Wowee Zowee! 3 days have passed and I'm still buzzing. Last Saturday was the Quebrantahuesos, Spain's answer to the Etape du Tour and my best day, and hardest day, I've ever had in the saddle.
The Build Up
The anticipation had been building up for quite a few weeks. I think we booked our flights and accommodation for this back in the cold winter months (ideal motivation when freezing your arse on cold Saturday mornings in the Surrey Hills). The chaotic registration process (in hindsight) even heightened the sense that I and my three other cycling buddies had managed to secure a place in this event as keenly sought after by the Spanish as VIP tickets to Glastonbury.
As the last few days approached before we flew out to Barcelona, all 3 of us were deliriously splashing our cash on cycling accessories that might just help improve our chances on the 205km circuit up and down 4 Pyrenean mountains.
Thursday
We arrived in Barcelona airport on Thursday and loaded up our VW people carrier with our four bike boxes and set out for the 5 hour drive to Badaguas. As the foothills of the Pyrenees emerged on the horizon you could feel the sense of excitement/fear building. Berns in particular was starting to rue his lack of dedication to winter and spring training.
Friday
Wilf, Berns and myself set off in some light rain for a leg stretching ride leaving Mark in the hotel to protect his Parlee from the wet stuff. Cycling into Jaca from our hotel we got a taster of what we would experience on Saturday - a long, steady descent on billiard table like roads. Great lunch in Jaca - liver tapas and calamares washed down with a couple of beers. We then cycled back to Badaguas experiencing the long, steady climb with the sun now beating down on us.
All 4 of us then headed in the VW to Sabinanigo to sign in and collect our race numbers. Thousands were there. Excitement building. Weather forecast for Saturday - dry and in the mid to high 20s. Perfect. An early dinner at 7pm, with Berns and Wilf ordering two portions of Spag Bol. Back to the hotel for an early night's sleep. Must sleep.
Saturday
Alarm goes off at 5.20am. Half an hours sleep last night. F**k. Everything prepared so we pile into the van and make our way to Sabinanigo - AC/DC 'Highway to Hell' on the stereo. We improvise a parking spot. Breakfast in the van then off to the start. Berns looking quite green and his lack of preparation now showing - he's left his helmet back at the hotel. He heads off in search of a solution so Mark, Wilf and I head to the start line. Riders stretch out as far as the eye can see in front and within minutes the road behind is packed with our fellow competitors.
The Race Starts
The gun goes off at 7.30am. Over 20 minutes later and we too are able to roll out over the line. Start the Cateye. The pace for the first few kilometres is a steady 25mph over rolling flats. I have my crib sheet attached to my handlebars. 19.1 miles to the start of the first climb, the Somport.
Somport
Both Mark and Wilf have dropped off. I'm not racing at his stage but speed really depends on the pace of the group you choose. The Somport starts, a 17.5 mile climb with an average gradient of 2.91%. After a few kms I find a grupetto of 3 riders from the Barbastro CC. I like their pace and stick to their wheels figuring they'll know what tempo to set. At Canfranc we see ski lifts and the gradient steps up to between 3.6 and 8.2%. The clouds have closed in and a low fog eventually engulfs us. At the summit I feel good, the Somport was no problem. I grab a newspaper to stuff down my jersey from one of the many spectators lining the side of the road. I still freeze. My legs are shuddering as I make my descent. Too many riders in the way to go the speed I'd like. Eventually the temperatures warm as I near the valley and the sun breaks through.
