TCRNo6 part 1: Alpine Getaway

Prelude

“I’m going to refer you to a cardiologist, your heart rate is abnormally low” said Doctor Izara.  One routine sentence, many unintended consequences.

For years I’d dreamt of riding the Transcontinental Race; 2400 miles of point to point self-supported racing across Europe. New countries, adventures and unprecedented personal challenge experienced from the saddle of your own bike.  The race first captured my imagination in 2012 before I’d even got into cycling seriously. I read about a race that started in London and finished in Istanbul, I loved the idea of the riders racing to the English Channel, the purity of the challenge appealed to me. I first applied in 2017 but wasn’t successful, so, I applied again in 2018 and was surprised (and slightly petrified) to be offered one of around 260 places in the race. It didn’t seem real and every official email from the race team would trigger a flutter of nervousness as I was reminded of what I had signed up to. Racing more than 2000 miles seemed impossible; and therein was the attraction  - overcoming the impossible. However, I wouldn’t even make the start line in Geraardsbergen unless I could get a doctor's note. Unable to get a NHS Cardiology appointment for 59 days I was forced into a private consultation with a cardiologist who understood that a resting heart rate of 37bpm wasn’t a bad thing.

With 10 days to go wheels were hurriedly built and stuff was jettisoned from the pile of equipment I planned to take. Less would have to be more because my jumble sale of kit would not fit on the bike.

a jumble sale of kit

Jen riding in with me to Geraardsbergen

One day to go and wife Jen and I drove to Hull with eldest son Arran to catch the overnight Zeebrugge ferry. On arrival in Belgium the next morning a 100km ride along bike paths and quiet roads found us in Geraardsbergen for registration.

Geraardsbergen was buzzing with riders and their supporters, I tried to stay out of the way, the collective anxiety/excitement level was too high. That day felt like I had a gun to my back, one that I had put there and was now pushing me towards the start line. No turning back, I had committed.

"Failure at some point in your life is inevitable, but giving up is unforgivable." - Joe Biden

race briefing

my loaded Genesis 931 Croix de Fer in Gerardsbergen

By 9.30pm the town centre square was crowded with riders and supporters, the atmosphere was excitable but muted, so many unknowns, trepidation ruled. We’d all invested a lot in getting here, physically, mentally and emotionally, and we were only twenty minutes from the next stage of this epic journey. Tick-tock - tick - tock  -  tick   -   tock, the second hand crept round the outer edge of the town hall clock. 

That's me - TCRNo6 Cap 167

And GO!

A bell rings, and 260 pairs of shoes scramble to force their way into pedals.A blur of hi-vis clad riders wrestle laden bikes up the cobbled climb known as ‘The Muur’.  Supporters lining the climb shout ‘Allez, allez!’ and ‘Forza!’ and then, we are all spat out onto a road above The Muur and the race is on. Unfortunately in the excitement I haven’t started my navigation app and at the first set of lights I take the wrong road, unsurprisingly, I’m not the only one making a U turn down the road. FOCUS! I remind myself. 

GO!

I chase down a long string of flashing red lights leading south out of the town. I overtake a few but keep overtaking the same riders miles later, they are sticking to the main roads and I’m routed on less efficient minor roads. Belgium by night feels strange, I pass along quiet rural lanes and into sprawling towns humming with nightshift industry. Lonely traffic lights awaiting late night taxis and bars shutting their doors for the night. Another rider appears from my left at a junction, it’s Greg Hilson, I recently met him on The Racing Collective’s XDURO Wales event. He’s taking it steady tonight, settling into the race and that seems like a good plan. We chat and then go our separate ways following our respective routes. I run low on water and realise that this isn’t one of those countries where there are water fountains everywhere, I peer into the darkness looking for water taps on houses in every village I cruise through. By 3am I am approaching an area that seems to be popular as a holiday resort and I sneak into a campsite to find a tap, the water is warm but it’ll do. Within a few kilometers sleep is beckoning and I take a break on some scrubby grass next to the road. I perform what becomes a well practiced ritual of hipbag off and laid out as a pillow, helmet off and iPhone alarm set to wake me. I’ll take 40 minutes, unfortunately the sound of freewheeling hubs passing every few minutes prevents deep sleep. Somewhere in my head there’s a counter logging how many places I’m slipping whilst I rest. Back on the bike and I head into a beautiful hilly area, steep climbs take me past quaint farmsteads and over wooded hills. I start to question my route choices - this seems very hilly for a country that isn’t known for it’s hills. They are only 200m or so each but it don’t feel like the most efficient route south west. I'm sleepy again and this time I get a good 30 minutes of deep sleep on the lawn of a hotel. Breakfast at a service station follows and a routine is forming, I am finding my rhythm on the road. 

dawn on day 1 somewhere in Belgium

Belgian satellite dishes

France soon follows and the sun rises high overhead, I find a bakery in Luxembourg where I satisfy my hunger for pastries and fresh baguette, I’m not the first TCR rider to call in today and I’m sure I won’t be the last. Back on the road the air is thick with the sweet smell of oil seed rape as I pass between fields of the yellow flowers. Back into France and my route threads through sleepy villages, I’m in need of water again but the few shops I pass are closed. I even try a tap on a house but it’s dry. Fortunately Germany isn’t far away and once into Germany near Saarbrucken I find a Turkish kebab place that’s open. I buy a coke but they don’t have water. “Haben sie eine grosse flasche wasser?” I manage after years of not speaking German. “Ein moment”, and the guy returns with a two litre bottle of water which he gives me. The kindness of strangers becomes a recurring theme.

