Trans Pyrenees Race
It is Tuesday, October 8, 2019 - around 12 noon. As I sit down on a low stone wall I ask myself - is my Trans Pyrenees going to end here? A ride of 1,230 km and 20,000 meters of climbing so far - completed in 4.5 days.
And now, with every pedal stroke, a knife sticks into my right knee. Will this adventure end here? I'm shocked by my own disappointment.
The race
The Trans Pyrenees Race 2019 (1st edition) is an ultra endurance bike race from Biarritz in France on the Atlantic coast to Cap de Creus in Spain on the Mediterranean Sea - and back again. The first to finish wins. There are no stages, but four checkpoints along the way. You largely make the route yourself and the distance is roughly between 1500 and 1600 km. This is a 'self-supported' event, which means: no assistance along the way, no organised drinking or aid stations and everything you use must be available to every other cyclist.
New reality
When I go to sleep after the first day I realise that the race has already swallowed me. I have ended up in a new reality, with the only focus: cycling, eating and sleeping.
On the second day, just before sunset, I reach the 2000 meter high Port of Cabus - the 'gateway to Andorra'. A moment of ultimate happiness.
Halfway through the 20 km climb to the port, I pass the last Spanish village Tor. A cluster of houses with a blacksmith shoeing a horse and some free-range chickens in front of a half-collapsed church. It is a magical no man's land on the border of Spain and Andorra. Tor, the last village on earth - in an armpit of the Pyrenees - is bathing in the last light of this autumn day.
After Tor the climb turns into a steep gravel path. It takes my whole body to work my way up. I climb through a valley - so pristine, so green. Wild horses in the meadows are the only other life.
When I reach the top at 7:30 pm, the last bit of light of the day sets the mountain peaks of Andorra on fire. Goosebumps all over my body. God, how I love cycling.
Checkpoint three
The next day I leave Andorra around 5am. Until reaching the border with Spain I cycle through a tube of neon lights, before disappearing into a dark hole. It is cold, clear and the sky is littered with stars.
I cycle into France before 10 am. The Catalan Pyrenees lie ahead of me. Roads that snake up the mountainside, villages that aren't villages, and descents that seem to have no end. I enjoy it all - nature, silence, and the physical absence of people.
Hours later I dive back into Spain. Despite a lack of food and drink, I don't want to stop. Time is ticking in my head. I want to reach checkpoint 3 - the lighthouse of Cap de Creus - before dark.
The sky turns pink, red, deep yellow - I see everything in sepia. There finally is the last bend to the lighthouse - the easternmost point on the Iberian Peninsula. I get a third stamp on my card. I am exhausted and happy.
What do they tell me at the post? You're in 20th position. I don't know what to say - I feel so empty after a day of 320 km.
Stand, sit, stand, sit
When the alarm goes off at 5:00 in the morning, I'm not completely there yet. I get up and put myself in my smelly cycling clothes. The first part back to France I crawl over the road. The wind is blowing a hole in my morale. I'm tired and something is stinging in my right knee. I ignore it.
Today's song goes: 'stand, sit, stand, sit'. I'm tired, but okay, everyone has to deal with that. I drink a lot and think, before today's long climb - the Col de Jau - I need to stock up on some extra food. This works partly, due to a lack of cash. Stupid boy - who accepts cards these days?
I continue climbing: 'stand, sit, stand, sit'. I notice that my knee hurts less when I move my legs and knees as straight as possible. That is also effective when climbing, fortunately. 'Stand, sit, stand, sit' relieves my knee and gets me into the right rhythm. I could use some new morale.
Only after the descent do I notice how tired I am and that I have barely eaten anything after the climb. Exhausted, I sit down in the grass next to the road. I finish my last energy bar - confrontationally. After this I only have four slices of bread. Stupid boy, yes.
I crawl over the road painfully slowly. Why am I not being overtaken? There is a turn, a new climb. Through the forest, knees forward and don't shift on your saddle. ‘Stand, sit, stand, sit.’ I cycle into a gorge, under rocks, over moist roads, through tunnels without lighting. What region is this? The Ariege? Or is it the Aude?
It's getting late - I'm tired and thirsty. A dark forest surrounds me. I turn on my lights. I chew away the last piece of bread. Everyone has left this area. There's nothing here but grass. I fill my rumbling stomach with water. Stupid boy, I told you.
