Scratching has given me an itch.
Each time I am asked what happened, or what went wrong for me at TPRNo2, I struggle to give a definitive and concise response. Either that is because there was simply not one sole explanation, or I have found challenging putting in to words the mindset I permitted myself to drift in to. I hope however by that dissecting my experience of the race, which was still relatively eventful for the ~500km of my participation, I can better understand and explain why I made the choice I did. Most importantly, I want to come away from this not with regrets, but with acceptance that my decisions felt right at the time and that there are opportunities to learn and improve from facing obstacles. I’ve gone in to far too much detail so have split this in two posts. The first covers the build-up and first day of the race.
Five weeks and three days separated my arrival at John O’ Groats at the end of GBDUROO and the start of TPRNo2 from St-Jean-de-Luz. That’s plenty of time. I came away from GBDURO bubbling with confidence. I had performed in many ways beyond my expectations in an event I didn’t think precisely suited my strengths and was hugely buoyed by the generous support and recognition received from those who followed my progress. I envisaged riding this wave to TPRNo2 and putting in another performance I could be proud of. I was confident that the route and format played to my propensity to maintaining forward momentum, however slow, over relentless terrain. TPRNo1 three years prior holds massively fond memories for me. I still feel that I executed that race to the best of my ability and the reward of that, coupled with a second place finish, left me with a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment I am yet to replicate. I was seeking, even presuming, a repeat of that sensation but neglecting to fully recall the difficult moments and level of sheer tenacity it took to reach that finale.
I attempted a return to higher intensity training a week and a half after GBDURO. Objectively and perceptually I was clearly still fatigued but, as I so often do, I ploughed on regardless. Over the subsequent weeks I did generally feel the lingering effects of GBDURO wear off, but soon enough my focus shifted to final preparation rides. The cumulation was a ~500km ‘race simulation’ outing two weeks beforehand with full kit and a mindset of keeping stopped time to a minimum. It went reasonably and my set-up felt solid but I would have taken more confidence if I had felt stronger in the latter stages. From then, it was all about equipping the bicycle with fresh components and preparing it and myself for the trip to southwest France.
In the week leading to the start of TPRNo2 I was most anxious about my journey to Biarritz going to plan. Would my 5am taxi turn up? Would I not be allowed on the train because my bike bag was too big? Would my bike survive the flight in one piece? All things outside of my gift to control, which I should now not to dwell on or fret over. Added to that, the weather around the Bay of Biscay was forecast to be atrocious during the days following my arrival, with a month’s rain forecast in one day for the Thursday, albeit with signs of an improvement from Friday when the race started. This would make for less than ideal conditions for the planned shakedown ride to make sure the re-build of my shiny bicycle with all its clean new components was done correctly and that nothing would fall off.
Thankfully, all went smoothly with the journey and I had the bicycle ready to ride the evening I arrived on Tuesday to a muggy Biarritz. The rain was more intermittent heavy showers than the constant downpour indicated by the forecasts, so I set off for a two hour shakedown ride on the Wednesday during a brief dry spell. This let-up didn’t last long and the strength of the rain gradually built, assisted in its potency by a strong Atlantic wind. For a short outing, it wasn’t particularly unpleasant to ride in as being humid and 18°C, the sensation is very different to dealing with British rain at <10°C. Hence, I didn’t even put on my rain jacket as my jersey repelled the initial showers and once I realised I was soaked through the addition of another layer would only have served to keep the moisture in. I returned to my hotel room soggy, but content that the bicycle worked correctly and more confident in my capability to potentially deal with similar conditions during the first part of the race two days later.
Thursday was registration day in St-Jean-de-Luz, a sodden 45 minute ride down the coast. I was flattered to be asked to speak to the podcasters, Ross and Ian, about my aspirations for the race after my second place finish in the inaugural edition and thus having the honour of donning Cap 2. On the whole, I felt far more relaxed than during similar processes at previous events. Partly perhaps through experience or a sense of confidence in my abilities, whether merited or not. It’s always pleasant to come across familiar faces, some of which I haven’t seen in years and to meet new ones or those I’ve only been acquainted with virtually. The briefing was put back an hour to allow more time for arrivals affected by the striking French transport workers but I’d still be able to get a decent night’s sleep before the 6am start the next morning. I don’t recall anything else during the day having me feeling overly stressed or worried about the impending undertaking. After all, I’d done this race before and finished highly so why would it be different this time? My mind even drifted to recalling the feeling of unbridled satisfaction when completing such an endeavour and projecting the enjoyment a few days’ proper holiday at St-Jean-de-Luz with fellow finishers and the ensuing well-earned off-season. If all went to plan, that would be a reality in only a few short days.
