day 1
June 7th, 6pm - June 8th, 10pm
Starting a race, I am always looking forward to finding myself on my own on the road. Although at the start of Kromvojoj, the group split easily into smallest groups of friends. Just navigating between them, not feeling the pressure to stay with any, I am able to appreciate the views, and it keeps me awake and alert all night, catching the red lights here and there. In the morning I have not stopped yet and finally find coffee. I am carrying enough food for the day, but still indulge in a Spanish pastry.
I have not been fighting the fatigue, nor the stress. That 1st night out, I am just very unsure of what I am doing there. Do I really want to race ? It takes me until the morning to make peace with the idea of being in a race. I mean, now I am there, right ?
Brain shut up for the day. I am racing, which for me is riding in a good cadence, without any distraction. I just focus and close myself to anything around, including my own needs, if they are not essential. Early afternoon, I cross the border to France.
I have crossed that border once, the opposite way. It was windy then too, but I have a nice tailwind this time. For some reason, in France, the wind turns all of a sudden and is in my face. Busy roads, French drivers, the wind... My brain turns on again, just to get angry. Millie joins me for a few kilometers. I tell her I do not want to be there in the 1st place, and she reminds me how many women signed in. That could be the one reason I'd need. I am here to show one more woman starting this kind of event, and finishing it. She has me pumped up for a moment.
I have Tarascon sur Ariège in mind as my 1st stop, 490km for that 1st day. For once, I have a solid plan, realistic. I have written down the stupid, ambitious plan, and added hours to it, reducing the number of km per day. It should be working. At least it is that 1st day. I can reach Tarascon before 10pm. Still too late for an impromptu hotel checkin, but being in France, it is easy to call and set up a self checkin. In Tarascon, I buy a sandwich at the bar, the hotel is right on the map. Already 3 bikes in the patio. I'd be the last one.
The sandwich is ridiculously small. I take a well deserved shower. I have been outside for just above 27 hours, and on my bike for almost 26 hours. Details on my Strava but that is about 90' of stopping time for 486km, +8.900m of elevation gain.
day 2
June 9th, 2am - June 10th, 2am
Last one to arrive, first to leave. It is 2am, everything is silent. I start with a climb, feeling good. But in the descent, my mood changes. I am hungry, it is Monday in France, aka the new Sunday. I am freezing cold. I have two options today, ride less than 300km and sleep in Luz, or push all the way to Eaux Bonnes. I have barely started and I am considering the first option already. I make a proper stop sitting on a bench and I eat all the cashews I have left. No need to try and save them carefully. My stomach needs to be filled, whatever the way.
It is funny how on each race, I got obsessed with one food. It has been M&Ms, energy drinks, bananas candies,... I want orange juice. I will come to that at some point, when I'll feel better drinking calories than eating them. For now, I stop in a bakery, the sun is finally out. I got 2 pizza slices, a cookie and a pastry. Two Americans riding e-mountain bikes ask me what kind of event I am riding. I show them my purse with Kromvojoj written on it. They check it out. I love their interest but I stay efficient and I must leave.
With pizza in my belly, I feel better. The profile on my Garmin shows 4 black peaks. Then it is Luz, the first option to stop tonight. One more red summit and finally Eaux Bonnes. Less desperate than in the morning, I know I'll make it. Late.
Port de Balès +1.755m, Col de Peyresourde +1.569m, Hourquette d’Ancizan +1.564m, Col du Tourmalet +2.115m, those are the black peaks that the profile shows on my Garmin. Luz, the 1st option to sleep, is at the bottom of the Tourmalet. Then the big red summit on the profile is the Aubisque, +1.709m. And all the way down is Eaux Bonnes.
It is a warm afternoon. I pass Javier a few times, he has a thing for fountains. He catches me in the descents. After Peyresourde, he asks me if I'll climb the Tourmalet tonight. I have 2 black peaks to pass, one red big bump, I have no idea what they are called, all I know is that I am saving CP2 for the morning, and will be in Spain tomorrow. CP2 is the Portalet. That one, I know. How does he dare talk to me about CP2, when Eaux Bonnes seems unreachable. 2 black peaks, 1 big red bump, sleep. If I can. The rest, later.
I leave Javier and he does not catch me anymore. Up & down. I find myself at the bottom of the Tourmalet. Oh. That's the Tourmalet he was talking about... Portalet, Tourmalet, I got them mixed up. Javier must have thought I was joking with him. But it was no trick. I have no brain space for tricks. I just have legs. It is 5pm and I am climbing the Tourmalet.
