From CP4 to the Finish Line

The most entertaining and exciting part of the race for me was without a doubt from CP 4 to the finish line. When I left the fourth checkpoint, Juliana gave me an update on Jonas’ progress. I knew he was close to the finish line,..she predicted he would finish within the next several hours. I was anxious for him but also excited. I thought he could possibly catch up to the Bjorn for second place, but I was happy he was pedaling strong and maintaining third. 

As I descended the Romanian mountains the temperatures got warmer and warmer and quickly all my gear that had gotten soaked back on the climb, had dried out. I had started descending with Paolo, but of course I couldn’t keep up with him long. When I got to the first village I stopped to eat a proper lunch. I hadn’t stopped for long at the top of CP 4, avoiding getting cold, I hadn’t eaten anything other than my makeshift breakfast of a handful of bitesize 7 day croissants at the start of the climb, and a cup of coffee at CP 2 in order to warm up! I found a restaurant with some nice bench seats and ordered the only thing I could understand on the menu, grilled chicken, fries, and salad. I signed on to see Jonas’ progress and was surprised to find that he still hadn’t crossed the finish line. In fact, I received a message from his brother telling me he had two flat tires and no spare tubes and was struggling to keep them filled with air in order to arrive at the finish line. Despite my growing anxiety to see him finish, I couldn’t fight off my strong desire to sleep and laid down to rest after finishing my meal.

About an hour later I awoke and checked his progress, he still hadn’t crossed the finish line, but I could see Karen Toastee was at CP4 and would descend any moment. I had to get a move on it! My route continued to descend for awhile, then cut off from the main road and climbed some steep gradients on some very quiet roads. It was my first time in Romania and I was NOT impressed. The roads were chaotic, heavily traveled by trucks. Shoulders were rare and if they did exist, they were gravel. If my route deviated from the main road, I paid a steep price on the minor roads, literally. Not to mention, coming down from the mountains, the heat had returned. 

I was surprised to see people alongside the road cheering racers on an offering water. I specifically remember a young boy holding out a primitive sign with the TCR initials and my cap number 233. I no idea who on earth he was, but he had obviously been following me and was eager to offer me some water. I didn’t stop, not wanting any problems with “outside assistance” I continued to pedal on, hoping to keep a decent lead in front of Toastee. Just then I had a really close call with a truck. I could hear a loud horn behind me. I got over as far as I could on the right side of the road, not wanting to go off the road into the gravel. I could see the truck behind me was not budging nor was the driver going to swerve to the left to make me feel safe. In fact, I felt as though he did the opposite, moving more to the right to push me off the road! Having no choice I quickly went off the road right on to the rough gravel shoulder at a high speed and somehow managed to keep my balance over all sorts of potholes and loose rocks. I tried to brake as carefully as I could completely shook up, shouting and swearing at the truck that was long gone, I felt lucky to be alive! No wonder the organization had banned certain roads in Romania when James Hayden called in after having a similar experience. Romania was definitely NOT a bike friendly country. 

Determined to leave this country as soon as possible. I kept cycling as much as I could. I stopped at the last possible hour to eat, just before the restaurants were closing, and managed to find a pharmacy to visit as well to stock up on my creams, as I was running low and knew I had to restock in order to push through to the finish line. Despite having shitty roads, the pizzeria I found shortly before the Serbian border was to die for. I hopped online and an in pour of messages came through. Most importantly I could see that Jonas had made it to the finish line despite having two flat tires and managed to hold on to third place. When I first met him, he told me he wanted to be on the podium, and he had managed to pull it off. I had a ton of messages from friends, cheering me on, telling me I was so close. Close, however is very relative. I recalled several veterans telling me that the hardest part of the whole race was from CP 4 to the finish line. I knew the kilometers in my routes on my Garmin, and I knew there was no denying the fact that I had another 600 to 800 kilometers to pedal. 

At this point in the race, it was extremely entertaining to watch because the riders had the choice of two different routes to the finish line. Some took the route to Greece via Romania and Bulgaria, and others, like myself chose the route through Romania, Serbia, and Macedonia. You could see the dots on your same route and I started being familiar with the numbers that I recognized. In fact, I could see that Paolo, was stopped right across the street at the sports bar, probably eating dinner, which was literally 20m across the road, but I was so tired, and didn’t have the legs to walk up the stairs and find him. Plus after the pizza and couple of espressos I felt amazing and decided to keep on riding. I had taken a nice snooze in the middle of the day and my spirits were high. I was determined to get a good lead in front of Toastee.

That night I pedaled and pedaled telling myself, “just a little further”. I stopped for ice cream bars and fruit for an energy boost, and could see that I was passing a lot of inactive dots, which kept me motivated to keep on riding. I pushed through until arriving to the outskirts of Craiova, Romania, when I decided to call it a night. I desperately needed to wash out my bum wounds, and looked for a hotel, while still continuing to pedal along. I found what looked to be a trucker hotel, and to my surprise the receptionist was asleep but visible at the front desk. She told me they were full, but I begged and pleaded with her to consider any room or sofa at that point, where I could lie down for a few hours. She came up with a tiny room for me, up two flights of steep narrow stairs, that was extremely hot without any exterior windows and smelled. However, it was just big enough for my bike and had a mini bath tub so I could freshen up. 

I remember getting a message from my brother who begged me to sleep more than just 3 hours as I had a substantial lead in front of Toastee, but I put my alarm on for 3 hours after washing up and went to bed. The next morning when I started pedaling, I remember several other riders passing me, and looking rather confused that I had managed to advance them during the night. And it started to be a common occurrence from then on, throughout the last two days until we would all arrive at the finish line. We were all so close together, we ran into each other frequently on the road, each with our own brake schedule, making it so that we passed one another or stayed clustered together. We had all chosen the route through Serbia, Macedonia, and Northern Greece. I had thought that it was flatter and less complicated (avoiding a ferry option) than the alternative route through Bulgaria. 

You always have time for a good laugh and a quick selfie when you meet other TCR riders, Daniel and Maxime

My route actually did go through the tiny northwest corner of Bulgaria. I remember vividly coming to a long stream of trucks, backed up on the border trying to get in. I rode right past them, happy to be on a bike and pulled over at a petrol station for some food. I also managed to take a quick power nap, hunched over in a chair on the outside patio. When I woke up, I saw 2 other cyclists ride up, Maxime and Daniel Johansson. We had a fun time catching up. Maxime passed on a few words of wisdom with some bum cream he recommended from France (obviously I couldn’t get my hands on them at the moment) and we all departed at different times. The heat was still unbearable and I needed to stop every 2 or 3 hours to cool off, which meant drinking lots of sugary drinks and eating ice cream. At the next petrol station, I ran into Ian Walker and Michael Wacker (again)! I had seen Ian’s bike set-up in one of the race reports and it seemed he was suffering from saddle sores as well. When I found him at the petrol station, what a laugh we had about our common bum problems. His were so bad, he was riding in track shorts with mesh that had been cut out. What made this set-up complicated, well, I will let you imagine how short track shorts and no lining work out on a bike saddle. 

Buying ice cream bars at a petrol station with Ian and Michael, I kept finding them on the road while reaching the finish line

It felt like no sooner did I enter Bulgaria, than I left the country and entered Serbia. Several years ago on my world tour, I had tried to enter Serbia through Kosovo. Despite the help of a few UN officers at the Kosovo-Serbian border, the Serbian border guards would not budge and I had to return the same way I had come, retracing almost 100 kilometers to the Kosovo-Macedonian border. Although President Clinton announced that Kosovo was an independent country almost 20 years ago, Serbia is still bitter about losing control over Kosovo and therefore doesn’t allow anyone to enter through that border, showing others they simply don’t recognize Kosovo as an official country. 