Friday morning was hiccup and major worry free. I ate a lot, made the most of hotel room comforts for the last time for a while and rolled the short distance to the start line on the promenade adjacent to the bay amongst the throng of gathering riders in a haze of high-viz clothing and bright bicycle lights. I felt in my element rolling out with the first group, exchanging the odd word when briefly held at traffic lights before departing the urban sprawl. The rain held off for the best part of an hour and I was always bouncing between other riders, conscious as always to not over-exert myself in the early stages. I did however delay donning my rain jacket one the droplets got heavier, ostensibly out of concern for losing touch with those who started in the same wave as me. This was ridiculous in hindsight - there was no advantage to be gained from staying in eyeshot of another rider when we weren’t drafting. Briefly stopping to adjust layers would take thirty seconds, maybe one minute, over a race decided by hours, if not days. I didn’t let it get to the stage that I would be soaked though but when I did eventually pull in to fumble with my waterproof and hi-vis layers, the rain stopped. Naturally.
It took some 3 hours to reach CP1, the rain having eased en-route but the skies promising more to come. An unfamiliar figure swept past me with a disconcertingly sense of ease on the first significant climb (I subsequently learnt was James Lowden) and I then passed Thomas Jacquilinet who was crawling up the hill at a speed which suggested something was certainly not right. He had shot off from the start, apparently keen to impose Cap 1 on the race but less than a couple of hours later was complaining of feeling sick. I told him that I hoped things would work out but sensed it would be difficult to overcome feeling that bad so early on. The second climb to CP1 at the summit of Col d’Ispueguy was a cracking sinuous road at a gradient that was never particularly challenging and thus a pleasure to ride. I didn’t hang around at the top - once my brevet card was stamped and I had exchanged a few words with Ross and his projecting microphone, I descended to the rolling roads of the Basque Country which felt familiar from tackling from the opposite direction during TPRNo1. There followed another persistently heavy downpour just as I was passing a strung-out crew of touring cyclists, one seemingly wearing a bin bag for protection. It fortunately remained mild so with my rain jacket and full-finger gloves deployed I was never left feeling overly uncomfortable.
With the exception of the relatively minor bump of the Col d’Osquich, the remainder of the first 200km posed little in the way of elevation gain as I skirted east, before beginning the long drag south through the Vallée d'Ossau. I tried to settle in on the false-flat sections but held the niggling sensation that each pedal stroke was slightly more difficult than I would expect at this stage. This wasn’t helped by coming across Markus Zimmerman, a fellow of similar stature to me but capable of cruising at incomprehensible speeds on flatter terrain. He had started in a wave nearly half an hour after me and I teasingly told him he had gone off too fast, before watching him progressively disappear in to the distance, casually pedalling a few km/hr faster than I was comfortable of maintaining.
The road was gently rising for the best part of 50 miles towards the foot of the Col du Portalet and I was considering where to make my first stop, as much for a mental break as a re-supply of food and liquid. The last of the rain petered out by late morning and I began an effort to dry out my sodden gloves, overshoes and socks - conscious of the forecast for cooler conditions later in the day and how the sensation of cold can be exacerbated through donning wet kit. My ingenious solution for the gloves was to thread them through a strap attached to my aerobars, which acted like a clothesline and worked a treat. I carried a spare pair of socks but was still keen to dry out my shoes as much as possible so removed the overshoes once the apparent risk of rain had seemingly passed. However, as is so often the case, soon after doing this and taking the turn on to the main valley road heading south I was met with the sight of an ominously dark cloud hovering above the mountains ahead. The road was also wet, an indication of a recent downpour, but with the wind on my back I hoped the clouds would be moving faster than I, especially by the time I reached the Portalet.
