ABR - The survival stage

It’s never going to be a good day when you’re on the first climb at 15km and your mantra is “just get through it”. There wasn’t even a suggestion of racing today from either of us. Not that we’d said that, we just knew. Not that either of us felt bad or couldn’t have raced, somehow, we just didn’t want to, it was all about getting to the end.

The trails were what has now become the norm – steep uphills and miles of swoopy singletrack. I got shouted at by a Spanish guy at one point for jumping a queue to get through a gate. How dare he! Doesn’t he know the British invented queuing etiquette?!

At Feed Zone 2 Sally told me she’d caught the leading pair and they’d darted off in a panic, they were three minutes ahead now. We both just shrugged. With 20km to go (again!) we caught them up and the conversation went along the lines of: “It’s them.” “Aw, really?!” “Yup.” “I’m not playing, I’m not doing it.” “Me neither.” “I’m stopping to take some photos.” “Good idea.” And that’s what we did, it was a lovely day with a lovely view.

At feed zone 3 I had some Power Bar Power Shot cubes and clearly the sugar rush was enough to make me go a bit loopy for 5 minutes. I had a very entertaining conversation with myself while giving a running commentary on the course. I think the week of exertion might finally be getting to me.

The last 10km was the same as yesterday and we were glad we hadn’t put the effort in to chase. When faced with the option of chasing hard and busting our backsides to come second again, or chilling out, taking some photos and enjoying ourselves to still get second, the latter option was by far the best choice. It is a holiday after all and today was filled which much witty banter and laughter. (And as it turns out, we were only six minutes behind them at the end.) Andalucia Bike Race stage 5 results are here.

So as a quick recap before the final day: Stage 1 – 5^th/last after Sally had a big crash and we lost about 20 minutes. Stage 2 – 3^rd having not had a great day but moved into 3^rd overall. Stage 3 – 2^nd after a sprint finish, still 3^rd overall. Stage 4 – 2^nd again after a 20km chase for first, moved into 2^nd overall. Stage 5 – 2^nd again, not really racing today, 2^nd overall and a comfortable lead over 3^rd. Overall standings after Stage 5 of ABR 2016 are here.

 

ABR - The sprint finish

Today should have been a slightly easier day although it’s funny how quickly your perspective changes during these events. It’s rare to call 72km of off-road with 1,800m of climbing ‘easy’ but compared to yesterday, it should have been.

I knew something was up quite early on as ‘things’ just weren’t feeling right; my shorts weren’t comfy, my vest was riding up, I forgot to put my heart rate monitor on. Nothing was flowing. And to cap it all my right thumb had lost all strength and I was unable to grab clothing, open gel packets or (more importantly) push a gear lever with ease.

The start was another mass panic through town and out across the fields, followed by lots of walking down into little gullies to cross a stream and then walking up out the other side. This was not the flattish first 20km I had expected and my legs just weren’t there. The whole day I had nothing, no real feeling of getting going, I was just going through the motions with my heart rate hardly getting about 160bpm.

Even steeper than it looks

The real kicker came around 55km and the big climb which, although fire road, loomed over the valley and looked almost vertical at the top. It was tough but at least the summit marked the start of the last descent. As I reached it, Sally was waiting for it and happened to mention she’d caught the pair who were probably in second place, they were only about 8 minutes ahead. Hmmm, 14km to go, mostly descent, 8 minutes gap, never going to happen, forget about it…

We flew down the final descent like we were invincible. Steering and braking was a thing of the past as we were now confident enough in our ability, and that of the bike that we could just straight line everything and the bike would suck it up. How right we were and much fun was had, despite a few dodgy line choices. Ahem.

Then it happened. As we rejoined the section that had been the first 6km, we spotted the pair in second. Subconsciously I picked up the pace a little bit – well, I’d done nothing all day, it’s not as if I was tired. We soon caught them on the undulating sections and I desperately tried to remember the route home. The 5km to go sign and we were sitting on their wheels. Competitive? Us? Never.

I told Sally to hang back and not go past, save her legs, she might have to tow me home. Down onto the gravel track and they were leading us out. They sat up a bit and eased off. At the next slight descent I went for it and Sally sat on, it took them a while to get up to speed but they soon did and were sat on our wheels. I sat up, knowing we weren’t going to shake them and let Sally come alongside to give her a crash course in race tactics.

At around 2km to go Sally upped the pace and I tucked in behind, keeping an eye on the chasing pair. Soon we were approaching tarmac roads at the edge of town, “make sure we get into the streets first, they’ll be tight in places” I said. My Garmin then said 1km to go and on the closed roads of Andujar I dropped low on the bike and went as hard as I could just hoping Sally was with me. The roads were long and straight for a while, maybe I’d gone too early, better dig in and hope. But then came the last couple of bends and the finish line, we’d done it!

Only metres later all four of us were high fives and hugs, what an awesome way to finish 5 hours of racing. The ladies from the Polar Team were just as happy as we were; who doesn’t like a healthy bit of competition and a good bit of tactical bike racing. Andalucia Bike Race stage 3 results are here.