This time, I was entering from Romania, on the eastern side of Serbia, and had no problems, thankfully! I had high hopes for the roads in Serbia, don’t ask me why, but I was extremely let down from the moment I crossed. It looked as though the surface hadn’t been repaved in years, if not centuries! I pedaled along until I couldn’t bare the heat anymore around the middle of the day and ran into a few of my regulars at a petrol station, including Michael Wacker, again, still in the same kit but in good spirits compared to the looks of his same dirty and now ripped kit! They were making a quick stop, but I was longing for my midday nap. So I quickly ate some food and took refuge at the abandon restaurant/cafe that was attached to the petrol station, pulling together three chairs so I’d have a surface long enough to lie on. I look back now and think about the places I slept know I could never fall asleep like I did during the race now. But my body was so exhausted, I could have fallen asleep the moment I stopped pedaling regardless of whether I was standing, sitting, or lying down!

There isn’t a tall mountain pass in Serbia to climb, but there also isn’t much flat land in the entire country either! My first night in Serbia, I made it to Nis, a “big” city in Southern Serbia. A city qualifies as being “big” in my opinion, if it has a recognizable restaurant or hotel chain and Nis had a McDonald’s there waiting for me! After making it over a long uphill and descending into Nis, I saw the golden arches. McDonald’s in the land of unknown, is a known quantity, with relatively clean bathrooms, free wifi, and recognizable food items, plus the service is fast! In Serbia I was drawn to the slightly varied menu choices and tried out the Cesar burger and curly fries that caught my attention. Not being a frequent customer, I accidentally ordered some sort of full meal combo with normal fries and ended up with two big size fries in front of me along with a burger, milkshake, and salad. It took me a long time to eat all of that food, and I remember getting some weird stares from the locals sitting around me. I must have looked like a pretty sorry sight. I could see Moms whispering to their kids about me, probably telling them not to stare at me, taking pity on my disturbed looking state-of-being. Ironically, I’ve been on the other side of that conversation, where you see someone who looks so “down-and-out”, in desperate need of cleaning up, and naturally take pity on them. 

The longer I stayed at McDonalds, the harder it was to get up. I contemplated continuing to ride, but my body was urging me to get a proper sleep. I thought about lying down on the McDonalds cushioned bench seat until closing, but that would only be 2 more hours. I quickly hopped on Bookings.com and loads of hotel offers popped up around me including one 150 meters across the street from where I was. I had no energy to ride there, and walked my bike across the street. I checked in, wheeled my bike into my room, took a warm shower, washed my bike shorts, and cleaned-up my saddle sores. I don’t know if the pain had dissipated or my tolerance had gone up, because they sure weren’t healing very quickly. If my saddle sores had any time to dry out at all, as soon as I sat down on them, they would bleed. In fact, when I left the hotel the next morning, I also left a big blood stain on the sheets from my saddle sores.

The luxury of a hotel, washing your bike shorts and bum to avoid further infection

Starting to ride that morning, I could see that Toastee had chosen the Bulgarian route, making it an incredibly exciting race, impossible to tell which route would arrive in Greece faster. I was still determined to try to keep a good lead, and woke up early the next morning to set off on what would be my second to last day of the race.

I continued heading south to the Macedonian border. I remembered during my route planning that this area in Southern Serbia seemed rather tricky as there was a new highway and an old highway, parallel to one another and both viable route for bikes. I chose the newer highway, but when I looked down at my Garmin, my dot was in the middle of nowhere, and I couldn’t actually find the route I was supposed to be. The new highway looked like a proper freeway, prohibiting bicycles, although I couldn’t find a sign that specifically stated so. I spent the majority of the morning trying to figure out a viable route. I looked at the tracks of others to see if they had risked taking the main highway, but it was no use. Everyone seemed to be weaving all over the place just like me, unsure what to do. I was getting so fixated on my Garmin, and trying to find the right road to be on, that I missed the turn to go south to the Macedonian border. I headed about 15 km in the wrong direction before I realized this and turned around. 

Taking a break from the heat.  I had a knack for finding "comfy" places to rest

The road to the border was steep and desolate and the sun beat down on me. The descent to the border was so incredibly bumpy I couldn’t even reach for my water bottle. I was pleasantly surprised to reach the Macedonian border as the officers were unusually nice. They spoke good English, greeted me by name when giving back my passport, and even let me use their toilets, although they were nothing more than a hole in the ground with some running water. I rode just past the border before pulling over to escape the heat and cool down. I didn’t take a nap this time, but used a water hose at a petrol station to wet myself, the next best thing to jumping in a pool or lake. The back roads led into a main road and I continued to ride as far as I could, stopping for an occasional ice cream or beverage to cool off. When I stopped I would look at the other dots and I was surprised to see that Karen Toastee’s dot had been inactive for quite some time! My friends were sending messages like crazy encouraging me to keep on pushing. They’d say only 700 or 500 kilometers to go, as is the distance was not far at all. But I knew my route and I couldn’t get my hopes up, I still had almost 2 days of riding left and anything could happen. 

I always appreciate the scenery while riding, regardless of the suffering (Macedonian sunset)

Having a significant lead, my spirits were high but I was quite annoyed at Jonas. I had heard nothing from him after he had arrived at the finish line and I took it personally, feeling neglected. The dangerous part of having so much time to think while riding your bike is that start contemplating different scenarios and think through things way too much. On top of sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion, it is no wonder an endurance rider can actually think straight or make good judgements or safe choices! That night when I stopped for dinner, I called Jonas and basically chewed him out for not giving me any words of encouragement. I didn’t even let the poor guy speak up for himself. Little did I know the sensation that awaited me after crossing the finish line. I was feisty and moody with him and let him have a good earful of my frustration before I hung up. He thought I was going to call it a night and sleep, but my anger had given me a shot of adrenaline and I was ready to hop back on my bike and ride! 

Sunset in Macedonia the night before crossing the finish line

Dinner in Macedonia, the only thing I could understand on the menu.  I know, it doesn't look the most appetizing....

I didn’t realize however, the next 50 kilometers were continually uphill and my progress felt slow. I was on a new road and the surface was impeccable, with little traffic. The riding conditions were perfect. The only problem was that I was getting more and more tired. My goal was to reach the top of the climb and descend quickly, but even reaching the top seemed impossible although I could see it in the distance. There was a petrol station at the summit, but I just couldn’t continue to pedal. My eyelids were drooping and as a result my handle bars swerved, quickly waking me up. I was falling asleep on my bike pedaling. This had never happened to me before! I decided to pull over and found a shrine, which I thought was a bit of a message. At some point in time there had been a car accident on this road and the shrine was there to honor and protect those who had died. I chose to sleep there, thinking I was being well looked after and also used the shrine to air out my kit. I knew my family would worry about stopping at the top, so I wrote them a text message. Before I could push send, I had fallen asleep and a few minutes later, I awoke abruptly to my phone ringing. I could see it was my older brother, but didn’t want to pick up to avoid roaming charges. I pushed “send” on the SMS and he wrote back saying “OK”. 

I thought a shrine was an ideal  and safe place to crash for the night

I didn’t even set my alarm that night, but there must have been some adrenaline in my blood knowing it was the last day of the race. There was also a group of stray dogs barking and wouldn’t be long before they discovered me sleeping. I pedaled for 2 minutes before reaching the top and pulled over at the petrol station for food that was already open. The owners were super nice and let me sit down and eat a more proper breakfast. They asked me where I had slept the night before and were surprised when I told him on the side of the road 500m from here. They offered their camper van to me, but they didn’t realize I was pressed for time now. I descended and continued pedaling, appalled by the road surface ahead. The road was entirely cobblestone, little square stones that made for an ever so bumpy ride. 

The reason all my saddle sores opened up again in Macedonia, this was the road surface for the majority of my route

Ian in good spirits despite his mountain biking adventure.  Look at those cleat, or lack of cleats I should say....

