1,600 registered riders. 3 hills. Sorry, 2 hills, 1 mountain. Welcome to Trento for the final of the UWCT UCI championships.

The Australian flag was flying proudly, with over 150 names on the starting list. Perth provided a strong continent, including, just like South Africa 12 months ago, a disproportionately large number of SPR riders – myself, Dale Groves, Alison Ramm, Gerrard Ghosein, Mark Schneider, Tom Barratt, Anna, thers too – apologies if I have left you out?

Weather for the day was perfect –  low 20’s, a bit of cloud cover, cold enough to be just a bit uncomfortable at the start line in short sleeves, but not enough to make you seize up on the long descents and not hot enough to cause overheating on the long climbs.

The beautiful Piazza Del Duomo was the site for departure. Not too sure how many of the 1600 were present but it was pretty crowded and a very colourful site. Marshalls directed us into clearly marked areas according to our age categories. I enjoyed spending a few minutes catching up with my fellow 50 – 54 year old Perth mates, including Dale, Malcolm Miller, Carl Poingdestre  & my Cross Apples friend Mike McCormick, amongst others.

The race wound through the streets of old Trento for a 7 km neutral zone – very sensible, given the large starting contingent (148 registered in our age group), the narrow roads & abundance of road architecture. No need to warm up, that was what the neutral zone was for, I thought. Mike & I were chatting casually down at the back of the group when suddenly I realised that we were looking pretty lonely – crank up the pace, when I looked at the Garmin profile later that day I saw that I hit 47km/hr @ the 1 km mark of the ‘neutral’ zone – welcome to Italy, new boy!

With a pack as twitchy as this I thought that being down the back was not such a good idea so I started to work my way up, choosing a line close to, but not in, the gutter.

2 minutes and 52 seconds after the start I heard a loud bang. Sounded like it came from my back wheel.

Don’t know what I hit (it was a cobblestoned road) but whatever it was it was sharp – my rear, brand new Continental Grand Prix 4000 had a slice across it from bead to bead like it had been cut by a guillotine.

I sat by the side of the road, took the wheel off and chatted to the Italian policeman guarding the (empty) petrol station where I had stopped. He looked rather bemused by the experience but we had a nice conversation, me using my best Italian (non-existant), him with his best English (non-existant). Wave after wave of cyclists went flying past us. I displayed my wheel to a variety of escort vehicles, including police motorbikes, camera crews, the race commissarie, a couple of ambulances & the race doctor’s car, to no avail. Eventually a service vehicle pulled off to the side. The mechanic leapt out of the car & quickly fitted a replacement wheel for me. I tried to help him but was quickly brushed off – I wasn’t aware till then that the news of my mechanical prowess had spread internationally. Pretty soon he was gone and I was back on the road.

I must confess that I felt kind of important for a very brief period with the mechanic attending to my bike. In retrospect I wished that he had given me a push off like they do for the pro’s, and a kilometre or two @ 50km/hr holding onto the car whilst he ‘adjusted the rear brakes’ would have been a real bonus but alas it was just me & a long, straight, lonely road. I could see a bunch about 250 metres ahead of me but they were a big pack, probably 20 years younger than me, and I knew I had no chance of catching them. Looked behind me I  saw a procession of vehicles with what I thought was a smaller group of cyclists, so I pedalled along at a comfortable pace, waiting to tag onto them when they caught me. I kept on looking back – maybe there weren’t any bikes there after all?? After a few kilometres a motor bike came up beside me. It had a red flag on it. Hmm, that looks a bit suspicious. I think I now, officially, the Lanterne Rouge.

I ‘time-trialled’ the rest of the flat but at a fairly gentle pace given that I knew I was in for a very long day. The initial 3 km of the 1^st climb was accompanied by the constant presence of the motor bike escort and I was starting to get a bit depressed about having to spend the whole day listening to the drone of its annoying engine. As we neared the first village we came across another unfortunate by the side of the ride fixing a puncture – I offered him a ‘good luck’, passed over the Lanterne Rouge banner, and was off up the rest of the hill on my own.

Despite it being the earliest & shortest of the climbs there were a few people suffering already and I gradually picked off some stragglers. When I hit the steeper, 12% segment of the climb I quickly realised that my replacement wheel only had a 25 tooth cog – the 27 that I had bought in anticipation of the pain of Mt Bondone was now in the service vehicle and I would have to grind my way up the steeper segments – not what I wanted, but there was no alternative now.

The 1^st descent had a couple of very fast sections with some tricky corners thrown in. I was tempted to push myself a bit given how far behind the field I was, but was brought back to a very sobering reality at the sight of passing no less than 3 ambulances attending crash victims on the way down.

The drop back to the valley led into a 32 km, flat section that I knew I had to find friends to help me work with. A young Danish rider finished the descent a little ahead of me and I worked up to his wheel and we quickly formed an alliance. A few km’s down the road we caught 2 more Danes who also joined in – thank God we sent them Princess Mary. The pace wasn’t what I had hoped for but, at an average speed of 40 km/hr for the flat part of the course, it was far quicker than I could have managed solo. The spells at the back of the roll gave me plenty of opportunity to top on food and fuel. Unfortunately 2 more ambulances and a scattering of sore looking cyclists sitting forlornly on the side of the road reminded me that, if the worst thing that was to happen to me was a blowout on a safe section of the road, then it was still going to be a good day.

The 2^nd climb, a bit over 11 km @ 7% for 760 metres altitude gain, is, I think, roughly equivalent in gradient to the short rise of Welshpool (bus stop to service station) but 6 times as long. It hurt, particularly knowing that this was just the warm up for the big fella. I grabbed some water at the feed station at the top, managed to get most of it in my bidon on the short but blissfully flat ride along the shores of Lago di Cei then prepared myself for the next descent. Again, sadly, I was forced to slow to get past yet another ambulance attending a fallen rider on the way down.