Marie Blanque
On the flats before the next col I find the group I'm in drifting further back from the one in front. This is no good so I break out, put some speed down hoping to take one or two with me. No-one bridges so I push on. I have to cover almost 1km to bridge the gap solo but I'm determined not to get swallowed up by the pack I've left. It's a great effort! I've made the gap. Now we approach the Marie Blanque. I don't know what to expect here other than the stats - 6.2 miles at 7.15% average with stretches up to 12%. I've also read Eddie Merckx rated this as his hardest climb! I'm in a strong group and as we ascend we spit riders off the back. There's two riders from the same club, one of which looks like Robert Millar. His riding style is similar as well. I'm riding well and stay firmly planted in the saddle whilst pretty much all the local riders seem to jumping on their pedals. We're passing quite a few riders. Kilometre markers pass steadily, each announcing the gradient we have to look forward to. The summit, I've made it and actually really enjoyed the climb although the road was rough in patches. At the top I eat some food and try to clean my sunglasses. Mark rolls up behind! I'm a bit surprised, as although he's a strong climber I didn't expect for him to be so close. We roll of together and I suggest some RPCC roulering. The descent is fast with lots of sharp turns. The rumours are true, the Spanish can't descend. At the bottom I've lost Mark, wait a few minutes at the water station but presuming he must of gone through I push on.
Portalet
The road to the Portalet rolls along a main road past French villages. A group has formed and we set a steady pace. The climb starts, 17.8 miles with an average gradient of 4.46%. This is a step into the unknown. The legs are feeling OK still. For about 8 miles I'm cycling just in front or just behind a few riders I've rode the Marie Blanque with. Robert Millar is there too. Kilometre signs pass but there seems to be a longer wait between each. The gradient ramps up. 10% for 1km, 11% for 1km. I need a flatter section to recuperate. It doesn't come. The last 4 miles are the toughest I've ever grinded up. The hills are bare, brutal, unforgiving and then the man with the hammer visits. Robert Millar is long gone and soon every rider I passed on the first 12 miles of the climb seems to come past me. I approach another km sign - surely it's three to go I try and convince myself - no! it's four. The crowds are building up along both sides of the road. The last 2kms are like the Tour de France - there's only room for two riders, the crowds are chanting 'Venga! Venga!' I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm getting quite emotional now. A combination of the crowd's support, the grinding pain and the fact that I know I'm going to make it to the top of the Portalet makes me well up. A good looking blonde that I passed 2 miles back comes by, the crowd shout 'Venga! Venga! Chica!' It doesn't matter, I've made it!
The view at the summit is breathtaking - a textbook Pyrenean vista. The descent is extraorinary. I've soon forgotten the pain and I'm riding like a demon. There's more room on the descent and I'm taking no prisoners - 50-60mph is common, my cateye even says top speed of 70.1mph! The road plummets, I tear through a ski lift carpark - awesome. Soon I'm alongside a beautiful, serene lake. I race over the dam - awesome. Nearing Hoz de Jaca, the final climb.
Hoz de Jaca
This is a little spike, 1.42miles but with an average 7.96%. The roads are quite rural here but it's fun to mix it up. This is twisty and narrow with groups of spectators on the corners. I stick pace with a group of 8 or so. We're at the top and making our way back to Sabinanigo.
The Final Stretch
In a group of about 8 riders we're driving along the main roads again but into a strong headwind. There's a couple who are trying to organise a chain. My turns at the front are hard. My legs are pretty sapped and my 50-12 is just a little to low to drive the pace in the wind. The chain seems to break down as two riders decide to keep jumping to the front and not rotating. Tempers are getting frayed. I'm happy to let them do the work and sit in third. Close to the line I jump from wheel to wheel but decide not to sprint - partly as I'm not sure where the line is, partly as it'll probably make me look a prat. I'm over the line at 14.54.
The Aftermath
The free beer tastes good, there's free pasta as well but I'm surprisingly not hungry. Mark calls, he's in 10 minutes after me - a great effort. I'm pretty sure we've both got Gold and when we collect our medals and certificates it's confirmed 'Oro'! Get in! My time is 7hrs 12mins 54secs. An average speed of 28.41kph. Both totally elated we head for a free massage and wait for Wilf and Berns. Wilf heads over in just over 9hrs, he's ecstatic. More beer. Berns then appears 40 mins later. He's been destroyed, he's quitting cycling! This of course is temporary - all four of us will be back next year. 2010 I will have a green dorsal!