Even though I hadn’t gone far, I was getting annoyed with the road surface and decided to stop at a gas station. To my surprise, sitting outside, with a big smile on his face, was Ian Walker. He didn’t look the same as he had the last time I had seen him. Instead he looked like he had gone mountain biking or simply rolled down a huge pile of dirt. Even the soles of his shoes were so worn down he couldn’t clip in any more. It was quite a sight to see! The story he told me was so entertaining, but in reality I considered myself lucky I didn’t make the same route choice he had. It seems there was an alternative road that climbed a similar mountain that I had gone over last night. The only difference was that that road wasn’t paved. Ian said you couldn’t even call it a gravel road, being more like a giant sand pile. He attempted to climb but his tires sunk and he had to push his bike up it for several hours. Thinking he was alone, he was surprised to be greeted by another rider at the top, Daniel Johasson and camped out at the top of the road. They weren’t the only unlucky ones to take that road, many other riders did as well! Considering their ordeal, I felt pretty lucky! After telling me his story he continued riding and I plopped down in his chair and ate some food, although the only thing the store was selling was chips, a bit harsh on the stomach at 9am! 

The rolling hills in N.Greece were brutal on the homestretch! Photo courtesy of James Robertson

That day was going to be my last day riding. I knew it would be long, but I thought I would arrive to the finish line around 6 or 7pm. I crossed the Greek border around lunch time. I asked the border guard if a German, Swedish, and English passport holder had gone through recently, he nodded. Those were my buddies, just ahead of me. We were all on the home stretch. Riding in Northern Greece was a lot more isolated than I imagined. No wonder Jonas had not found a bike shop to fix his flat tires! I managed to pull over and rest a bit at a petrol station. I tried to set my alarm to take a nap, but I had fallen asleep before I actually pushed set. The noise and heat in the bar at the station awoke me after a half hour and I knew I needed to keep on riding.

I passed through very few towns in N. Greece, it was quite an isolated area. Photo courtesy of James Robertson

My last ice cream bar of the race.  I think I ate a total of 5 that day!  Photo courtesy of James Robertson

In the early afternoon the media car found me. Since they always found me close a checkpoint, I thought I was near the finish line. But I knew that I had at least 200km to ride, my Garmin had my programmed route and there were no shortcuts. They took some great shots of me struggling slowly up the curvy hilly roads. I pulled over in a little town to get some ice cream and got lost trying to leave. People in the town saw me riding in circles and eventually yelled at me to tell me where to go. Obviously other riders had been through this town as well! No sooner was I back on my own cycling when I really started to feel like my progress was slow! I felt as though I had a flat tire. I stopped and felt my tires, just to be extra careful and realized I had very little pressure in the back. It was then when I got out my pump I noticed that my hands were frozen in the position as if I were gripping my hoods. I had lost my dexterity and could tell I had some nerve damage. It wouldn’t have been a big problem except for the fact that I was trying to use some fine motor skills to pump up my tire and I couldn’t. I tried as hard as I could to pump air into it. I didn’t want to lose too much time. I felt like I was close, but at the same time, I could tell I had another 40 to 50 kilometers to the finish line. I could tell I was running out of energy, my body was begging me to be done with the race, but I wasn’t going to stop until I had crossed the finish line. 

Again I felt like I was doing an awful lot of effort for at which I was advancing. I dreaded feeling my tire, scared I had a true puncture. Sure enough I did! I panicked before I actually stopped, going through my options in my head. I knew I wouldn’t be able to change my flat tire, I didn’t have the hand strength to even use my pump. I could have fumbled with the tube for hours and watch Toastee whiz past me. I couldn’t walk or run the last part because I still had a good 20ks left. My only option was to stop and pump up my tire every 2 or 3 kilometers and hope that it was a very slow release flat. I pulled over at a bar, quickly stocked up on some sugary drinks, and pumped up. At the same time, my ipod went dead and I had no music to get me through the last part of the race. All the powers of the world seemed to working against me. 

I could tell people were anxiously awaiting me. I saw messages saying, “Where are you?” “Are you OK?” “Has something happened?” and the best one, directly asked me, “Why are you going so slowly!” People following the TCR only see a dot, it is hard for them to comprehend what we see in front of us, looking over our front wheel. By this time, hight had come and it was dark. The only light beside an occasional street light every 500m was the green line on my Garmin, showing a huge squiggly line indicating the switchbacks and turns I would have to make as I made the last climb with an average gradient around 8%. I don’t know how I managed to do it, but I rode out of my saddle for the last 5 or 6 km hoping that would make the air in my back tire last longer. I cursed Mike Hall, I wanted to cry, but determination kept me from doing so. When I made it to the top, I reconsidered my options: descend on a flat, trying to change my tire, walking or running down,.....? I remember writing my family and telling them what had happened, because I could see they were extremely anxious. They all had advice do offer, the best being one of my brothers who told me to “Froom it!” But I knew what I was going to do! I would ride cautiously down, trying to avoid pumping the back tire up again. I desperately wanted to cross the finish line and be done! More importantly I really wanted to sleep; sleep uninterrupted until I couldn’t sleep any longer without any pressure to get back on my bike!

The descent somehow felt longer than the climb. I was sad I was missing all the gorgeous scenery. Meteora is known for monasteries perched on rocky cliff formations. I could imagine something like Montserrat outside of Barcelona, but since it was dark, it was hard to see anything. I started to doubt my route on my Garmin, thinking I might have made a wrong turn. I got paranoid Toastee was going to whiz by and pass me. I was starting to get delirious! I finally arrived to a town, which seemed to be Meteora, but my Garmin route wasn’t finished. I kept riding and riding, passing from one side of town to the other, until I came to the end of the town and saw the turn off for the hotel. There waiting in the parking lot, to my surprise, were loads of people. I was so tired, I didn’t know how to react except to continue on in race mode. I wanted to get my final stamp in my brevet card, I wanted it to be official that I was finished! 

I could see Jonas anxiously waiting for me in the parking lot. When I stopped, he came up next to me, probably hoping for some dramatic hug or kiss. I was still mad at him, well, sort of, because I didn’t have the energy to actually be mad at him. I tried to tell him and the others what had happened, but I couldn’t talk in French, not even in English. I didn’t have energy for anything. He looked rather surprised, when I told him, “Here, hold my bike!” as I’m sure the others standing around cheering me on, were expecting something else! But that’s not me! I don’t like to be in the spotlight, I don’t like the attention on me.

Rolling up to the finish line, my hands were totally numb

I walked, or rather waddled up to the desk where the volunteers were, and plopped myself down in the seat. I handed them my Brevet card and tried to talk for a little bit. Jonas undid my helmet, then I curled up into a little ball and tried to sleep. I couldn’t hold back the urge regardless of the party going on around me. My body was done! It had made it to the finish line, not 100m less nor 100m more!

I had no hand strength left to undo my helmet! Photo courtesy of Lian van Leeuwen.

I fell asleep with a Fanta in my hand. Photo courtesy of Lian van Leeuwen.

I had answered the question I had posed to myself years ago when I had first heard about the Transcontinental Race. Can I do something like this? Am I capable of cycling such an absurd distance completely self-supported? I couldn’t fathom actually doing the average daily kilometers for 14 days, but somehow I had just managed to do so. And how? I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this question and I’ll spare you that blog post for now. I actually think I could write a book to explain the “how” behind such an event, the “why I am the way I am”. The important part is that I finished the race, achieving the goal I had set out to achieve, finishing in under 14 days to qualify as a “finisher”! And it just so happened that I was the first woman to cross the finish line as well!

Done, finished, finito....I couldn't have pedaled another kilometer! Photo courtesy of Lian van Leeuwen.

CP 3 to CP4: Facing More Challenges That Come with Endurance Cycling

It would have been easy to stay and chat and get really comfortable at CP 3, but I knew that I needed to descend before sunset as the road was dangerous and the clock was ticking. Directly after coming down the Tatras Mountains, riders had to choose how to cross Slovakia to approach Romania via Hungary. I was originally going to go to Poprad and then take some minor roads that led me south of Presov to Kosice. However, on my train ride to Paris, Urs had asked me if I was following the Facebook group discussion about this road. It seemed there was road construction and that it was complicated to pass a final bridge that led directly to Kosice. I had changed my route at the last minute to take the main road to Presov, then directly south to Kosice. I quickly signed on to the GPS trackers to see how others were getting to Kosice. James and Bjorn had taken the route I was planning on taking which reassured me. Other riders were taking my original route, but since I had changed my GPS track, I decided to follow the main road. 

