Day 4
I struggle to sleep – it’s too cold. My sleeping bag is rated only to 5 degrees – it’s around 2-3 degrees at the moment. I put on all my warm clothes but my feet are still slightly cold. My body is too hot at times. I sleep in fits and have bizarre fever dreams. If I close the zipper to my bivy, it’s hot and suffocating. If it’s too far open, the freezing air chills my bones. I spend 12 hours in the bivy – much of it not sleeping. I’m cold, uncomfortable, wired up. I have no desire to get up early to continue the race. I want nothing more than to stay in my warm sleeping bag.
At 7AM, the sky begins to brighten. I slowly drag myself out of bed and sluggishly pack away my gear. I pedal down the trail to the entrance of the hike for one last look. I consider digging deep and carrying out the hike a bike to stay in the race. I would be going for a simple “finish” – the General Classification well out of my reach. I’m bleary-eyed and hungry. Although, the dreaded stomach cramps never returned – I seemed to have gone in the opposite direction; not eating or carrying sufficient food. I simply felt too weak and defeated to do the hike. The only option is to ride through the banned tunnel, solidifying my decision to scratch from the race.
The tunnel is long and freezing. I had to call the operator to get the greenlight. They turned on the “cyclists in tunnel” sign and said “come on in”. It’s early in the morning, so traffic is light. It’s still quite loud and claustrophobic. My hands start shaking and I feel weak. I’m severely low on calories. I pull over, slam some gummies and try to center myself.
The tunnel goes on and on. I’m finally through it and descending, slowly turning into a popsicle. I have most of my clothes on, but it does nothing to block the piercingly cold wind that stings my bones.
Finally, I arrive in the village of Viella. I’m not sure if I’m in France or Cataluña. I see French, Spanish and Catalan signs. I don’t care, I just need food and warmth. I locate one of the only open cafeterías – it’s an Argentinian empanada spot. I hungrily grunt and point to empanadas – 3 different varieties, then change my mind and tell them to double the order – 6 veggie empanadas, por favor.
I sit down in the corner to charge my devices and warm my frozen body. All my powerbanks were on 0 and my phone had 1% battery left. My brothers had sent a flurry of messages that morning, concerned that I was unmoving for 12 hours in the mountains, wildly off my plan. I wish I could have stuck to the plan – but as they say: “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.” I reassure them that I’m ok and just had no battery left.
The empanadas arrive and I devour them like a madman – they’re so tasty. Fresh baked and perfectly crafted.
I write my official “scratch” message to the race organizers. I explain my reasons for scratching: stomach cramps, massively underestimating the gravel parcours and not having enough time to simply continue for the finish. It feels good to be done with it, however it’s a bit disappointing. I know that I had no other choices in the moment, but I can go back in time and retrace the series of mistakes I made to get to that point of no return. Oh well, it’s all a learning experience.
Suddenly, Rider R enters. We lock eyes and I stand up to greet him. He has a similar crazed look in his eyes that says “I saw some serious shit last night.” We’re both excited to exchange horror stories of the previous 24 hours. He’s as shell-shocked as I am; he arrived at the same hike 6 hours before me and said it was absolutely brutal and terrifying. He got lost at the top, due to the freezing and blinding mist. At one point, he accidentally dropped his wallet and had to retrace his steps to find it. The trail was way more technical than he anticipated and he told me he was legitimately scared for his life at certain points. It was already getting dark when he was still descending on the other side and pitch black when he entered the town. He stayed in a hotel and struggled to recover from the experience. “I scratched this morning”, he said. “Me too!” It feels reassuring to know that the hike was legit hard, that even someone who did it had scratched and that my decision to not do it at night was the right one. We chat for a while and wish each other good luck. We both have plans to make the best of it and tour back to the start line, enjoying a more leisurely pace. It’s good to commiserate with another rider and relate to our individual struggles. I wasn’t the only one who had to surrender to this brutally hard race.
Energized from the empanadas, coffee and rider camaraderie, I pull myself together and mutter “me cago en la puta, I’m going to ride parcours 3!” I rode the first 2 parcours that were supposedly SO BEAUTIFUL in the dead of night while suffering from wretched stomach cramps – so I couldn’t exactly enjoy the views. I’ll be damned if I don’t see at least 1 parcours during the day!