By 3pm the miles are dragging, 35 degree heat coupled with sleep deprivation is taking its toll. My feet are hot and swollen, rubbing my shoes with every pedal stroke and saddle sores are starting to form. I need to rest. Better to rest for 30 minutes now than slow down for the rest of the day. A tree amidst a field of wheat provides shade and I lie down to close my eyes for ten minutes.

Progress is slow even when I get going again, I decide on a hotel for the night, a wash and a decent meal should set me straight for tomorrow. By the time I stop I’ve only covered 236 miles in 21 hours. Inefficient. I am treated to two main courses by the lady running the hotel, she notices how I inhale the first plateful. Six hours sleep and fresh kit has me feeling a little more human for an early start, 

Dawn on day 2 near Strasbourg

I'm off and away to Strasbourg by 0430. I feel great following the meanderings of a river along the bottom of a steep sided valley under tall pine trees in the dusky light of pre-dawn. One wrong turn and a sun rise later sees me spinning along a canal past fishermen and converted barges into Strasbourg for a breakfast of pastries and coffee. 

I don’t realise I’ve crossed the border into Germany until something tugs at my brain - riders waiting politely at a red light. That would never happen in France. Smooth cycle ways lead up a wide valley shadowing an autobahn into the Black Forest. Thick forested hillsides to both sides but I keep aiming southwest until it’s time to break away from the valley floor and climb up into the hills. It’s only a 600m climb but it’s the first proper climb of the ride. Its 15% ramps are endured through the torrent of sweat flowing from my head, but, despite the heat my legs feel better at the top than I did at the bottom. Within twenty miles I can see Bodensee, the gateway to Austria and CP1 (checkpoint 1). I cross the River Rhein at the mouth of the Zeller Zee into Switzerland, the roads are busy here with holiday makers and wealthy locals. I nearly end up on the bonnet of an Audi at a junction after looking the wrong way before crossing a side road, it’s a rude reminder that however fatigued I feel I need to stay alert. The inland sea of Bodensee stretches away towards its hazy northern shores, my route follows the southern shore towards Dornbirn in Austria. I’ve run out of water but don’t have any Swiss currency so I put off buying water until Austria so avoid being lumbered with coins that I can’t use. I’ve also heard that Switzerland is expensive but this isn’t a very clever strategy, by the time I do make it into Austria it’s early evening and I’m so dehydrated that I drink a couple of litres within seconds of buying them, not to mention a can of coke and a coffee. I’m eager to make it to CP1 tonight so I press on as twilight falls. I’m excited to be in the Alps again but the mountain ridges above soon turn to silhouette and the temperature drops with sun. I’m slightly worried that I need some proper food and I don’t know if anything will be available at CP1 by the time I arrive. I buy a couple of emergency sandwiches at a filling station and spot another TCR rider coming past as I’m about to leave. His rear light is out so I chase him down to alert him, he’s near invisible in the darkness. He's aware and in normal circumstances I would lend him a light, but that isn’t allowed under race rules so all I can do is wish him well.

I love the mountains, even at night. Isolated lights shine from high above marking the position of houses and huts. I pass the time imagining how those houses in the heavens are reached. Large alpine hotels line the road in each village and woodsmoke curls from the chimneys of timber houses. I pull over at a kebab house displaying a pizza menu outside. My pizza order is declined though, they’ve finished with pizzas for the night but I can have a kebab. Veggie kebab it is then, I wrap it in foil and tuck it away on my rear pack for CP1, I don’t want to waste time eating now. A few kilometers later I see flashing red lights ahead, the first rider I’ve seen in 30km. I chase them down until I pass the rider on a climb where he shouts for me to get the beers in at CP1. How far away is CP1? I don’t know, but stopping to check the map will cost time so I plug on. I’m slightly surprised to ride round a corner 15 minutes later to see lights shining out through the floor to ceiling windows of a modern ski hotel bearing the name of the checkpoint hotel. That’s it! I’ve arrived. Inside Juliana Bühring greets me with a hug and I’m a bit overwhelmed by the number of people here after two days of near solitude. I’m the 39th rider to arrive, Brevet card stamped I eat my kebab and order two litres of sparkling water, I avoid the temptation of a beer knowing that one won’t be enough and it won’t help replace what feels like tens of litres of sweat lost on the road. I lay out my sleeping bag and bivvy on the hard concrete floor of the underground. Down jacket for a pillow I get a surprising amount of sleep despite being woken by a car during the night. I decide against my usual 4am start in favour of a large breakfast in preparation for the climb up to the Bielerhöhe Pass. Getting up at 7am seems decadent and many riders have already set off hoping to climb the parcours to the pass in the cool early morning air. 

I enjoy my breakfast but regret the lack of warmup before the climb to the Bielerhöhe kicks up to 10%, fortunately the views reward my breathless efforts. I peer skyward trying to work out where the road goes, various lines traverse the white limestone high peaks above. I pass a few other riders on the way up only for the same riders to get ahead at the summit, I waste time taking photos, admiring the snowy view and tweeting as they roll away. 

Day 1

Day 2