Tôle ondulée day
11 August, second stage.
A 115 km stage lies ahead. Luckily there seems to be no wind and the profile is simple, so I’m counting on getting back the strength I lost on the first stage. Breakfast at 6 in the morning, and at 8 we’re off.
We set off over fast ground that lets us reach high speeds. I get into a group with more Spaniards and we make quick progress. At kilometre 2 we pass the leader, who has a puncture. When he overtakes us again I understand why he’s first overall, and while I’m at it I also understand how the coyote felt watching the Road Runner vanish over the horizon…
Well, the joy doesn’t last long. The tôle ondulée takes over the track except in the sandy patches. Our speed drops and the ground becomes completely flat and monotonous. We reach the feed station at kilometre 40; Nines (the Spanish woman who’s third among the women) stops only briefly, as another woman arrives who doesn’t stop at all, and I press on with her. The group gets smaller, but even so I can still sit on the odd wheel, like the tandem’s; you should see how that thing moves on the flat. I feel very good, so I happily tow Nines along, until my legs start to hurt. The ground is also starting to wear me down: I’m sick of seeing the same thing on the horizon, the terrain is uncomfortable and it’s getting hard mentally. We reach the second feed station, at kilometre 80, and my legs really hurt. My backside hurts too, I’ve spent 4 hours without changing position and it’s getting tough… I tell Nines to go on ahead, that I have to stop for five minutes because I don’t feel well. I wait for a group to set off and get on their wheel. As the kilometres go by I start feeling better (I think I’d drunk too much) and I see people feeling worse and worse. The tremendous heat is crushing and stifling, I keep passing people lying around like rags, many are having a really bad time. I’m delighted to see the terrain changing: there are climbs and descents, there are even bends!! Let’s see if the handlebars turn… oh, they do, and the bike even brakes. 200 kilometres to find a descent and a bend, not bad.
In the distance I see the finish arch, above a beautiful canyon with a wonderful view of the desert. That’s it, we’re at the finish. I push a little, pass two more riders and cross the finish line after 5 hours and 45 minutes, I can’t take another step… and they tell me the camp is three kilometres away: apparently we’re at a sacred site and they won’t let us camp. Oh well, I grit my teeth and pedal three hard kilometres of tôle and sand. Mission accomplished!! 33rd on the stage, 38th overall.
Back at camp I book a slot with the masseur, because my legs hurt badly, really badly. Checking the bike I see that my saddle had slipped down, which might have something to do with it.
I have the pleasure of having lunch with Roberto Heras; as we eat he tells me he lived in Luanco for several years. He complains of tendinitis in his wrist, which would later force him to pull out, a shame. While we eat, we see people staggering in, and the doctor even goes out to look for a rider. I think putting stages 1 and 2 together has taken its toll; let’s see if stage 3 leaves anyone alive!!
Right, there’s no wind today, so putting up the tent will be child’s play. Heh, it’s not as easy as I thought; luckily a Mongolian comes to the rescue, because I’m about to tell the tent where to go and sleep under the stars. Oh well, tomorrow is another day…