So Team Shutt Velo did it - all 8 stages of the transalps successfully completed, with Sam continuing to trudge on in my absence. For my part, I wasn't able to join him in person for the last 2 stages but did so in spirit, riding 10 solidarity hours on my road bike back in Oxford and pretending I was with him.
Apparently in the awards ceremony one of the medics leaned over to Sam as the winners were being presented, and said, "They didn't suffer as much as you did". And boy did we suffer.
There are many many things we would do differently. Here are some starters for 10.
1. Make sure you get an early flight. Arriving at registration at 9pm with your bike still in bits and missing out on an evening meal is not a good start to any race, let alone an 8 day endurance epic.
2. Don't stay in 'camp'. No matter how short of cash you are feeling, there is nothing quite as horrendous as having to bed down in 2 foot of personal space in 30+ degree heat, surrounded by hundreds of snoring cyclists, with no use of shower or toilet unless you're willing to queue for a very very long time. And if you must subject yourself to this insanity, remember to pack a swimming costume because there's no experience quite like being the lone female in a pack of hairy German men, everyone clutching their bits as they attempt to get showered.
3. Don't take your bike to the AVID man. He will leave you with brakes that will bring you to tears as you drag the equivalent of a horse and cart's worth of resistance over the mountain tops and down again.
4. Whatever you do, eat a proper dinner the night before the stages. Glumly munching on half a powerbar cross-legged on your carry-mat the night before the event kicks off does not constitute dinner. Neither does a Schnitzel and mayonnaise - all they had left because you were too busy getting to the hospital to make the pasta like everyone else.
5. Bring your own energy food. Yes the High 5 bars are free and on tap but after 8 days of the little blighters, just looking at the wrapper is enough to make you heave.
6. Do bring a Smart phone. It is quite useful to be able to locate the local hospitals off your own bat since the Race Office - aka the Chocolate teapot brigade - would rather send you asking round the local bars for this kind of information - as the blood drips from the gashes in your arm - than interrupt their dinner.
7. Do bring your E111. You never know when you might need it. Of note, Austrian and German hospitals are exemplary - try to injure yourself in these countries for preference.
8. Bearing in mind the grime that you will end up getting covered in, Black Shutt Velo kit is recommended over white. Surprisingly, not even 5 pumps of the best "Tea Tea Oil shampoo" will restore the pearly white of your Squadra Donne top when you've hauled it over 5 mountains in sheeting rain. And your wrists are too shafted from braking to be able to give it the rinse and rub effect it needs.
9. Bring as many waterproof items as you have in your armoury. You do not want to be facing 3500m climbing in sheeting rain dressed in a paltry waterproof with seams that fail after a light rain shower. Wrapping your limbs in an assembly of plastic bags and elastic bands is not a good look, nor is it very effective.
10. Make friends with the Maxxis Tyre man, the Rescue team and the Craft Support riders. It is the kindness of people like these that get you through this kind of suffer-fest.
From Sam:
Can I add reports on the final two and a half stages. Feels only right that I should continue her penning.
Day 7
Naomi’s departure leaves an emptiness and sense of pain that hurts to the core. However, failure to continue is not an option. Too much time, effort, and suffering left on the road already, too many people back home routing for us. The fight must go on. Outlook for the stage was daunting, 120km with a killer mountain ascent slotted right in the middle. Climbing up to 3000m into lung busting thin air, touching the snowline, and then descending for a hair raising 30 kms. My company, an Irish guy with bronchitis, the ever dependable Craft support team, and the imagined outline of Naomi 50yrds ahead of me grinding out a steady pace.
At the 80km feed station the Irish guy calls it quits from exhaustion. Later I hear he was strapped up to a saline drip. The stage finishes with a long drag along grape lined valley floors into a stiff headwind. Rains hard, but the air temperature is a balmy 25 degrees…just like the UK. At 8pm in the evening hell ends after an epic 11hrs on the trail. The longest day and I wonder how my body will recover in time for the last day.
Day 8
After another sick inducing breakfast, the final stage begins with a terribly steep climb – equivalent height gain to Snowdon. Steepness that can only be attacked by demounting and pushing the bike in the posture of an Alpine mountaineer, legs resisting the weight of gravity pulling the bike down.
At no point is there a sense of this being an easy ride to the finish, no glorious procession. The fear of failure weighs heavy. My mind creates scenarios of passing out, mechanicals, and crashes. Offset by the positive thoughts of pushing on for the people supporting us back home. Each passing climb, assigned to friends and loved ones, the force of everyone pushing behind. The stage continues with a series of stabbing accents and a mixture of gravel and single track downhill. At the top of the last climb we catch sight of Lake Garda, our final destination. The decent is steep and narrow, but we reach the bottom without incident. 30kms to go and Marcus, the super human Craft support rider, decides to punish us more. He says we will hate him now but love him at the finish. He also offers to sell us his legs – this is German humour at its best. He sets off in blazing time trail pursuit of the finish. The suffering takes on a normality, and even some degree of pleasure. Forcing the physical limit feels appropriate, a norm that must continue a while longer. We hang on, realising now that we will make the end.
And what an end. Rounding the final corner, we see the finishing banner. There is applause, there is celebration, there is raw joy, there is emotion. Everyone who supported us, willed us on, was there at that ending moment, in our thoughts. Naomi is there with me.
Trans-Alps 2011 was an adventure, but more than that it was the rawness of the experience that will stay with us forever. We were reminded of what it is to feel truly alive. The clutter of our daily routine stripped away, the people most important in our lives brought to the fore, new friends met, a reminder to search for future challenges.
Thank you to everyone one who supported us. We wouldn’t have been able to continue to the end without you.
n.b. if you feel nauseous from reading this entry, then think how our stomachs felt after the 100 or so High 5 bars we stuffed down our throats.
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