There was a steep climb on the outskirts of Presov, but then a rewarding descent. After the descent, when night had come, I decided to pull over for a second dinner. I tried to find a restaurant rather than a kebab joint, and the locals pointed me to a restaurant up top a building. It was impossible to get my bike up the stairs to the restaurant, so I left it in the stairwell. I went upstairs and found a nice calm pizza/pasta restaurant with some really comfortable seating. It would be a perfect place to eat and then sleep for an hour or two. I ate peacefully after seeing that Toastee was at CP3 and seemed to be inactive. I thought I would have quite a lead on her if she chose to rest there. Descending in the dark would have been ridiculous. After I finished a huge meal, I asked the waiter if I could sleep until closing, around midnight. He didn’t mind, so I quickly lay down and fell asleep.  

Slovakian food always looked so delicious, but it didn't have much flavor.  I hope to prove myself wrong some day!

I woke up, about an hour or so later to the blaring sound of music and young drunk guys, who were signing and creating a lot of noise. What on earth was going on? I couldn’t imagine how this peaceful restaurant with no more than a handful of clients had all of a sudden turned into a bar or nightclub for drunken Slovakian men! I immediately panicked about my biking, imagining they had probably tampered with it in the stairwell on their way upstairs. I quickly packed up, glaring at these drunken men, as I left, as if I had all the right to use a restaurant as a hotel, and they shouldn’t be partying in a bar (Yes, I’m aware, no logic in that argument!) Luckily, they hadn’t touched my bike. However, before taking off to ride, I checked the GPS tracking sight and saw that Toastee had indeed descended CP 3. Anyone who took on that road at night was up for some serious cycling, determined to catch up with me! There was no more time to sleep or rest. I had to keep on pedaling to hold my lead. 

I pedaled as long as I could that night, another 2 or 3 hours on hilly roads that I wasn’t expecting and approached Kosice where I found a McDonalds that was still open around 3am. I pulled over, not to eat, but to snack on the pizza I had wrapped up from the other restaurant. I was close to the Hungary border and happy with my progress. I decided to continue pedaling until I found a good place to hide and sleep for a couple of hours. This proved to be harder than I thought. It was in the wee hours of the morning, and despite being a weekend, I wanted to make sure I was well hidden as I would probably sleep until 7 or 8am when other people would wake. The best place I could find was in the parking lot of an apartment complex. There were quite a few empty places and a dumpster with recycled cardboard, that looked inviting to use as a floor mattress. No sooner did I lay a piece of cardboard down on the pavement, under the carport, when it started to downpour. I had sought shelter just in time, happy to stay dry. I tried to sleep as long as I could, which was probably only a few hours. When you are racing your body says one thing and your head another!

The rain had subsided into a drizzle, and I was determined to cross into Hungary and make my way to Romania. I was prepared for Hungary to be complicated. There were many “no cycling signs” on the roads and it had been hard to research an effective route through this country, which is why I tried to limit the kilometers I pedaled there. I found a service station where I could pull over and get breakfast. Coffee tasted disgusting since I left Austria and I had settled for Flavored Redbull instead. Not much better but at least it was cold! The variety of food at the services stations was becoming less and less appetizing and I was relying more and more on candy bars and prepackaged nasty sweets filled with artificial preservatives and flavoring. Had I been on a bike tour, I would have gone to much more of an effort to eat well, but I didn’t have time to seek out decent food, I had to make do with the options on the side of the road. I remember clearly hopping online for a few moments and writing Jonas, who responded immediately to my message. “You are taking a break too?” I asked him, since he was responding immediately to my text messages. “No!!!” He answered, “I’m pedaling!” I had asked a rhetorical question knowing that Jonas could cycle comfortably and “safely” in his aerobars while texting at the same time. I never attempted that myself, and probably wasted a lot of time messaging others, but it gave me a bit of a mental break from the race. 

I started riding again but struggled that morning. Temperatures had gotten even hotter in Eastern Europe. In fact, there was even an official name, “Lucifer” for the heat wave that was passing through Eastern Europe. Temperatures were already close to 40C and it wasn’t even noon! In the last two days, I had developed saddle sores, something I had also never experienced before the TCR. I had done a lot of reading for how to avoid getting them, including using an array of ointments and creams. I had started using a Chamois cream ever since departing CP 3 but it wasn’t helping. With the heat and the extra sweat, my bum was really irritated. I was reminded of this discomfort every time I started pedaling after stopping, and had to adjust myself well on the saddle for a good couple of minutes before finding a bearable position in which I could ride.

Always such great spirits when I saw Paolo, hence giving him the title of "My Favorite Italian"

In addition to my sore bum, I was exhausted and out of energy that morning. After only a few hours of pedaling I decided that it was best I pull over for a sleep. I choose a nice cafe along the side of the road and ordered a coca cola and a sandwich. After eating it, I rested my head on the table and passed out immediately. When I woke up, thanks to the puddle of drool under my chin, I saw one of the Italians I had cycled with on the bike path back at CP2. I was excited to see a familiar face and asked him how he was doing. His riding partner had scratched and he was continuing solo. He seemed to be in good spirits and better shape than me. We had a nice conversation, he even paid for me before I had a chance to, and then set off again before me. My bum pain was worse and worse every time I got back into the saddle. I had changed bike shorts to my “not so comfy pair” at checkpoint 3 and ever since then I was really suffering. I needed some relief, and quickly thought about how I could increase the amount of padding I had on my saddle or bum. I found a supermarket and went in to search for thin sponges and womens sanitary pads. I was hoping one of the two would provide extra cushion, either by cutting out a donut like shape from the sponge to put around the raw sores, or by covering the wounds with a sanitary pad, one on each cheek. I normally don’t disclose information about these sorts of things, but I think it helps you understand the reality and brutality of such an event. I used my mini swiss pocket knife to make the donuts and tried those for about a half hour. They didn’t seem to help. I tossed the sponges and gave the sanitary pads a try. I put one on each cheek of my bum and slowly raised my bike shorts to try to keep them in place as best as possible. The pads provided more relief, doubling up and using two on each side I had a bit of extra cushion. 

However, between the heat, irritated bum, and complicated road signs in Hungary my morale descended. Soon I found myself on a completely grass path down by the river doing circles to avoid dead ends. I got frustrated at myself and my lack of good navigating! How had I not caught these routing errors while going over my route prior to leaving? I was making stupid mistakes and wasting precious time in the saddle. Something had to change. I needed to sleep so I could make better decisions and lift my spirits. I decided, for the first time during the race, that it was time to check in to a hotel. Unfortunately however, when you want a hotel, they don’t just magically appear, especially when you are off the beaten tourist path in Northeast Hungary, in the middle of the afternoon. I tried 3 hotels and they were all full. I pleaded with each of the receptionists and insisted that they give me any vacant bed, as I only wanted to sleep for a few hours. It was no use! Just when I decided to keep on pedaling and go on to the next town, I saw signs for a pension on the outskirts of town. I rang the doorbell and a nice lady opened, who spoke no English. We communicated with gestures and writing down numbers and symbols. 

She had a room, although she couldn’t understand why I wanted to check-in for only 4 hours. I think people usually probably do this as a couple if you know what I mean, but she let me anyways. I quickly went upstairs, stripped down, hopped in a hot, then cold shower to refresh myself and clean-up. I took advantage to wash my bike shorts, air out my jersey, and clean my open wounds on my bottom. I was in bad shape. My saddle sores were completely raw, about 2 cm in diameter on each cheek, although I couldn’t bring myself to looking in a mirror. They were perfectly placed right where my bum bones contacted the saddle. To make the situation even worse, I was receiving all sorts of messages from my friends asking me why I was stopping so frequently. One of my friends who I adore, a tough love kind of girl and incredibly sporty herself, who had become a TCR dot-watching junkie, insisted that I keep pedaling. She told me Toastee had just passed and was taking the lead. Sure enough, when I checked the GPS tracker, I was now in 2nd place for the women and my overall position was slipping quickly. Previously this had given me enough motivation to keep on pedaling, but now, at this very moment, my body was in full-on rebellion and there was no way I was going to pedal another 100 meters. I desperately needed some quality rest. My plan was to sleep for 3 or 4 hours in a cool environment and then head out in the evening around 7pm. I would pedal as far and as long as I could through the night into Romania to make up for the time I was losing to sleep now. I couldn’t battle the heat any more; my lack of sleep had finally caught up with me!

