Wrong Tyres. Wrong Bike. Wrong Gears. Wrong Legs.
“Scheisse!”
Another rider goes down right in front of me.
“Alles OK?”
“Ja Ja. Alles Gut. Ein bisschen rutschig”
“Ein bisschen rutschig” is understating the conditions somewhat, especially when you’ve still got your summer gravel tyres on your bike. That was mistake number one.
Loïc and I had arrived that morning for the annual 50km gravel race that is put on every year by the wonderful team at gravel ride and race bern. It is now in the 7th year of operation, and it gets better and better each time I come.
The weather was murky, and it seemed to have rained in Bern a lot more than it had in Geneva over the previous days. This was when I started to worry a little about my tyre choice. But I told myself all would be fine, how muddy could it really be?
We grabbed some coffee, shared Loïc’s amazing home made ride pudding and drooled over some of the extremely nice (and expensive) bikes on display at the expo.
On the subject of bikes, I was with my 10-year-old Focus cyclocross bike. The reason being my lovely new BMC Kaius was in the shop waiting to be repaired after I ripped the front derailleur off it a few weeks back. My Focus has been a great bike, but it has seen better days, and is usually my commuter bike. And it doesn’t fit tyres bigger than 35mm, nor does it have the kind of gravel gears on most modern bikes.
After picking up our dossards (and nice free socks), we got ourselves changed and ready. From memory I knew the start was pretty intense racing and only really settled down after 20 mins or so.
We were both quite relaxed as the clock ticked towards 1200 – but glancing around I noticed the high proportion of bikes equipped with rather heavy-duty mud tyres (including Loïc’s). The little voice in my head started asking me why I’d not bothered to change mine … too late now mate, let’s just get on with it.
All smiles at the start (note the lack of mud)
The gun went as the clock hit midday and yes, it was as intense as I remembered.
Loïc motored past me on the back of a small group after about 10 mins and I missed his wheel. Mistake number 2.
Actually, I didn’t miss it, I just didn’t have the power to get across to them. This was the realisation of mistake number 3. Bikepacking 200km a couple of days before the event was not ideal race prep. I thought my legs were recovered, but digging in for a hard effort was when they told me in no uncertain terms that they weren’t recovered at all.
So, I decided there and then to not chase, and to settle into an effort level I could manage for the couple of hours ahead.
I was distracted from my tender legs by the beautiful sight of carpets of red and brown leaves hovering just above the ground, levitated by the rushing air from the speeding bikes.
But my bike soon reminded me that it wasn’t the perfect tool for the job when on the way down a fast slope I hit a bump, and my bars rotated downwards as they’d done a few weeks back at the Tour du Canton event.
Not to worry, I knew I could manage this little hiccup.
The race route is incredible, with the first 45 mins through forests with turns, dips, and ramps weaving in and out of the canopy. I was starting to feel more relaxed about my tyres as the ground here wasn’t too slippery.
That was the wrong assumption to make. At one point towards the end of the first hour we cut off a gravel track onto a footpath across a field. Being about 150 riders back, this field had now turned into a bog. Rear wheels were sliding all over the place under power and riders were staying upright through a combination of skill and sheer luck..
Some were jumping off to push, others slowly pedalling and swaying along the path.
Thankfully it wasn’t too long a section and we were quickly back onto firmer trails.
The problem was that those muddy sections started to come more and more frequently, culminating in an uphill section into a forest that was basically 500m of thick, ankle-deep mud. Bikes on backs, bikes being pushed, riders slipping over. It was all going on. But spirits stayed high throughout.
That’s another thing about this event. Everyone is very supportive of each other. And everyone knows how to ride a bike. Which sounds obvious but isn’t always the case. There was respect for positions, no diving up the inside on corners, people making sure to look over the shoulder before moving positions. All that you could ask for from your fellow racers.
Thankfully my bike wasn’t too clogged up after all the mud and once back on (relatively) firmer trails I made good progress toward the final long climb of the day. I’d struggled before on this hill but my legs served me well and I made up a few positions on the climb (which is rare for me!)
The last 5km are on flowing forest trails which just fly by and before your you know it you’re at the last bridge before the finish line. A few high fives off the kids at the finish line and massive skid to stop with a huge grin on my face. And on the (mud spattered) face of Loïc who was waiting for me.
And all smiles at the end. With mud
“Amazing! Let’s do it again next year” were the first words out of his mouth.
My sentiments exactly. See you next year Bern!
What I was listening to while writing
Bunny Is A Rider - Caroline Polachek.
This is quite the coincidence as this was on BBC 6 music just as I was finishing posting this. I’m a bike rider and my nickname at school was Bunny (Munn … Munny … Bunny).
Caroline Polachek is great. She’s released a couple of brilliant solo albums now, fantastic twisted poppy electronic tunes.