ride, I felt like I didn't have the strength needed to keep the pedals turning. Then on a down hill section I actually slowed down.
It wasn't me then it was the bike. That was some sort of a relief but hopefully my wheel wasn't ruined.
I checked. No the wheel was fine. It must be the brakes. They must be rubbing. I had just ridden hard then descended. Now I took hold of my brake disc. For a fraction of a split second.
I squeeled as loud as possible. The disc was so hot.
My poor fingers. Burnt. Singed. Throbbing. Hurting. What an idiot.
But again the rain had stopped so I was able to bodge a repair in under half an hour and carry on going. The wheel rotated freely but the brake had no modulation, it was either on or off. I sucked my fingers. Later the blisters would be perfectly shaped like the pattern of my disc.
It wasn't far to the end from here but we first had to ride the Cwm-Rhyiadr course. This was fine going up and amusing going down, what with such sharp back brake action.
Today I arrived back at the campsite after Julie and Andy and they had put the tents up. Andy also had a baked potatoe and a burger. He now blamed the burger for his sickness.
There was a timetrial this evening but Andy didn't ride it, instead choosing to extremely projectile vomit.
I did ride it and strangely nothing untowards happened. Ok my back brake made everything on the descent hairy and sketchy but surely that only added to the fun?
On the way up I rode past a rabbit. It was dazed and just sat breathing as I rode past. My wheel inches away. It must have run into someone's wheel. I wondered if it needed putting out of it's misery. That would mean turning round and going back to it. I carried on.
I put enough time back into Graeme to overtake him on the general classification after losing time on the puncture.
So a shower after the timetrial and we even got a selection of beans with the food this evening and not just cheesey pasta.
Also I even had the tent to myself. Unfortunately though this was due to Andy's sickness getting sufficiently bad that he'd abandoned the race and gone to stay in a cottage.
(Visited him the next day and he'd started to recover).
Tomorrow we only had to ride back to the start. No more timed events.
There was a nursery rhyme when I was young:
Rain, rain go away
Come back another day.
Well today was that day. For every time ever a child recited that rhyme a raindrop fell on my head. That's not counting the ones that fell on my neck, shoulders and every square inch below. Some kids really are too big and fat for their own good though, at one point they really hurt. Smashing off my teeth even as I breathed heavily.
Yes, today it rained. And rained and rained.
Did I mention the rain.
The wettest day I can remember. The heaviest rain I have known.
At least it couldn't get any worse. Well that's what I thought at one point. Ten seconds later it did.
This is what hyperbole should be saved for. I was astonished, I was flabbergasted, I was shocked, I was wet.
One of the other racers simply put their arms up to the skies and shouted,
"Bring it on, bring it on."
We crossed many small streams today. Although they could have been footpaths or bridleways as our tracks were equally wet with just as much running water on them.
Many people asked me if my gears worked. One guy who'd spent £67 the night before having his fixed couldn't use more than three gears.
I was turning the shifter and pulling the cable to change the front. The raer needed a quick back heeled kick everytime I needed to downshift.
I ate bananas in the rain, I ate energy bars in the rain and I ate two peanut butter sandwiches under a tree trying to shelter from the rain and failing miserably.
We started in drizzle and it even stopped whilst I rode up the first big climb so I could take my waterproof off. How kind. Then at the top it started again. I put my waterproof back on and didn't remove it until the finish. There was no let up.
Did I mention the rain?
But I wasn't cold and I could keep riding. A puncture or a fall today would have been depressing. Landing in the surface mud that was everywhere.
Oh, today I did have my only fall of the race. Riding down a track stuck in a long long rut, I eventually caught the side and went flying. Amazingly I landed on a grassy bank grazing only my finger and trimming my fingernail.
Then at some point I recognised the trail. We were back on the Cli-Machx trail only heading home. There was a feed station at the lovely visitor centre with cafe. Amazing. It was the only time I needed a flushing toilet and here was one. It must have been the four bananas every day for a week.
The road retraced the first 20 or so kilometres to the start and had cut out a chunk of the original planned route due to the weather. Softies.
Anyway. This meant a long stretch on the road back to Builth Wells. I was with an Italian and we took it in turns to get soaked off each others back wheels as we bit and bitted. (Slipstreamed each other in turn).
And then we entered civilisation. It was strange riding into and through Builth Wells. High brick buildings and streets and shops. People who weren't cyclists or marshalls.
Then the finish.
I showered in the women's showers having arrived home in time before they put a stop to this and increased the length of the queues in the men's.
Hot water. Wasn't I sick of water pouring down on me? Somehow this was different. Perhaps 30 degrees of separation, each one a centigrade.
I hosed my bike and had a massage. Julie and Graeme had finished by now and we could go home. As the sun came out.
Great event. Brilliant course, good organisation for the first year and only one bad point. Did I mention the rain?
Paul Facer
Home and dry.
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