When my alarm went off at 7pm, I was so sluggish, I had a real slow go packing and organizing my belongings. I went downstairs to checkout and asked the lady where I could find a decent restaurant. She told me there was one right down the road. However, when I pedaled by, it was closed and I decided to keep on riding. I stopped at a petrol station and loaded up on candy bars and red bull and continued to pedal. I was determined to make up the time I had lost in the hotel. My sores were calmer although still raw. I hit the Romanian border a few hours later. The border patrol officer was really nice, so nice, I asked if I could use their toilet. When I saw it involved parking my bike and going through several of their offices, I decided to pedal over to the other side of the border control, and hide myself behind one of the cement posts. It was not a subtle place to go pee by any means, but I had lost all my vanity and didn’t care! Who was ever going to see me or my bum again! Although I can guarantee you they probably had never seem one with sanitary pads on each side! It always seems to happen, that at the beginning of a bike tour or race, I’m much more prudent and discreet when it comes to doing my business. But towards the middle or end of a biking event, I could care less where or what I use as a toilet. It comes with the territory of biking! Going to the bathroom was a tricky routine of pulling down my bike shorts and keep my sanitary pads in place so as not to disturb my sores, and then get them back up again! 

Back on my bike and my first time in Romania, my strategy to sleep through the hotter hours and get some quality rest was proving to be a good idea! I was making good progress despite finding a restaurant where I could eat a proper meal. I kept on pedaling into Romania until I ran out of water. I was in the middle of nowhere and there was nothing around except for the sound of dogs howling, making me even more eager to continue pedaling. I finally came to a small town where it looked as though there was some sort of big party at a community center. I pulled over, and without taking off my reflective vest and turning off my blinking lights, I headed straight inside for the loud music in hopes to find a bar where I could fill up my water bottles. As it turned out, it seemed the big party was actually a wedding. I could see the bride and groom, family and friends, rocking out on the dance floor. But what really caught my attention were the tables where some guests were sitting with huge bottles of water and soda that were at the disposal of the guests. I gestured using my empty water bottle, if it was OK to fill up and they nodded. Just as I was finished filling up my eye caught hold of a massive fruit sculpture on a table close by that was also filled with extra desserts on little plates. I would have loved to have sat down and devour everything in sight but used my rational judgement to decide that would be outside assistance, and instead I helped myself to a banana. I did this at the same time the father of the bride saw me, which wasn’t hard, considering my helmet light was flashing and my fluorescent neon vest glowing. I quickly headed for the door, not wanting to cause anymore problems. He was really, really upset and came running after me shouting something in Romanian I couldn’t understand while pointing his finger at me. I could tell other guests were trying to calm him down and let me hop back on my bike and escape without a problem, which is exactly what I did.

At the time I thought I had hit the Jackpot with all sorts of goodies to help me pedal through the night.

Ironically 20 minutes down the road there was a petrol station still open and I pulled over to stock up on food. It was here in Romania where I first came across the brand “7 Days” that so many veteran TCR racers had warned me about! I bought a few along with some red bull, coke, and chips and devoured as much as I could sitting on a rocking bench they had in front of the entrance. I wasn’t tired at all and decided to keep on pedaling. I checked my progress on the GPS tracker and to see the progress of the other riders. In Romania, there were so many different choices of roads, the progress of the racers was hard to decipher as no two racers seemed to be on the same route. Not to mention the race organization had written all the race participants deciding to ban a certain road that James and Bjorn had both taken. James had had a close incident with a truck and due to all the heavy traffic decided to warn the organization that the road should be prohibited. This last minute change of road usage, didn’t change my routing, but it did affect the route of a lot of other riders. I was approaching CP 4 from the west, whereas most other racers were coming in due north. I had a good look at the route I was going to take to get to the Transfăgărășan road, and started to wonder why I had routed myself so far west. I decided to take an alternative route that other riders were taking including Jonas. I pedaled as far as I could to reach this road. At about 5am, having pedaled continuously since 7pm, I found another TCR rider, who I had seen on the GPS tracker map. He had just awakened for the morning and was starting his ride. We rode together for about half an hour, when I finally decided to pull off the road and sleep for a couple of hours. I found a little church tucked in beside the main road with a fence to protect me. Romania was known for having an extreme amount of wild dogs and I had already heard and seen enough of them in the middle of the night to scare me. I slept for about an hour on the church lawn. I wanted to get pedaling again before the weekly morning traffic picked-up.

I remember this sign humored me....Stray dogs were everywhere in Romania, somehow I think D.O.G is an acronym for something else here....

The road was actually quite pleasant. It wasn’t too hilly and the traffic was light. It was spotted with little towns and I was able to pullover at a service station to get some food. I also found a pharmacy and decided to hit it up for some more cream to help calm my bum. I had enough lubricants but needed something that could numb the surface, the same gel that was used on babies when they were teething. Before the race, I had contacted Janie Hayes who had won the Trans AM race for the women this year and asked her for advice on saddle sores, just to be prepared. She had told me that the least expensive and easier to find anesthetic gel was one that is used on baby’s gums when they teeth. Using hand gestures and the sound of a baby crying I was successful in letting the pharmacist know exactly what I needed. Unfortunately she only sold the numbing gel in small containers and only had 2, so I bought both. Outside the pharmacy I stuck my fingers down the back of my bike shorts, and applied the gel to directly on the raw wounds on my bum. It stung immediately, but after about 45 seconds, the pain had disappeared. I readjusted the sanitary pads that I was still using to give extra padding and started pedaling again.  

All the different creams I was using, plus Sudocream...It was quite an array!

The numbing cream did the trick and I was pain free during a couple of hours slowly making my way up a steep climb. Yes, it was a hard climb, but traffic was minimal so I couldn’t complain, except that I realized why no one was on this road once I reached the summit. There was road construction that started on the descent and lasted the entire 20 kilometers downhill. I had to descend cautiously to avoid any big rocks and loose gravel, not to mention dodge big construction trucks and workers. What looked like a good alternative on google maps, had turned out to be a bad idea. Once down, the road got better, but there was a brutal head wind and with the heat of the midday, my progress was slow. I stopped for an ice cream and a quick nap to regain some energy. I could see that Toastee and the other riders, who had taken a more northern route, were catching up. It was going to be a tight race to CP4. I kept pedaling as hard as I could but the headwind was strong and my progress was minimal. I came to Sebes, a good sized town and looked for a place to eat. The golden arches caught my attention and I couldn’t resist.

I don't get what people love so much about McDonalds.  The food has no flavor at all.  I did like their clean toilets and free wifi though...

It was the first time I had eaten anything more than an ice cream cone at McDonalds in more than 25 years! Cyclists wave about McDonalds because it is calorie laden, a known quantity, cheap, and the restaurants usually are clean, have a toilet and offer wifi. I was not proud of the fact I was eating here, although it did save time and I knew what it is that I was ordering, regardless of the fact it was tasteless. After my meal, I hopped on my bike again, hoping to pedal as close as I could to the turn off to CP4. The wind had died down and so had the traffic and the heat. I continued to pedal until about midnight when the thought of a hotel enticed me. It wasn’t so much for sleeping in a bed, but cleaning up my sores and remaining infection free! The hotel I chose had a really small room, but they let me bring my bike in with me. 

I could see that Toastee was also sleeping and seemed to be struggling a bit coming down to CP4 as she had turned around and back-tracked several times. I was certain we were going to meet on the climb to CP4, and was motivated to get an early morning start. I set out around 5am the next morning and no sooner than I started pedaling, that it started to downpour. I quickly took refuge at a petrol station and took advantage to have “breakfast”. They sold mini Seven Day croissants in multi-packs with peanut butter filling and offered instant coffee. The breakfast of champions for the climb that I was about to do!