I made a stop at the Intermarché in Laruns after 190km, picking up and subsequently devouring a four-pack of rice pudding, and briefly catching Markus as he was heading off. From Laruns, valley road immediately morphed to mountain pass and the Col du Portalet was announced via a roadside sign – 27km at an average gradient of 4.5%. What with foreign travel being restricted for a while, it had been three years since I had ridden a bicycle abroad, let alone taken on a climb approaching this length. I know that climbs of this nature require patience, but at the base my mind was focused on calculating how long this was going to take. Around two hours I supposed. I glared despairingly as the first few kilometre markers ticked by excruciatingly slowly, each one denoting how far to go and the percentage gradient of the next section. I soon though made what was a rare wise decision during this ride of intentionally ignoring these signs until I sensed I was nearer the summit. Despite the average gradient of 4.5% not appearing too challenging, this included a flat/slight downhill section for a couple of kilometres so there were some extended slopes of 7-8%. I still wouldn’t expect this to cause too much strain, but I found myself frustratingly flicking down to my easiest gear at an unexpectedly early stage. This is, of course, the sensible thing to do. If you have the gears, you use them. Especially 200km in to a 1,500km+ event with so much climbing to come. Nonetheless, I simply could not shift the self-flagellating, downbeat thoughts. It should feel so much easier than this. Why am I so weak?. A shame, as the col itself offered some wonderful vistas of snow-capped peaks and the looming grey clouds had dissipated to clearer skies once I reached higher altitudes. I was never fully comfortable though. With the summit less than 5km away, I had to pause for a moment to regain composure – something I don’t recall having to do for years. My heart rate was not at a disconcertingly high level, but my rate of perceived effort felt unsustainable. All while trundling along at a speed I did not consider fast enough. I lacked patience and perspective. I questioned how I could handle more difficult climbs, particularly the relentless return leg, if I was struggling so much on this meagre initial obstacle when supposedly reasonably fresh. In reality, this was a major challenge which I had underestimated, as much mentally as physically. The road rose from nearly sea level to around 1,800m with little respite from the uphill drag in the preceding 100km. Not many other portions of the route followed this pattern, and my strengths are more suited to the repeated, shorter climbs which would come later, rather than lengthy valley slogs. I knew this, I just didn’t remind myself of it. My mind was dominated by negative thoughts – the discomfort, the time it would take to be done with this godforsaken slog, the difficulties still to come.
Now in mid-afternoon and descending in slightly chilly but clear conditions on the Spanish side of the border, my mind turned to where and when I could stock up for the night and to what my strategy would be for the hours of darkness. At this time of year in the Pyrenees the nights stretch to around 12 hours and, although I would be passing through settlements frequently, there would be little open apart from bars or restaurants between 8pm and 8am.
I reached Broto (270km), at around 6:30pm, where the mandatory Parcours 2 began. This was to be the final shop I would reach before nightfall so I reprovisioned accordingly. The food highlight was consuming an entire large-sized Spanish omelette, but I slightly struggled with the unfamiliarity of the store and its products particularly when searching for non-meat savoury options. This not helped by my often-unproductive jitteriness when in ‘race mode’ and not on the move. For overnight caffeine, I couldn’t find a suitable sized milk bottle so plumped for a bottle of kefir, in to which I would deploy several sachets of instant coffee and save until a pick-me-up was required. I also used this opportunity to swap my still-soggy socks for a spare, thicker pair and deploy my long sleeve base layer. Socks are generally the only piece of kit I double up on but the payoff is always worth it.
It was reasonably mild during the final hours of sunlight and the final glimpses of the arid, rocky landscape provided a pleasant backdrop. A notable contrast to the northern side of the range, with its more verdant feel. Twisting roads wound up and down reasonably tame gradients, and I found myself frequently alongside another rider or in close proximity. However, my appetite for conversation was somewhat muted. I hope I didn’t come across as too rude, but I just didn’t have the will or desire to expend the physical and mental effort to engage in extended discourse. Shouldn’t I be well ahead of all these other people by now anyway? One spoke of the hotel he has booked at around the 350km mark and enquired of my sleeping plans. ‘I’ll see what the night brings’ was my stock response. I already had an inkling of what this may entail – the idea of a bed indoors, if only for a couple of hours, was becoming increasingly tempting. Passing one particular hotel on the road to Plan, with its welcoming lights and promise of a snug chamber, seemed to concentrate this idea. Even more so as the temperature was noticeably dipping, promising a chilly night to come. A decision, or plan, had to be made by Plan as beyond this settlement marking the end of Parcours 2 lay the first gravel section and projecting how long it would take to traverse this ~25km, including a 10km climb up to 1,800+m, was pure conjecture.
Day One - The Numbers: Distance: 340.81km / 211.77 mi Speed: 21.7 kph / 13.5 mph Elevation: 6,590 m / 21,621 ft Power*: 148 w (184 w WAP) Avg Heart Rate: 116 bpm (153 bpm max) Elapsed Time: 17:03:11 Moving Time: 15:41:40 Calories: 9,795 TSS*: 540
*inc ~1 hour data missing so likely understated
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