The Build Up
The anticipation had been building up for quite a few weeks. I think we booked our flights and accommodation for this back in the cold winter months (ideal motivation when freezing your arse on cold Saturday mornings in the Surrey Hills). The chaotic registration process (in hindsight) even heightened the sense that I and my three other cycling buddies had managed to secure a place in this event as keenly sought after by the Spanish as VIP tickets to Glastonbury.
As the last few days approached before we flew out to Barcelona, all 3 of us were deliriously splashing our cash on cycling accessories that might just help improve our chances on the 205km circuit up and down 4 Pyrenean mountains.
Thursday
We arrived in Barcelona airport on Thursday and loaded up our VW people carrier with our four bike boxes and set out for the 5 hour drive to Badaguas. As the foothills of the Pyrenees emerged on the horizon you could feel the sense of excitement/fear building. Berns in particular was starting to rue his lack of dedication to winter and spring training.
Friday
Wilf, Berns and myself set off in some light rain for a leg stretching ride leaving Mark in the hotel to protect his Parlee from the wet stuff. Cycling into Jaca from our hotel we got a taster of what we would experience on Saturday - a long, steady descent on billiard table like roads. Great lunch in Jaca - liver tapas and calamares washed down with a couple of beers. We then cycled back to Badaguas experiencing the long, steady climb with the sun now beating down on us.
All 4 of us then headed in the VW to Sabinanigo to sign in and collect our race numbers. Thousands were there. Excitement building. Weather forecast for Saturday - dry and in the mid to high 20s. Perfect. An early dinner at 7pm, with Berns and Wilf ordering two portions of Spag Bol. Back to the hotel for an early night's sleep. Must sleep.
Saturday
Alarm goes off at 5.20am. Half an hours sleep last night. F**k. Everything prepared so we pile into the van and make our way to Sabinanigo - AC/DC 'Highway to Hell' on the stereo. We improvise a parking spot. Breakfast in the van then off to the start. Berns looking quite green and his lack of preparation now showing - he's left his helmet back at the hotel. He heads off in search of a solution so Mark, Wilf and I head to the start line. Riders stretch out as far as the eye can see in front and within minutes the road behind is packed with our fellow competitors.
The Race Starts
The gun goes off at 7.30am. Over 20 minutes later and we too are able to roll out over the line. Start the Cateye. The pace for the first few kilometres is a steady 25mph over rolling flats. I have my crib sheet attached to my handlebars. 19.1 miles to the start of the first climb, the Somport.
Somport
Both Mark and Wilf have dropped off. I'm not racing at his stage but speed really depends on the pace of the group you choose. The Somport starts, a 17.5 mile climb with an average gradient of 2.91%. After a few kms I find a grupetto of 3 riders from the Barbastro CC. I like their pace and stick to their wheels figuring they'll know what tempo to set. At Canfranc we see ski lifts and the gradient steps up to between 3.6 and 8.2%. The clouds have closed in and a low fog eventually engulfs us. At the summit I feel good, the Somport was no problem. I grab a newspaper to stuff down my jersey from one of the many spectators lining the side of the road. I still freeze. My legs are shuddering as I make my descent. Too many riders in the way to go the speed I'd like. Eventually the temperatures warm as I near the valley and the sun breaks through.