The best 7 Days croissant flavor by far with peanut butter filling, irresistible, especially if it's your only choice!

Before departing I put on all my rain gear, including rain shorts over my bike shorts and shoe covers as well. I had a rain jacket, but I thought if I used it I would have nothing left for the decent and if the rain continue at the higher elevations I would be out of luck. As I turned off to the 4th checkpoint, I thought this one was going to be hell of a climb; difficult and unforgettable! With a steady downpour, Toastee right on my tail, and an epic climb ahead of me, the women’s race in the TCR was getting good! I stopped quickly at the bottom of the climb to get my last does of sugar and caffeine, buying a few candy bars and coke. Despite the rain, I was warm, climbing at a steady pace. The first part of the climb went through a forest and there wasn’t much of a view. Then the real climb started and the traffic got heavier as more tourists arrived. The road was lined with all sorts of tourists stands. I would never have stopped there, but I saw that one of the stands sold rain ponchos. Still fearing that I might be cold on the descent, I bought a brightly colored poncho, nothing more than a luxurious trash bag with a hood and arm holes, that I tied down over me so that it wouldn’t get in my spokes. I must admit, it did match my bike kit at the time, but didn’t look very classy and never showed up in any of the official race photos!

Ponchos like this one are not elegant, but they keep you really dry! Photo courtesy of James Robertson

An impressive and beautiful climb!  I would go back any day to do it again! Photo courtesy of James Robertson

Pretty soon the race organization car caught up with me and took some memorable pictures. When the rain let up and I was plenty warm, I took off the poncho hoping to dry out before the descent. The climb up the Transfăgărășan road was tough, but not harder than any of the other checkpoints. The road had the most impressive zigzags allowing you to take in breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains and waterfalls. Along the road was a crippled dog that threatened me with his barking. I was so tired, I couldn’t out pedal the dog wobbling on 3 legs, but luckily he wasn’t too aggressive. It was hard to see where the road ended and I gauged my arrival at the summit by the amount of cars on the road and the tourist stands. I had the race organization car in front of me, and another photographer following me as well, who I would later learn was part of the Apidura staff, the company that sponsored the fourth checkpoint. Despite the heavy traffic I made it to the top of the climb and started descending carefully. The roads were busy and wet and passed through several tunnels. I was keeping a close eye out for the 4th checkpoint as I didn’t want to whizz past it on the downhill. As I approached I could hear people clapping and I knew I had made it. The volunteers, sponsors, and race organizers were also trying to keep warm and dry.

Definitely happy with the rain shorts Chris White recommended on his ridefar blog and the waterproof booties from Jonas. Photo courtesy of James Robertson

In my zone, climbing slowly.....Photo courtesy of James Robertson

Pretty thoughtful drivers on this road in Romania.  Otherwise this country has some of the world's worst drivers! Photo courtesy of James Robertson

I coincided with one other rider there, my favorite Italian, Paolo, who I had seen riding as a pair at CP2 and since then in Hungary. He had descended and passed the checkpoint and had to ride back, climbing up the hill for a good 15 kilometers. I met the Apidura representative, Chris Peacock, who had been super helpful in advising me on the right gear to purchase prior to the race. After warming up with a couple of coffees and chatting with the people who had gathered around, I started the descent with Paolo. I kept up with him for about 20 minutes and then he got ahead of me as everyone did. I could see Toastee was starting the climb to CP 4 and it would be a matter of a few hours before she arrived at the top. The weather had changed and I didn’t need any of my rain gear. 

The descent was long and gave me some time to rest. My bum, that had started out horrendous after CP3 was considerably better now that I could numb the pain and treat it with other creams to try to help the wounds heal. I was prepared mentally although not in the best of physical conditions for the final stretch to Meteora!

On my Way to CP3: Enduring Unbearable Pain

My ride from checkpoint 2 to 3 is a big blur, filled with a lot of pain and agony that I thought would hinder my continuation of the race. I had made a smart choice to sleep an extra hour at CP 2. When I woke up, I could see the majority of riders had already set out to tackle this monstrous climb, The Grappa. I quickly packed up my things and set off before the sunrise. I was amazed to see the checkpoint manned by volunteers bright-eyed and cheery waiting for the arrival of other riders as I departed.

I couldn’t have been more than 20km from the checkpoint going up the parcour, when I saw a cyclist on the side of the road. He was straddling his bike, as if he had decided to pull over and sleep, mid pedal, somehow wrapped inside his bivy sack, embracing his bike. It was a funny sight to see, especially when I realized it was Michael Wacker. His decision to start the climb the following night hadn’t gotten him far,....perhaps he should have listened to my advice and slept at the campsite after taking a nice hot shower. I wanted to stop to take a picture, but the Grappa was so steep I knew I would have a hard time getting back on my bike again if I stopped. Thankfully the photographers saw him to record this priceless moment.

I ascended alone The Grappa alone in the early hours of the morning. The only other riders I encountered were the Italian pair who had gone to the summit and were coming down in the same direction, choosing to cross the northern plains of Italy. The photographers were close behind them in their white minivan. I waved hello and continued on my way. Monte Grappa is an incredible climb, a “massif” that rises out of nowhere! Along the winding 19 kilometers, you can see the valley below as flat as a pancake. The road climb relentlessly with no end in sight, which makes it tough to keep your motivation. There are some incredibly steep gradients which forced me to zigzag back and forth on the narrow road that had to be shared with cars. However I couldn’t complain. I considered myself lucky having hit The Grappa in the morning avoiding midday temperatures around 40C.

The Grappa towers over the flat Northern Italian plains below.  It is a 19 kilometer never-ending climb.

Jonas had given me strict instruction to ask for a free grappa liqueur at the restaurant at the summit from Margarida, one of the servers. He had done the parcour on a recon trip and insisted I pay her a visit. However, I arrived before the restaurant had even opened and there was no one on top. I took a few photos, and another rider arrived, Matt. He was a British cyclist who I’d seen the night before at CP 2, walking around in his underwear entertaining me with his stories of crossing the Alps on the steepest of mountain passes during a thunderstorm. Matt was also taking the same route as me, going down the grappa the back road. I tried to keep up with him on the descent but it was impossible as he rode considerably faster than me. To say it was a delightful descent would be a complete lie as the road was mixed with a lot of ups and false flats. I had lost my patience and was hungry for breakfast, not having any food reserves on me and long since burned off the huge dinner I had eaten last night on the climb. When I finally reached the bottom, Matt and I both had the same idea. We stopped at the first supermarket we found and loaded up on food. I’m a big fan of supermarkets when bike touring because there is more variety than a restaurant. Of course the package sizes are not ideal, but I did manage to eat an entire melon, yogurt and half a pack of biscuits before setting off on my way to find the Austrian border in Northern Italy. I never saw Matt again, although I was motivated to catch up with him and roughly followed the same route he did.

Matt rode up The Grappa shortly after I did.  Surprisingly, we look incredibly fresh after the horrendous climb!

No sooner did I set off, than I noticed a slight pain in my right knee. I thought it would go away as I started to pedal, but the opposite occurred. The more I pedaled the more painful it became! I’ve been a lucky cyclist when it comes to injuries and new had any major injuries in my career of bike riding. Which is why I immediately panicked! How could this be happening to me right now in the middle of the TCR? The pain became intense quickly and by the time I decided to stop at a pharmacy for a painkiller. I got off my bike in such a rush and leaned it up against the automatic door of the pharmacy that when it opened, the door ran right over the right hood of my handlebar. I could have had a serious mechanical issue had the door done damage. Thankfully it didn’t, as I had a one track mind to get some medical relief. I asked for the strongest pain killer they could give me without a prescription telling them I had a throbbing pain in my knee. She gave me a box of painkillers and told me I could take one dose every 4 to 6 hours with food as it might give me an upset stomach. I popped one in immediately and ate a snickers bar at the same time. I started to pedal again, but didn’t make it too far, still bothered by the pain and now overheated and hungry for a real meal. I found a restaurant, ordered some food, and decided that I needed to rest some more. Perhaps when I woke up, my knee pain would disappear.  