It's pitch black here. I shoot around a bend. A tunnel cut into the rocks swallows me. Am I still in a gorge? What kind of area is this? What track am I following? A village lights up in the landscape and a car comes towards me. Should I stop that car and ask for water and food? No, that's not allowed.
I keep talking to myself. “You must continue to follow this road, towards the lights.” Finally houses, an intersection, turn right. Okay, where's a hotel? Hotel? Où est l'hôtel?
Chambre d'hotes is written on the wall. The name sounds like something with Marmots? Yes, this is where I need to be. No entrance, no light at the front. What shall I do? Keep on going? To the next village? I walk around the building and see light, people at a long table. I step inside. ‘Bonsoir, avez-vous une chambre pour la nuit, s'il vous plaît?’
I pray that the answer will be a 'yes'. “Oui, says the landlady” And a 'repas'? Yes, that is also possible. My goodness, He exists. A place to sleep and a meal.
Day four gives me a lot of lessons. Buy enough food, tap water everywhere and always take cash with you.
Too far?
My stomach rumbles when I leave. I'm crossing my fingers that a bakery will be open somewhere - it's just after 6am.
As is often the case - sometimes salvation waits just around the corner. I see light at a bakery and enter. Warmth and a freshly filled display with croissants and pains au chocolat - heaven exists. I sit down and less than five minutes later the small bakery is full of hungry cyclists. Here they are at last.
Breakfast does me good. My knee isn't bothering me for a moment. Would it be over then? The first climb of the day should prove that - the Col du Port. A long climb, but I have a method for it: 'stand, sit, stand, sit.'
Yet, as soon as I start the climb everything is different. I don't know what it is, but a shooting pain shoots through my right knee. I try to suppress it by using 'my trick'. With both knees forward I try to 'keep turning'.
Whatever I do
no matter how I sit or stand,
I get hit hard
in the face.
Halfway through the descent, the Mur de Péguère starts - a notorious climb. And, indeed - at the foot, the first sign with 18% gives me a punch in the face.
Pain shoots through my knee. No, no, no… this is not good. I pull myself up, although I can't do any more pedal turns without feeling a sharp point trying to penetrate my right knee. The climb is 3.5 km and I tell myself that after that I have a valley road to recover.
Broken
After the descent I find myself on a wall. Will this adventure end here? Another cyclist passes me - I give a thumbs up and yell: 'Good luck!'
I no longer dare to pedal. What am I doing here? Why did I destroy myself so much? Questions run through my mind.
What should I do? Stop here and continue tomorrow? Does that make it better? What can I achieve today? What are the options if I continue cycling? What am I risking?
What do I want? Continue.
What is sensible? Stop.
Do I want to cycle more this year? Yes.
Is finishing sacred above all else? Not for me.
Am I going to stop? Dilemma.
What I do know - this pain does not go away after a night of rest. I pick up my phone and type: 'Cap 76: my race is over due to a knee injury'. I leave the words for a few minutes and send the message to the race organiser. I feel relief throughout my body. And at the same time I am very alone. It feels like everyone is cycling away from me.
Everything in me wants to continue. Cycling at night, 16 hours outside on my bike, climb after climb. I want to finish this extreme race together with the other participants. And now, I've put an end to it myself.
The next day, back in Biarritz, I notice how broken and exhausted my body is. I have worn myself out, neglected and emaciated. I try to get up, but my right leg collapses almost immediately.
After two nights in the French coastal village I take a train back to Girona. I'm a wreck - both of my hands are shaking constantly, I feel tingling in my lower back and I can't walk normally because of the pain in my knee. In the meantime, the race continues and I follow the progress of the remaining participants - dots - online. What legends. How I would have loved to suffer with them and finish this journey. The stats remain and will remind me of how big an adventure this was.
Stats
Day 1 - Biarritz to Sabinanigo (264 km & 5787 hm)
Day 2 - Sabinanigo to La Massana (266 km & 6239 hm)
Day 3 - La Massana to Roses (321 km & 4481 hm)
Day 4 - Roses to Puivert (222 km & 4129 hm)
Day 5 - Puivert to Boussens (151 km & 2048 hm)