Rewarded with breaking dawn as I grind up Mont Ventoux
#1 The things we worry about, and which we allow to hold us back, don’t happen. (And if they do, we can sort them out.)
This probably needs a bit of context.
I recently finished a 2800km self-supported bike race from Italy to Northern Spain called the Transiberican. It took me 13 days and I climbed 45,000m via 10 stunning checkpoints. Each rider carries a tracker, visible to the world at large as a numbered dot moving across a map. This is both comforting and (for me) a source of neurosis. More on that later.
It was a big deal for me, and beyond anything I thought I could acheive. So I am sharing some of the highs and lows with the hope that it may inspire you or give you that tiny bit of extra courage needed to have a go at something you have been afraid to try.
4am. Christ. The alarm sends my adrenalin surging. I throw out an arm to shut it up, sending devices on charge clattering to the floor.
Put the light on. One more minute? PUT THE LIGHT ON. Click. Argh. Click. Sit up. Click. Blink. What am I doing?
Check forecast. Hot. Again. Force down a banana and a limp leftover sandwich. At least it’s soft. Something before I ride. Neck some water.
Hyper conscious of other sleeping guests. Wriggle back into damp lycra. The morning shimmy. Repack my kit. Everything in its place. Suncream. Chamois cream. Preemptive paracetamol.
Unpack to stash a forgotten charging cable. Repack.
Double the effort to be mouse-like. The door slams behind me, narrowly missing my derailleur, not a euphemism, but catching my back wheel. It whirs loudly – a spinning fishing reel fighting a running tuna. I’m too tired to lift it. They’ll go back to sleep.
My kit for 13 days on the road
4.30am. It’s dark. I know when sunrise will be but I check again. Two bleak black hours ahead. Is someone watching my dot? Are they already in wait? Somewhere quiet. Remote. Unseen. I focus on the stillness. The hooting owl. The tranquility of travelling through the night.
Riding through the tunnel after Canelles Reservoir - credit @jordirullo
This is my choice.
A car creeps up. I pull my cap down and stare at my bars. Please don’t stop. Don’t reverse, or wait, or wind down your window. Silent prayers heeded. Its rear lights fade, so too the tightness in my chest. This is the pattern until dawn breaks. It is tiring. I try hard to exist in the moment.
My senses are bombarded with a sweet smell and the clatter of metal trays. An early bakery. I stop, brightened by lights and perceived safety. Something for now. Something for later. Daylight soon, they chirp. Early birds. Night owls even. No fear of the dark for the bakers. I am boosted.
A boost for both morale and carbs.
Need to pee. Finding the right spot distracts me for a while. It’s getting lighter. Murders only happen in the dark. Don’t they? I weigh up the odds of someone executing such a convoluted plan. It’s more likely to be opportunistic. So low chance then. But possible.
Dawn. A child’s drawing of mountains reveals itself, layer by layer. Each peak a lighter shade than the one before it.
A tension shifts. I know this place.
I am free again.