Marie Blanque
On the flats before the next col I find the group I'm in drifting further back from the one in front. This is no good so I break out, put some speed down hoping to take one or two with me. No-one bridges so I push on. I have to cover almost 1km to bridge the gap solo but I'm determined not to get swallowed up by the pack I've left. It's a great effort! I've made the gap. Now we approach the Marie Blanque. I don't know what to expect here other than the stats - 6.2 miles at 7.15% average with stretches up to 12%. I've also read Eddie Merckx rated this as his hardest climb! I'm in a strong group and as we ascend we spit riders off the back. There's two riders from the same club, one of which looks like Robert Millar. His riding style is similar as well. I'm riding well and stay firmly planted in the saddle whilst pretty much all the local riders seem to jumping on their pedals. We're passing quite a few riders. Kilometre markers pass steadily, each announcing the gradient we have to look forward to. The summit, I've made it and actually really enjoyed the climb although the road was rough in patches. At the top I eat some food and try to clean my sunglasses. Mark rolls up behind! I'm a bit surprised, as although he's a strong climber I didn't expect for him to be so close. We roll of together and I suggest some RPCC roulering. The descent is fast with lots of sharp turns. The rumours are true, the Spanish can't descend. At the bottom I've lost Mark, wait a few minutes at the water station but presuming he must of gone through I push on.
Portalet
The road to the Portalet rolls along a main road past French villages. A group has formed and we set a steady pace. The climb starts, 17.8 miles with an average gradient of 4.46%. This is a step into the unknown. The legs are feeling OK still. For about 8 miles I'm cycling just in front or just behind a few riders I've rode the Marie Blanque with. Robert Millar is there too. Kilometre signs pass but there seems to be a longer wait between each. The gradient ramps up. 10% for 1km, 11% for 1km. I need a flatter section to recuperate. It doesn't come. The last 4 miles are the toughest I've ever grinded up. The hills are bare, brutal, unforgiving and then the man with the hammer visits. Robert Millar is long gone and soon every rider I passed on the first 12 miles of the climb seems to come past me. I approach another km sign - surely it's three to go I try and convince myself - no! it's four. The crowds are building up along both sides of the road. The last 2kms are like the Tour de France - there's only room for two riders, the crowds are chanting 'Venga! Venga!' I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm getting quite emotional now. A combination of the crowd's support, the grinding pain and the fact that I know I'm going to make it to the top of the Portalet makes me well up. A good looking blonde that I passed 2 miles back comes by, the crowd shout 'Venga! Venga! Chica!' It doesn't matter, I've made it!
The view at the summit is breathtaking - a textbook Pyrenean vista. The descent is extraorinary. I've soon forgotten the pain and I'm riding like a demon. There's more room on the descent and I'm taking no prisoners - 50-60mph is common, my cateye even says top speed of 70.1mph! The road plummets, I tear through a ski lift carpark - awesome. Soon I'm alongside a beautiful, serene lake. I race over the dam - awesome. Nearing Hoz de Jaca, the final climb.
Hoz de Jaca
This is a little spike, 1.42miles but with an average 7.96%. The roads are quite rural here but it's fun to mix it up. This is twisty and narrow with groups of spectators on the corners. I stick pace with a group of 8 or so. We're at the top and making our way back to Sabinanigo.
The Final Stretch
In a group of about 8 riders we're driving along the main roads again but into a strong headwind. There's a couple who are trying to organise a chain. My turns at the front are hard. My legs are pretty sapped and my 50-12 is just a little to low to drive the pace in the wind. The chain seems to break down as two riders decide to keep jumping to the front and not rotating. Tempers are getting frayed. I'm happy to let them do the work and sit in third. Close to the line I jump from wheel to wheel but decide not to sprint - partly as I'm not sure where the line is, partly as it'll probably make me look a prat. I'm over the line at 14.54.
The Aftermath
The free beer tastes good, there's free pasta as well but I'm surprisingly not hungry. Mark calls, he's in 10 minutes after me - a great effort. I'm pretty sure we've both got Gold and when we collect our medals and certificates it's confirmed 'Oro'! Get in! My time is 7hrs 12mins 54secs. An average speed of 28.41kph. Both totally elated we head for a free massage and wait for Wilf and Berns. Wilf heads over in just over 9hrs, he's ecstatic. More beer. Berns then appears 40 mins later. He's been destroyed, he's quitting cycling! This of course is temporary - all four of us will be back next year. 2010 I will have a green dorsal!
