6 Months of anticipation, and all of a sudden its time to work out how to pack the road bike for the flight to Italy. A delightfully warm Thursday evening was spent on the patio trying to work-out how to make it fit in the box and then the box into the bike bag that a colleague had kindly lent me.
Of course total paranoia about the bike getting wrecked by careless baggage handlers, had me worried about the whole affair. That, coupled with making sure I had packed everything that I might need, somehow conspired to completely over-ride my usual concerns over weight limits and other such trivialities.
I love flying, its still a big adventure to me… but I hate all the faffing about checking-in and the now ritual humiliation of clearing security. East Midlands airport however, have taken this miserable experience to a whole new level, and added as many ways of fleecing you for more cash at every opportunity. Most of us had failed to notice that the weight limit for the bikes was a miniscule 18 kilos and were considerably over-weight, all of my careful packing, and here we are in the middle of the departures hall pulling as much additional or unnecessary weight out of the bike bags as we possibly could, in the end to get them down to 21Kg, this was likely to be expensive!
It was like a scene from the TV programme Airport, Mark getting irate with mildly terrified the young trainee behind the check-in counter, voicing his extreme frustration that 18Kg was an impossible rule and should be amended to 23Kg immediately! To be fair we got away with adding-up the lot and they only charged us for the total excess, so the couple of bags that were a bit lighter helped, and in the end it cost an extra £36 plus £20 for an additional bag… oh and another £20 each(!) for not checking-in online…. Aaaarrrggghhhh!!!!
Stepping off the plane at Venice Marco Polo into a pleasantly warm early evening it was hard to imagine that its was snowing above 2000m and as the high point of the route was the Passo di Valles at 2036m with a good 30Km section that was consistently over 1500m the Race Organisers had already decided to re-route the course away from this highest part… we all agreed that of-course the forecast was wrong and “it’ll be fine”!!
The Sportful Dolomiti Race is a really big event, and the Italians don’t mess about like we do with all the pretence that its not a race really! They call it a race, and although it works the same way as a UK sportive, they treat it like a race. It also carries points for those with an Italian Race Licence. Aside from the elite and semi-pro entries, there were something like 4000 other entrants from all over the world.
Saturday morning was a pleasant affair, with the hotel letting us use their conference room to re-build the bikes, then into Feltre to sign-on and have a wee shopping frenzy at the Sportful factory shop.
The one thing that I had completely failed to do was to get my British Cycling Federation number sorted out… no number, no race! I could have used the Infinity Cycles Team number, but it was too late now, the wee man was asking for my card… At this point Mark steps-in, and beautifully, without a moment of hesitation confidently hands over his Forestry Commission Parking Pass, pointing insistently to the number on the back of the card, and whilst the chap is carefully writing down the number, I’m just thinking “oh for Gods sake, don’t turn the card over”!!! So, with the first ever entry to an international race under the guise of a Birches Valley Forestry Commission Car Park pass, I get my bag of freebies and timing chip and run away before anyone notices!
Our plan was to head-out on Saturday afternoon for a gentle ride just to check that the bikes were fine and loosen ourselves up a bit, but by the time we had finished signing-on and err… shopping… the rain had started and was coming down hard with little sign of easing. Keen to make some use of the time, we decided to go and drive some of the course, starting with the Passo Croce d’Aune, the last climb of the race, it was always going to be good to know what the last 30Km was going to be like. We had hired two cars and had to decide what to do with the keys during the race. Finally agreeing that, as it was likely I’d be first back, I’d have a set and Paul would take the keys for the other car. There were some concerns voiced about any mid-race decisions to take the short course and being back early, but they were soon put to bed with one of my infamous motivational speeches to gather the team… “if you do and you have to sit and freeze, then you can treat it as penance for woosing-out on the main event!”
Even before our Sunday morning alarm at 4:50am for breakfast at 5, I was conscious of the sound of heavy rainfall outside, it was absolutely battering down and had been most of the night. The atmosphere at breakfast was heavy, a collection of scrawny cyclists quietly scoffing pasta, cakes and espresso. With the race due to start at 7:30am, we arrived just before 7 to find there was hardly anyone there, of over 4000 entrants there were a handful of guys milling about at the start line and barely 1000 others trying to hide under whatever shelter could be found.
5 minutes before the start and a clearly important announcement, not that we could understand it, fortunately a guy near us explained that the main race had been cancelled and that they would run the race over the short course only (120km). I admit that having that difficult decision taken away from us was a huge relief and, as it turned-out, was absolutely the right decision for the organisers to make. As far was I can make out this hasn’t happened in the last 15 years of the event, this truly was exceptional weather.
7:30am a 10 second count down and off we go. Every Sportive I’ve done in the UK starts fairly sedately, loosen the legs off over the first few miles before getting down to the serious business. Not here, I commented to Paul after a couple of miles that we were rapidly going backwards! My legs felt not just heavy but really tight and in the cold and I wanted to be sure I’d warmed-up before pushing any harder, with under 7 weeks to “Sleepless” this is no time to be tearing a muscle.