The best part of riding in Italy is that no matter where you stop for food, it is always DELICIOUS!

I would love to know how many other riders chose the approach I did for resting. I have a hard time imagining a lot of the men participants curling up in a ball and falling asleep on a restaurant bench. But this sleeping strategy was key for getting enough rest during the race and it only took me a matter of seconds to fall asleep. Rather than resting my head on my water bottle on the table, I chose the most comfy bench seat and used my water bottle as a cushion, curled into fetal position and passed out. I managed to sleep for an hour or two without the man in the restaurant or other clients bothering me. When I woke up I ordered an espresso and a pastry to down another dose of medicine and started riding again. 

As soon as I started pedaling the pain came back. I was incredibly frustrated. I wanted to make it as close as I could to the Austrian border that night, but with all the pain in my knee, I knew that was going to be impossible. I could see the other riders were gaining on me, especially Toastee who had climbed The Grappa in the heat of the day! She was tough! When the medicine kicked in, I had about 3 hours of “pain-free” cycling that I had to take advantage of. Unfortunately, at the same time, the route at this point was complicated. The roads in the area had been prohibited and we were forced to ride the cycle path. I had called hotels and tourist offices in advance trying to plot out the right way to hook up with the bike path, that wasn’t on google maps. My preparations had failed me as I didn’t see the entrance to the bike path, and was left at a nasty intersection of main highways. I decided the bike path must be on the opposite side of the river and crossed over. Thankfully I saw another cyclist coming off of the path and turned on to it. I was following my GPS route, parallel, on the other side of the river, as it seemed like a good alternative, despite being unpaved. Later I would find out that Jonas had a difficult time with this part of his route, couldn’t find the right bike path or a bridge to take him over the river and ended up walking through the river to get back to the other side in the middle of the night. Poor guy!

To make my afternoon all the more entertaining and to confirm my bias judgement about Italian men, an Italian cyclist, out for a relaxing ride, caught up with me on the bike path. He was definitely feeling the heat or trying to attract the attention of others, riding without a shirt. I can understand a lot of Italian, but talk Spanish to communicate in Italy. He happened to be going in the same direction as I was, and wasn’t shy to ask me out to dinner. I couldn’t seem to get it through to him that I was in a race and in a hurry to be on my way. I was having a hard time pedaling faster than him given the terrain, my knee, and my fatigue, so there was no easy escape! Thankfully he turned off and I continued to ride peacefully. When I started to feel my knee again, I managed to find a restaurant where I could stop for a couple of cokes and pop another pain killer. After that, I kept on riding as long as I could. I came across a few other TCR participants and we were all struggling to try to follow the bike path and stay off the main drag. At one point we had no alternative but to cross over the busy highway to ride on the bike path. I stopped to let the organization know what I had done, but felt better that there were two other riders who had done exactly the same thing!

Flattered or disgusted? In the state I was in, he still wanted to take me to dinner!

I rode up until it was well past dark, trying to push through the pain and stop at a decent size town where I could get a warm meal. I lucked out and found a restaurant with a kitchen still open around 10pm with nice comfy bench seats. I hopped on the internet to check my progress and that of the other riders while I ate my dinner. At this point in the race, all the dots were dispersed across Northern Italy and Southern Austria. Some riders chose to avoid the mountains in Southern Austria and instead rode the flatter plains of Italy. I could see Toastee was behind me on the same route, Jonas was way ahead of me on the a similar route, and many dots were inactive, meaning they had decided to call it a night and sleep. I decided to sleep for an hour and keep riding as the nighttime ambiance was a lot easier for me to cope with compared to the heat and traffic throughout the day. I asked the waitress if I could lie down on the bench until closing and thankfully she took pity on me. I got a good hour of rest in before I headed off again.

Probably the nicest bike path I rode into Austria.

I was surprised that the upcoming kilometers were a nice gradual descent and I was able to cover a lot of kilometers, making it past the Austrian border before I decided to call it a day. I couldn’t find a great place to sleep, but finally settled for the a grassy patch next to a bus stop. Blowing up my air mattress, I learned it had a hole! I had patches on me but not the time or energy to spend to look for the puncture. My sleeping gear was now reduced to a bivy sac and a thin liner with no insulation from the cold ground. Thankfully, however, it didn’t matter and I fell quickly asleep and slept a good 3 to 4 hours. When I woke up, I felt like I’d been run over by a train. I still had a lot of knee pain and my body was tired, despite the fact I had woke up without an alarm. I took a selfie that morning, it was a scary portrayal of the reality of my condition: eyes swollen, looking exhausted. I somehow managed to get myself back on my bike and pedal until the first petrol station where I could buy some breakfast and take another pain killer.

Definitely hurting here after a few hours sleep, I don't know how I got back on my bike to continue riding.

This would be the day I had the most pain and thought I might have to quit the race. The pain killers were wearing off faster and faster and I couldn’t pedal more than 2 hours before I had to stop. I got some ice at a cafe, had a coffee and tried to sleep a bit. As soon as I stopped pedaling the pain went away, but once back on my bike it continued. I remember going through a small little city center cursing and swearing at the top of my lungs in complete pain. People turned around to look at me. I didn’t care, I didn’t know how else to cope with the pain! Despite crossing the border into Austria and being in the mountains, the heat was still unbearable and my progress was ridiculously slow. I knew my friends were concerned about me, I could tell by some of their comments in the Whatsapp group. I tried to cover up the fact I was injured and told them I needed to escape from the unbearable heat and would start a nocturnal riding schedule so they wouldn’t worry about me. I couldn’t tell them about my pain. I longed for their sympathy, but I didn’t want to let them down. I was completely frustrated at myself. How could this be? How could I develop a tendonitis now during the race after all the training I had done? It wasn’t fair! I considered my options, I knew them quite well: continue pedaling and grin and bear the pain, or quit.

I started icing my knee every time I stopped to eat or drink.

I pulled over at a petrol station, took shelter from the heat inside, and laid down once again at one of their tables. I reached out to a really good friend in Barcelona, knowing there was nothing anyone could do for me, I just needed to hear a familiar voice. I told him I had developed the classic cyclist tendinitis and that the pain was unbearable. He took pity on me and told me it was OK to stop, that only time would make it better. I knew this was the solution myself, but I was in denial about accepting quitting. I am NOT a quitter! I had never quit a race and after all my preparation I wasn’t about to! When I hung up, needed to start pedaling again. The heat seemed to have dissipated thanks to a lurking thunderstorm. I made it about 30 min. Before there was a complete downpour. I took shelter turning at the first road I saw, a driveway to a few private residences. There was a covered car park for 2 cars detached from the house. I quickly took out my bivy sac and climbed inside trying to keep dry and warm while I waited out the storm. Endurance cyclists have to be efficient with their time. If you are going to stop riding, it can only be for two reasons, to sleep or eat! 

The people living inside the house must have seen me take shelter because they came out to see if I was OK. I told them I was waiting for the storm to pass. They didn’t seem to mind. When the rain turned to a steady mist, I hopped back on my bike and pedaled. I was determined to find another pharmacy where I could ask for a stronger pain killer or another medicine for my knee. Right before closing for the night, I found a pharmacy. They gave me an anti-inflammatory as well as a muscle cream to rub on my knee. With two different medicines, I was hopeful things would get better.

At some point during that night while riding, I remember reading about the possible injuries that could come about with endurance cycling. I decided that I should try adjusting my bike seat to see if that helped at all. Magically it did, it was almost like an instant fix. I don’t remember too much more that night except that the pain had reduced and I took advantage to pedal as long as I could. I took a nap somewhere around midnight on a park bench in the middle of a climb. I remember receiving a message from Felix, who was following me closely. “Sleeping?, he asked, sending me a picture of the park bench from google map. Crazy! I thought to myself. How many details my GPS tracker provided, yet it didn’t pick up on any of the emotional turmoil I was experiencing, my fatigue, nor some of the awful road conditions. After a quick nap, I pedaled quite far that night, pain free after I adjusted my saddle. I knew I had to make up the distance I had lost earlier in the day. Somewhere around 5am I pulled over behind a public clinic and laid my bivy sac out on the concrete patio. No longer did a rock hard or cold surface bother me. I slept soundly until morning, when a person walking their dog discovered me. I quickly got dressed and started to pedal, motivated that I was approaching the Slovakian border. 

