Chasing Peaks. Enduring Troughs. 1.6

Elation | Absence

A relatively late start following a full resupply at a small shop opposite the hotel. And whilst it was near 9am, the five hour stop meant I was tired. If all went well we would finish this evening, but regardless a full twelve hour day of riding was ahead of us.

Fatigue was high considering what was probably my biggest day on a bike yesterday. I was well aware the finish was going to be tough.

The diversity of terrain came into play today. Not elevation per se, but the frustration of riding loose sand, deeply rutted ground, forest roots and muddy cyclocross conditions, all within the same hour layered fatigue on top of already tired minds and bodies.

It was around lunchtime when I had a strong deja vu moment that flashed back to a similar time in the closing stages of my previous multi day race.

Regret. Regret that this race was almost over. It was an odd feeling and seemed to predominate over the impending sense of elevation in the achievement of race completion. Id describe it as almost a reluctance to push on too hard, knowing it was a step towards closure, a sense of loss for not being able to ride my bike all day again tomorrow.

It was time to deploy the emergency tuna salad. Stacked up next to a strict diet of ham, cheese and bread, a dressed tuna salad, although on reflection its presentation could have provided the much needed dog diversion needed the previous night, was one of the most refreshing meals I’ve had.

Reflecting on a question I was recently asked “Wouldn’t you have enjoyed it more if you had bike packed the route instead? Without the constraints and stress of race conditions?” And on careful reflection, I don’t think I would have. I write above about how an underlying low level anxiety is a powerful fuel to drive you forwards by whatever means possible. Does this underlying anxiety stop you fully enjoying the moment for what it is or is the polarity essential to ensure progression. I firmly believe it’s a necessary evil.

Finishing strong provided some much needed encouragement and an element of gamification for the closing stages. In hindsight, this was not the best time to check the tracker for the first time. My intention was to check that the faulty tracker (that had burnt out within the first two days) was working properly, now that I had plugged it into my battery pack for the closing hour. I did not plan to check where I was in the standings and definitely did not intend on seeing that another rider that I thought was about a kilometre behind me. It was neither my intention to dial in some kind of ‘race mode’ reminiscent of Harrison Ford outrunning the boulder in Raiders of the Lost Arc. Regardless I was trying just that little bit too hard. Hard enough to force a pedal slip throwing me to the floor. A rather innocuous of ‘off’ I recall thinking at the time. The sort that you jump up quicker than the fall itself, in fear of someone spotting it but no one was around and ‘If a rider falls in a forest and no one is around to see it, did it even happen?’ The last hour of the track was wet woodland, so lush the fauna the dense leaves above meant the sun was obscured.

An unnecessary but meaningful sprint for the finish line masked a fairly underwhelming closure of the official race. The finish was in a small village about twenty minute soft pedal from the main square in Vitoria-Gasteiz. The idea of the closing stages of the race playing out on an urban bike path was not a good one and so finishing the race outside of town was most definitely the right choice.

Day 5: 139km. 2,348m. 11hrs 30mins. Ezcaray to Vitoria-Gasteiz.

The Race Director and accompanying media team welcomed arrival back in central Vitoria-Gasteiz. Basajaun finished in four days, eleven hours and thirty minutes.

For the ‘returning soldier’ combat provides a clear sense of mission, camaraderie and purpose. Their return to civilian life may feel mundane, fragmented or purposeless by comparison. The missing element is not violence itself but the clarity of identity, belonging and contribution that war imposed. Some psychologists frame this as ‘a loss of the infinite game’.