The cycling gods would shine upon me that day, as parcours 3 was both beautiful and gentle. There is a perfectly paved road, winding up the mountain to the start of the gravel section. Very few cars and non-stop wonderful views. It feels like Autumn exploded overnight. The colors are outstanding. The climb is steep but the views make it worth it.
I arrive to the gravel section and take a break to eat. I’m tired and question if I should keep going. What else do I have to do, let’s try it! The gravel is smooth like champagne. The trees fade and the landscape opens. Rolling hills of bucolic pastures. Cows grazing. Massive peaks on the horizon. It’s peaceful and beautiful. The pitches are not too steep and everything is rideable. Wonderful!
I pause halfway to finish the last of my water and take in the views. I’m content to have come here and make it as far as I did. It’s time to head back down the mountain to find a hotel. I’m out of water and the sun is beating down. I’m tired and ready for an actual shower.
As I ride down, I come across Rider A. We exchange stories – his hike-a-bike was brutal and he also scratched today. There’s a theme here! He offers me use of his water filter so I decide to turn around and summit the parcours to get the full experience. It’s nice to have a relaxed chat with another rider, no need for racing or strictly adhering to the ‘self-supported no riding together’ rules. We pause to take the most instagramable pictures of each other and enjoy the views. At the top, we part ways – he continues onward and I turn around to look for a hotel and begin my shortcut to the legendary Raid parcours.
I don’t bother looking at my phone, waiting until I get to the main road to figure out the plan. When I reach the road, I see the magical words ‘HOTEL’ and make a beeline. After 3 nights of rough bivvying and no shower – I’m ready for the comforts of a hotel. I check in, shower up and ravenously eat dinner – arriving just as it opens at 8PM on the dot. My first night in a real bed is glorious.
Day 5
I’m out of the race and officially in “touring” mode. The plan is to cut over to the Raid Parcours, which follows a classic route on the French side, climbing dozens of cols (mountain passes). I want to make the best out of the second half of the trip; the disappointment of scratching is eased by the fact that I get to ride my bike through some of the most epic and famous scenery of the Pyrenees.
I start the day early – well before dawn. Even though I’m not in “race mode”, my body is still up and ready to go at 4AM after a wonderful rest. I miscalculate the elevation change, assuming that I’ll immediately be climbing – therefore I don’t wear all my layers and freeze my butt off as the descent into the valley continues.
Eventually, I reach the start of the climb out of Vall d’Aran in Cataluña and into France. I hear animals howling in the distance (wolves), the road is beautifully paved and the setting is pristine: thick forests, morning light and no cars—perfect. The crisp mountain air fills my nostrils and it smells like pure nature. I reach the top and take a few pics at the border before I descend for what seems like 30 minutes – it feels like I’m flying; it’s so fun. I feel like a little kid, releasing cries of joy as the wind whips my face. This pattern of a 2-3 hour climb followed by a screaming 20-30 minute descent would be repeated many times over the next couple of days. The hard work of climbing makes the gravity-fueled descent feel like a reward.
I arrive at the first town, Bagnères-de-Luchon, and immediately hunt for an open boulangerie. I get in line and when it’s my turn I excitedly point to a variety of delicious morsels of perfectly crafted baked goods. The food is heavenly and my body needs the calories.
France is beautifully rural and I enjoy climbing up and down mountains, listening to music, feeling well-rested and excited to experience the area without the pressure of racing. I feel ok about my decision to scratch – it wasn’t an ideal outcome, nor my plan – but I’m making the best of it. There’s meditative joy in simply riding your bike without worrying about timing, cutoffs and finishing on a certain day.
Towards the end of the day, I run into Rider Flo and we climb a mountain together. At the top, he tells me he’s staying at a “hotel” at the base and I decide to follow him to see if there’s a free room. It’s already almost dark and the next climb is the Tourmalet, so I don’t want to keep riding – no point to ride through the night when not in race mode. As it turns out, the hotel is really a barn with some extra rooms – rustic but cozy accommodations. There are no extra rooms but Flo graciously offers that we can share the room – albergue style. It’s nice to chat with another rider who also scratched (similar timing as me). We discuss bike and motivations for racing, mixed feelings of scratching and training techniques. It’s a fun experience to communicate with the French owner of the rustic barn – we end up having a nice time, eating a simple dinner and breakfast – feeling refreshed the next day.