It wasn’t long before the road started trending upwards and many of the people that came past earlier we re-passed, but I was having a real struggle, normally after 20 mins or so my body settles into the job, but today its not happening, I’m just not able to get warm enough and I really need to Pee, I say "see you later" to Mark and stop. 20 minutes later, I’ve caught back up with Mark only to have to stop again… something’s not right, I never have to stop twice, by the time I’ve caught-up with Mark again I’ve stopped 2 more times and I’ve started to get stomach cramps.
The first climb to the top of Forcella Franche is at 992m and the temperature has dropped significantly, its still raining and the wind chill on the descent really started to set-in, but there’s no respite as we only drop to 800m before starting up the Forcella Aurine at 1300m where the temperature is barely 4 degrees. I’m normally pretty resilient to cold, I can deal with having cold fingers and toes and normally, if I’m working hard, I stay pretty warm. The long descent off the Aurine takes a big toll and I am now getting properly cold, shivering uncontrollably and so hard its shaking my handlebars. With the whole of my upper body locked and tense with the cold I can’t steer, I cant feel my brakes with fingers that had lost any feeling ages ago, and my stomach cramps are getting worse. Many years of winter snow and Ice climbing in Scotland has taught me much about the dangers of getting cold, so I’m quite tuned-in to what’s happening to me, and I knew that I was starting to get dangerously cold. I finally decide that if the stomach cramps get any worse I really need to seriously consider abandoning the race. A quick stop at the feed station and a cup of hot tea followed by my now 8th Pee…There’s little respite either as we continue to climb to the Passo Cereda, the high point of the course at 1369m. Sticking my fingers in my mouth brings some feeling back temporarily, but it doesn’t last long. I push the climb as hard as I can to try and force some heat back into my body but its not enough. I need to keep eating too, my body is burning a bucket load of energy just fighting the cold. Despite this I am descending quite well, flying past people, but being careful to brake really early, in such wet conditions it takes a few seconds for your brakes to clear the water off the rim and start to build enough heat to work… as you arrive at the next hairpin bend way too fast! I know that Leigh saw someone being helicopter out from the wrong side of the barriers!
The feed stations were fabulously well organised with bucket loads of hot sweet lemon tea, I don’t normally stop unless I need to refill a bottle, but here every opportunity to grab something warm is taken. At the final feed stop, a grizzled old Italian chap in good enough English tells me to fill one of my bottles with hot tea and stick it up my jumper… I jump at the idea and although I’m still shivering my hot bottle does help a bit on the continuing 20Km of fast descent to the start the final climb of the Croce d’Aune.
I was so glad we had driven it on Saturday, knowing that we had about 12Km to the top with gradients ranging between 10 – 20%, this is a classic and has featuredin the Giro d’Italia many times, its classic status added to with the statue of Tullio Campagnolo at the top. Campagnolo was an Italian bike racer and an inventor who in 1930 patented the Quick Release Skewer that we all still use today. He founded the bicycle component company “Campagnolo” that has, with true Italian style, designed and produced some of the sexiest componentry on the planet.
For the first time I feel like my body is starting to work, the shivers subside as I push hard up the steep initial part of the climb and I keep it going, I just want to push this as hard as I can and warm-up, I was dreading the descent and getting cold again, but dropping swiftly from the top at 1015m the temperature soon started to rise just enough to fight the cold that’s seeping back in. It’s a flatish run back into Feltre and as you arrive and turn through the old city gate the finish is ahead but right at the top of a steep and narrow cobbled street. Its a big relief to finish, Mark is there at the finish having beaten me in by about 6 minutes (4 Pee stops!).
We head back to the car to change into some dry clothes before walking back up to catch the others finishing. Paul rings me, and displaying all the signs of early hypothermia, makes no sense whatsoever! But I gather from the garbled conversation that he’s going to head to the cars and do the same. Mark and I get to the finish just in time to catch Leigh crossing the line in much the same state.
We all survived and in that strange masochistic way, really did enjoy it. In all it was a fantastic weekend, the people were great, the food was great, and Billy Connolly was so right when he said that “There is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes…”.
The winner, Michele Maccanti in 3hrs 38 mins, at least he looks like he's in a bit of a state!
I loved this shot of 5th placed Hubert Krys who finished in 3hrs 43mins.
As for me… well I guess I knew at some point I was going to have a bad one... an embarrassing 5hrs 30mins, 530th with only 866 people finishing The battle for survival somehow became more important than the race… but there was a point somewhere in the middle of it all, that a rather full “Broom Wagon” (the bus that picks up everyone who's abandoned) came past me, the driver looked at me, tempting a quick and easy route to warmth and comfort… I remember thinking “Not on your Nellie mate”!
The Team (doing what you do at the end of a tough day!) from left to right; Me, Leigh, Mark and Paul.
The Garmin threw a bit of a wobbly in the rain, altitude and max speed data is a bit wrong.
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