I am all by myself. Tourmalet or not, it's just another black peak on the profile on my Garmin. I always remember the words exchanged with another Spanish guy, on another race (hi Manuel). Even if we move slow, we move forward. I met Tomas the photographer at the bottom of the Tourmalet earlier. He told me something about a deviation. I have not checked my phone at all, so I have no idea if I am supposed to take it or not when I see the sign. I can't be penalized for not taking a closed road, so I follow the deviation.
There is a bar open. I buy rwo sandwiches, remembering my poor diner last night. Those are not as cheap ! My bags are filled with the equivalent of one and a half baguette, filled with cheese. I am not hungry, and a table of English men leaving the restaurant offers me a slice of apple pie. I eat it just to be polite but my stomach was not asking for it. At the top of the Tourmalet, the sky is pink. I dress for the night, start the descent, miss a turn, come back up 300m & meet Oriol. We finish the descent together, then he disappears into the night.
Starts the longest climb ever. That big red summit is the Col du Soulor, followed by the Aubisque. Had I known their names, would I have climbed them in the night ? I guess I would have. I would have know what to curse, that's the only difference. I do not get angry, I keep my strength to move forward. I see nothing of what's to be seen, just cross paths with sleeping sheep on the road. They don’t move when I ride amongst them.
It's not painful, it is just too long. When I reach the top, I add my frontal lamp to trick my mind, as if it was the sunshine. It does not work but I am not falling asleep too much. I am thrilled to reach Eaux Bonnes and still have to figure out how to get in the room I booked earlier in the day with very confused instructions. And I can't even call the owner ; it is 2am, total distance that day is 343km, +9.400m. 23 hours out and 25 on the saddle.
Finally home for the next 4 hours, I take a shower, carefully wet my bib shorts to kind of get them cleaned, but not soaked, bite on one of my monstrous sandwiches and I go to bed, leaving my bib short on the heater.
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day 3
June 10th, 6.30am - June 11th, 00am
I left my bib shorts, and my favorite pair of blue socks, on the archaic heater, more like a grill, while I was sleeping. The fabric of my bib shorts has cracked, solidified, burn. The chamois is intact though. I leave them cool down on the floor and prep my bike, postponing the moment when I'll have to realize I have nothing to wear.
It's time. There is still holes for the legs, my whole left butt is exposed. Only half of my right butt, how lucky. Fortunately, the straps keeps the whole thing together. It is ridiculous, I laugh. I wear my base layer as underwear, put the destroyed bibs over it. I look just decent.
Outside it is warm already. I should get going, get to the top before it is too hot. I feel very exposed and self aware with my butt in the air. After I cross the border, I got my stamp on the brevet card, I am back in Spain ! There is not a lot of villages but I am looking out for any kind of clothing store in each of them. I pass a few supermarkets, forgetting about drinks and food. I should eat, drink, refill but all I can think about is my destroyed bib shorts, and my bottom exposed. And how sitting in/on my base layer is causing pains.
I ride 80km only thinking about this. I have been looking at my phone this time and caught the deviation into Sabinanigo. It's lucky because without it, I could have missed the cycling shop ! I buy the one and only women short bib they got. Finally butt covered, I also shop for food and orange juice, enter a bar next door to pee. Now the day is finally starting.
I would not have had another opportunity to find new shorts anywhere in the next 90km. I see not a village, barely a car and only 2 fountains. There is a little river alongside the road at first. I watch it with envy. But I am doing a race. There is no time to enjoy.
I finally forget about the race and have fun for the 1st time since the start, when I enter the Parque Natural de la Sienna y Canones de Guara. Still hot, no water, but those bumpy roads are my favorite kind of playground. Kharma paybacks. I am about to finish that part, when I feel my gear loosing up. Another broken derailleur cable for me ! It happened before... still I do not have a spare.
After a vain attempt to find my McGyver skills, I give up and just push on the legs. I am stuck on the wrong gear and it is going fine until the percentage is too much, I need to walk. I jump on and off the bike for about 10, maybe 15km. I still hope that Barbastro, 40km further, is reachable that way. A car passes by. I try my luck. This Antonio, I am not sure if he's the kindest person on Earth and lying, or really has Barbastro as a destination, but my tracker stops there and I get in the car with him.
That is the end of my race but not the end of the journey. After a stop at the bike shop, and an ice cream I was desperately craving (it does not taste that good now), I could have turned back to where I met Antonio, and keep on going. I would have ridden the 140km to my hotel that night. I would have slept very little again. I would have started my day at 5am once more and ridden the 300km left to the finish line. But that would have been a hell of a day, and another day in hell. I don't like riding my bike this way. There is no turning back, I scratch.
From Barbastro, I still have 100km to go to the room I booked. It is mostly flat, and boring again. Maybe because I am riding with a sense of duty, and not just because I feel like it. It is midnight when I get in the little town of Fayon. For some reason, RWGPS shows that I have been there before. I got that same feeling that I will have the next day on Mount Caro, I don't remember anything, I missed it before. I would have missed it again if I had arrived 3 hours later, and left in the morning in the dark.