I realized I was pretty much pain free, except for a mild ache in my ankle. I decided to adjust the clips on my shoes and this just about eliminated all the pain I had previously. In the matter of 36 hours, I had overcome the worst pain I had experienced in my life from bike riding and I was energized and optimistic to be back in the racing spirit! I also realized at this point in the race there was gear I wasn’t using, extra items that were weighing me down. Jonas had told me to throw out anything I didn’t use to save weight. Being the frugal person that I am, and not wanting to part sentimentally with my gear, I found an Austrian post office wear I could send these items home. Of course I was spoiled by the Swiss postal services with all sorts of packaging material at your disposal to help you mail a parcel. The Austrian post office had nothing except for a mere scale to weigh packages and the lady working there was not in the mood to help me find a box. I quickly scrambled for a solution and ran across the street to find a bar, to use their daily newspaper to wrap-up my extra items. When the attendant at the post office saw me again, she realized I was pretty hopeless and came to my rescue with a small box and some tape. I stuffed my extra jersey, my only pair of underwear, the punctured air mattress, leg warmers, and extra USB charger in the box and sent it to Switzerland. This freed up some space and weight in my saddle bag.

I was feeling pretty good again, lighter, pain free, and determined to keep the lead until Checkpoint 3! I entered Slovakia, through Bratislava. It was my first time visiting this country, but not my first time in Eastern Europe. I maneuvered my way around the city and then headed Northeast to the Tatras mountains. I wanted to ride as close as possible to CP 3, so that I wouldn’t have to make on the climb in the heat of the day. I stopped along the way at some point for an ice cream. If there is one thing I remember about Slovakia, it is their food. Everything looked enticing and the portions were enormous, but the food had no flavor, with the exception of their ice cream and some small powdered donuts I found in the service stations. I couldn’t complain however, as it was dirt cheap! Before starting my night ride, I enjoyed a delicious 3 scoop ice cream sundae. In fact it was so good and cheap, that I went back for a second 3 scoop sundae! This sugar rush gave me the energy I needed to pedal as far as I could before the hunger became impossible to ignore and pulled over for a late dinner. I hit up a local Italian joint with a ton of people sitting on the terrace. I went inside in hopes of comfy seats where I could nap after eating. I ordered a heaping portion of pasta, a pizza, and a salad. I wrapped up the pizza to bring with me, but before I headed off again to ride into the wee hours of the night I took a nap in the restaurant. 

I had developed a very successful riding routine considering the hot temperatures during the day and the empty roads at night. I would stop for lunch around 2pm, eat and nap for an hour to an hour and a half. Then I would ride until about 9 or 10pm and stop again to eat and nap for an hour, before riding into the wee hours of the night, when I would finally stop around 3 or 4am and sleep until about 6 or 7 in the morning. I was getting about 5 hours of sleep divided all throughout the day and my body was OK (or so I thought) with this routine! Not to mention, no one seemed to mind that I sprawled out on their restaurant furniture to sleep for an hour or two. 

That night, making my way to the Tatras mountains, I came across another cyclist, Lee Pearce, a veteran TCR racer. I was impressed by his race strategies. He was organized and coordinated enough to eat a proper meal in his saddle, enjoying a burrito as he rode next to me. I was impressed he had managed to find a Mexican joint in Slovakia, and also a bit jealous he was organized and fast enough to take advantage of sleeping at hotels. He had reserved a room a few kilometers up the road and was determined to arrive before they closed. He turned off the road convinced it was the way to his hotel, I kept going straight, making my way up to the Tatras mountains. I saw him at the end of the race and he admitted he got lost that night and arrived incredibly late for his reservation.

Not a bad place to sleep for a night.  I got lucky finding the plywood and cardboard to insulate myself on the ground.

I pulled off the road about 100km shy of CP 3. I was exhausted and took shelter behind a set of apartments where I found a large piece of plywood and cardboard I used to protect my bivy sac from the bare ground. I slept for a few hours before I was up again, excited to arrive to CP 3. The main road I had to follow was a nightmare that morning, and there was so much traffic I was getting annoyed. I made several wrong turns before I finally pulled over and studied an alternative route up to CP 3, leaving the main drag behind sooner than I had intended. I couldn’t bare the traffic and I saw a few other racers, including Jonas had taking this option, so I decided to give it a try! It was a steep route but the advantage was that I had some downhill before doing the final ascent up to the checkpoint. Shortly into the route, another woman cyclist came pedaling towards me. She seemed delighted to see me and it took me awhile to realize who she was, although she immediately seemed to know me. Svenja Schrade was a volunteer at Checkpoint 3, who had taken a break to go for a ride and thought she could find me along the road after following my dot for awhile. She was determined to compete in the TCR in the near future and was using this year’s experience as a volunteer to learn about the race. Like many other dedicated volunteers, she had rode from Germany to Slovakia as a test to see if she was ready for such a feat. She was awfully nice to come and find me. I think I was pedaling much too slow for her on the uphill, but she stayed along my side for a little while to chat before continuing her ride. 

The Tatras mountains and surrounding forests reminded me a lot of Oregon, USA

  

Svenja rode next to me for awhile and snapped this shot.

Just after she left, I found myself cursing Mike. He’d managed to choose yet again, another checkpoint with nothing around! There were literally no opportunities to resupply and I was out of food, and soon to be out of water without even reaching the last brutal part of the ascent. I came across what looked to be some sort of mountain retreat, at the start of the 3rd parcour, but I couldn’t find a proper entrance to the building. It wasn’t until I went through the back door and wandered around the hallway that I realized I was in a senior citizen home! I didn’t want to startle a grandma or grandpa and I thought that if I filled up water there or asked for food, it would have been considered “outside assistance” and illegal. So I toughened up and decided I could ration the last small portion of water in my bottle until I got to the top. What I didn’t realize was that the gradient up ahead was so steep I couldn’t manage to balance myself on my bike and ride with one hand while I grabbed my water bottle to drink. I would have to stop in order to drink because I was pedaling too slowly. I thought the The Grappa was a hard climb, but the road up to CP 3 was twice as difficult! It was so narrow, in fact, it seemed more like a pedestrian trail than an actual road with areas of rough pavement at times and gravel batches. I made a mental note to descend cautiously and with daylight! 

Trying to smile for the camera crew climbing up to CP3

Halfway up the climb the camera crew caught up with me, startling me by hiding in the bushes to catch some natural shots of me suffering. Although they were only a few meters in front of me with the back on the van open, I had no extra energy to chat with them. It was hot, I was hungry and thirsty, and the climb was beyond difficult. I did, however, feel fortunate to have eliminated all my knee and ankle pain, in order to give the climb all that I could. I had seen pictures of other riders at the top and saw that there was a pristine mountain lake awaiting me, a feasible “bath” to help me cool down and clean-up! I was eager to arrive!

Final Sprint....over my dead body, I just tried to keep the pedals turning!

The face says it all....

Juliana hadn’t been at the 2nd checkpoint but she was waiting for the riders at CP3 with a big smile on her face. Little did I know the race organization wanted to interview me, still in the number one spot for the female riders. I, however, was fixated on the lake next to the hotel at the top of the climb. I put on my rain shorts, took off my jersey and let out a quick shriek as I took a dip in the ice cold water. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief! It was incredibly cold water but felt so refreshing! This would be the second “shower” I would take during the race and felt incredible! I hadn’t followed my normal napping pattern that day, as I could see Toastee was only a few hours behind me. However, I decided to rest for a bit at the checkpoint and did a live interview with the race organization before indulging in a delicious meal, chatting with Juliana, and then descending. With 3 out of the 4 checkpoints completed I was more than halfway through the race and determined to keep on fighting to stay in the lead!

Dinner before my departure, I couldn't have eaten the double or triple, but the clock was ticking....