Another Aussie who I had chatted to as we rode past the lake joined me for the 9 km leg back up the valley to Trento. We picked up a couple more groups en-route but the rest were either unwilling or unable to work at the front so it was just the two of us driving the pace through to the base of Monte Bondone.

I had never ridden up a mountain before. In my touring days I had crossed some pretty high passes on a heavily laden bike so I had some idea what to expect, but touring was always at a gentle, ride-all-day pace and the climbs hadn’t come at the end of 82 km of hard racing. Bondone doesn’t give you much change out of 20 km at a gradient between 7 and 9% (with some pitches up to 15%) so it was going to be a hard climb no matter what the circumstances. I had tried up till then to pace myself in order that I had enough energy left to hopefully ensure I didn’t fall off my bike half way up but I started the ascent with no idea of how much energy was going to be required. Time to settle in at a pace that I thought I could survive, just enough to have me breathing uncomfortably and my heart rate at about 85% maximum.

It was painful. Really, really painful. Not that it was much consolation, but I knew the suffering was being shared by all on the road – no one got to the top without digging deep, both physically and mentally. A few riders were sitting disconsolately at the side of the road. I thought many times about how easy it would be to turn around and roll back down the hill – there were no prizes for me at the top, I didn’t have to finish the ride. But I struggled on, trying to digest a mouthful of banana here, a sip of coke there from the volunteers that manned the 3 feed stations on the way to the summit. Every kilometre or so I would click my gear lever, hoping in vain that my 27 had magically reappeared back on my cluster & I didn’t have to grind through the steeper turns. I was cheered by the sight of a few friendly faces en-route, including Alison, Dale & Mike, really great to have a brief chat with them. There was plenty of camaraderie amongst the climbers and I offered lots of encouragement to riders I passed and received lots of inspirational comments back. The country you were riding for didn’t matter here – we were all in this together.

Agonisingly slowly, the kilometres ticked by and eventually the 500 m to go sign appeared. This doesn’t sound far on the flat but it was still a tough push to the finishing line. I crossed under the banner a bit teary eyed, my head full of a mixture of emotions & feelings – exhaustion, elation, pleasure, satisfaction, pain and pride, but mainly relief that the race was over and I could finally get off my bike.

There was a fine contingent of Aussies at the top, all equally exhausted but happy to have accomplished the challenge. Alison & Dale did incredibly well considering they had come straight off a very taxing tour of Northern Italy. Mark Schneider & Jerard backed up strongly after their time trials, with Jerard, I think, posting the fastest time amongst the WA riders.

The numbers? 112 km of cycling, 43 km of these uphill and almost 3,000 vertical metres gained. My time of 4 hours 44 minutes gave me 707^th place out of the 825 riders that finished the long course & 101^st out of 118 finishers in my age group. The DNS & DNF lists were not published so not sure how many didn’t make it to the final banner. If I subtracted the 12 minutes I spent on the side of the road from my time, I might, I think, have been the 2^nd Aussie in the 50-54’s contingent to cross the line. Other, stronger riders may also, however, had mechanical issues so my potential best position is only conjecture? Irrelevant, too, given what happened to Carl.

Carl Poingdestre is a lovely chap who usually rides with the Uno Coglioni group. Not sure how often he has riden with SPR but I know he has done a few fast Thursdays & I am sure he is known by many club members. I raced with him in South Africa last year & had a few chats to him prior to this event. He had trained really hard in the hills, is a strong climber and was in fine form leading into the event. Unfortunately, he was one of the casualties on the first descent – not sure what happened but 3 or 4 riders went down together and Carl hit a rock wall at high speed. The most accurate news I have at the time of writing is only 3^rd hand, but I have been told he has a fractured vertebrae ‘but can feel his feet’, was in intensive care and was to be operated on late on Sunday night. If anyone has any more news on his condition that is appropriate to place on a public forum, please post in reply to this – I am very keen to know how he is going. Good thoughts and prayers for a speedy recovery for Carl please, readers.

The UWCT championships are now over.

I am really glad that I came to Italy. I have had a spectacular week in the high Dolomites with my mate Geoff and then some great times in Trento with Mike & his wife Barbara. I am grateful that I have been blessed with good health and have the fitness to tackle a ride like the UCI final. I finished the race intact. Anything could have happened – my tyre blow out on a descent could have been disastrous and I know I am a similar climber to Carl so I could have easily been close to his wheel when his group went down. I have finished my 2^nd final with a lower placing but just as much of a sense of achievement as had after my ride at Pietermaritzberg last year.

It would have been impossible to have done this trip without the unwavering support from my wonderful wife Robyn & fantastic son Brendan. They have indulged my passion with patience, not complaining about the 0430 wake ups (OK, not complaining much), putting up with my failure to do anything remotely useful around the house (I shudder to think what the list-of-things-to-do is going to be like when I get back) and generally being the best family anyone could ever wish for. I am very grateful that they are able to join me later this week in Florence.

As we drove away from Trento  I looked up at Bondone and said to Geoff, ‘I don’t look at that mountain thinking, gee, I really wish I could ride up it again’. I fear, however, that the memory of the pain will fade and I will look start dreaming about the next challenge.

 

Did someone mention the 3 Peaks??
PS – have some pics that I would like to insert into this post but the internet connection at this hotel is relying on one of the transmitters installed by Marconi himself. Have put a couple of the shots from the finish on facebook. If I can find a better connection I will add the shots to this post later