At the pension as it is called, I find a key, but it does not open my door. A mysterious host to this pension was just wandering the quiet streets, he speaks French and Spanish, and we call the owner of the rooms. Everything is sorted out late tonight. I am going to sleep without setting up my alarm. I rode 280km that day, for +3.500m.
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day 4
June 11th, 8am - June 11th, 5pm
I wake up early, for a person who is not in a rush anymore. Late, for a racer. I am hungry. I hope I'll bump into mysterious man from last night again, and that I'll learn more about him but Fayon is still very quiet at 8am. A young girl waiting for the bus shows me the bar. Only two men, one table, set for them. I have to leave. I am not worried about being hungry. If I don't have enough energy, it does not matter anymore, I'll take my time. 13km further, there is a bar, at least 6 or 7 people talking loudly with coffees, and me sitting properly at a table. Not staying up at the bar. I have pan con tomato, with coffee. Twice. I am watching and listening. I am telling the woman at the bar about my journey. She says I am strong and she's too old for that. She's "quaranta", she says. I say the same because I don't know how to say 39 in Spanish but hey, it's a little lie, only for one month.
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I have an uneventful day, climbing Mount Caro by myself, stopping for pictures and a dry tap. I see only some racers on their way down, Javier waves joyfully at me. I follow the Kromvojoj track, 1st at the refuge, then at the top. Both are empty, it's just me and my bike. I have been here before but like my previous stay in Fayon, it must have been at night. I don't remember anything at all. Only 140km that day, +2.500m of elevation gain.
At Amposta where I stop at 5pm, I go off track to find a hotel, and a restaurant. I sit outside, in my cycling gear, and I don't belong anymore. I feel allowed to wear this weird outfit, to show my tan lines, and a tired face, only if I stay on the Kromvojoj map. I scratched ; I am not in a race anymore, but I am still not completely a tourist. So I am ill-at-ease eating my pasta & a tiramisu.
day 5
June 12th, 8am - June 12th, 5pm
Up early once again, in the best mood. I am ready to enjoy myself on the last 165km of Kromvojoj. There is a bakery open, I sit for coffee and a palmier pastry. There is 50 flat km to start the day, I'll stop again for a proper meal by the sea. Those 50km are flat but gravel. Nice clean smooth, but still, gravel, not my favorite terrain. Especially when I have in mind that I might have forgotten my pump in my backpack at the start. Those clean tracks in the morning are no threat though. And at Ampolla, where I'll then go back inlands, I have eggs, a tonic, & cake by the sea, just like I fancied.
I am happy to start climbing again after that 2nd breakfast. I have a fantastic time going up and down on perfectly empty roads. I stop at every fountain. There are not many of them. But I don't feel like stopping that much because I have the time of my life. I wonder what it would have been to endure those little roads, at end of day, after 150km and Mount Caro. I have my answer when I bump into a racer, Matt, sitting in the shadow. He had a bad crash earlier, and can't take it anymore. It's too tough, too long, painful. He's not having fun at all.
I wish I could stay with him, waiting for a car to pick him up. But I am determined to finish the track in the best of mood. And until the end I do, I love it. Finally not racing. I got to the finish line, got no stamp, no ranking, nothing but the realization that I am ending a toxic relationship with racing.
the end
7 days, 1.445km, +27.000m of elevation gain. 2/3 of that were done in just 3 days, racing, the rest, in touring mode. It could have been a serious holiday, it could have been a great race, it has been a fantastic lesson, echoing Kromvojoj motto : one route, many ways.
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For 10 years, since I started cycling, I was in a relationship with ultracycling. I fell in love, I found joy in competing. I grew stronger, racing surprised me, taught me ; I made new friends, I felt rich and grateful. But one day, it wasn't that good anymore. I kept coming back, race after race, and it did not feel the same. Still I tried, again and again, to find the sensation I had in the beginning.
With Kromvojoj I tried one more time to make this relationship work. The joy did not come back. The relationship had become toxic for me. There is a lot I am going to miss. The friendships, the feeling of belonging in this community. I'll miss the ice creams shared with tired bodies like mine. I need to move on. I need to find happiness somewhere else. It is time to end that relationship.
I'll still ride my bike, I'll still ride my bike for long hours, but in the way I'll choose. I am actually excited to go ride my bike again, freely. I hope I'll still meet friends on the way, the ones I have made, and new ones, and I don't reject all about racing. I wish others will fall in love as I did, and that their stories will last forever. And I can't wait to fall in love again ❣️
pics : @ jordirullo @ arrieredupeloton
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