ABR - The big day and the mass start

The mass start

Yesterday was a pleasant time trial start, just me and Sally bumbling down the road at our own pace. Today was the mass start and our category was gridded about a third of the way down the field. When the hooter went the chaos began as hundreds of Masters Men sped past us as we made our way around the narrow, twisting start roads. How ten cyclists fit across one road lane, riding within inches of one another at 20mph+ always astonishes me, considering the varying abilities. Soon the peloton was snaking out in front of us as far as the eye could see; a thousand riders strong, five times the size of the Tour de France.

Then came the inevitable bottle neck on the first climb and from then on it was a constant stream of riders grinding up the hill when gears would allow and walking when the going got tough. After an hour and a considerable amount of hike a bike we were almost at the top of the first climb. Last night we’d decided today would be the ‘hardest day’ at 76km and 2,400m of ascent, topping out at around 1,300 metres twice, so it would be a case of head down and just get through it.

I’d previously joked with a friend that by the end of stage 2 I’d be shattered and at the end of stage 3 I’d be on my knees, sobbing and in need of a hug. With 40km to go I’d already entered the stony cold silent phase, when there’s nothing but emptiness inside; too tired to speak and look up, never mind moan or cry and you just want it to be over. Some might joke this is the point at which people have a sense of humour failure, but really it’s just your body shutting down all non-essential functions such as the need to process human speech, never mind action an appropriate response to witty comments.

Hike a bike

Even the descents were taking their toll – burning glutes, aching arms and weak hands having to grab the brakes with two fingers – a momentary lapse of concentration could lead to disaster. Having not ridden off road since Christmas it’s amazing how quickly your descending techniques come back to you when faced with 10 steep, rocky switchbacks in a row. This is when 20 years of experience of riding a variety of bikes comes in very handy.

The last 10km contained a colourful selection of expletives followed by “this isn’t on the bloody profile” until finally, after almost 6 hours, we reached the finish line and somehow managed a short sprint to make sure we were under the magic 6 (it mattered to us). Done. Well and truly done. One of the hardest days I’ve ever had on a mountain bike.

To our surprise we were met by an organiser telling us we’d actually come third and were needed for the podium in ten minutes – clearly this was met with hysterical laughter and the best high five we could muster which wasn’t very impressive. Stage 2 results for the Andalucia Bike Race are here.

ABR - I remember now

Racing. MTB Stage racing. The “hey, let’s go and do a winter stage race somewhere hot, it’ll be fun” ideas that I just seem incapable of turning down. Hence I’m now at the Andalucia Bike Race, on a whim and just 6 weeks of training.

It’s been a couple of years since I did a mountain bike race. The last one was also an international stage race, the 4-day Cyprus Sunshine Cup. Each day I would turn up, ride, finish and climb on to the podium having the glorious honour of being both first and last – that’s what happens when you’re the only Master Woman riding. After that, I swore “never again”, but then I say that every time I have a heavy night and huge hangover and that promise never lasts very long. And of all things in my life, perhaps cycling is the only one that actually pre-dates drinking so there’s even more of a precedent there.

I remember the routine of stage racing. Wake up, eat and drink, ride, eat and drink while riding, finish, eat and drink, shower, eat and drink, sleep. Repeat for x number of stages. It’s kinda nice to just immerse yourself in what it must be like to be a pro-rider for a while, but then I remember that taking part hurts and winning looks masochistic so to dabble on occasion is enough for me.

I remember the excitement of the town centre starts and the crowds cheering you on with encouraging shouts you can’t understand; the families having picnics in their gardens to watch the race; the one random stranger on a climb who starts clapping the moment he sees you and doesn’t stop until you’re once again out of sight; the closed roads and police escorts, smiling marshals and patient car drivers who shout a hearty “Vamos! Vamos!” not in the slightest bit bothered that you’ve delayed their day by a minute or so.

I remember the dilemma of whether to look at the stage profiles or not – intrigued by how far it is and how much climbing there will be but equally anxious about the thought of what lies ahead. Ignorance is bliss as they say; except when your heart is pounding so loudly in your head that you need to know whether to risk heart failure because you’re almost at the top or if you should just cut your losses and live to ride another day. Then there’s the “last climb, it’s all downhill from here” moment (which should be a mandatory sign on every cycle course) which sparks the glimmer of hope and final release of energy that always gets you home.

I remember what it’s like hanging off the back of a bike with your belly on the saddle, backside just off the rear wheel, as you grip the bars at full stretch down an unknown technical and steep descent with a technique that at best can be called ‘controlled falling’ and ‘lucky’ if you’re being honest.

I remember the jelly legs and shaking hands at the bottom of the descent only to be faced with a wall of trail in front of you and the frantic clicking, clunking, clanging and wincing that accompanies the panic of trying to find the right gear for your non-functioning legs before your thighs explode. Then the moment of disbelief when the lever will go no further and you realise you are in the lowest gear. But still you pray that they snuck another one in there, a secret one, just for emergencies, one so big you’d never even noticed it was there and now in this very moment of pain and desperation the chain will magically, seamlessly, slip on to it and you will spin on. But no, there are no more gears.

I remember the effort of my whole torso heaving at the bars trying to use the leverage of every inch of every limb to haul the crank over one more time and hoping that sheer body weight, or gravity or ‘the force’ will do the rest; knowing that every pedal stroke takes you closer to the top of the hill, and every hill summit gets you closer to the finish and the end of this self-inflicted suffering.

And then I remember that I have five more longer, harder, hotter, steeper days to go…