Day 4 // Here Comes the Sun

Words by Jake Thorpe

Photos by Sam Dugon and Tomás Montes

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Here Comes the Sun

09:00CEST on the TT-Line’s Tom Sawyer sailing from Trellebourg to Świnoujście. Here Comes the Sun, a sanguine reveille, invades cabins, canteens and car decks. A polite Swedish voice follows, instructing something to the effect of get up and get a move on. Riders are beginning to stir, some better rested than others. Several have spent the night bivvying up on deck, others slumped in chairs on the lower decks, and a lucky few, in the blissful comfort of a private cabin.

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We had all caught the ferry earlier that morning. The scheduled 02:00CEST departure had slipped closer to 03:00; in the queue of cars waiting to board, pillows were flattened against windows, feet poked over dashboards and seats were raked back like West Coast lowriders. The delay proved a blessing for Thomas Boury (337), who arrived at the port 15 minutes past last check-in. Those, like Omar di Felice (195), who had opened the taps in order to make the sailing, were feeling a little short-changed.

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Up on the deck, however, Omar was a picture of calm. Having booked the ferry early enough to secure one of the limited private cabins, he was intent on making the most of the crossing’s enforced rest. “I’ve been careful not to push too hard so far,” the Italian explained. Having kept his powder dry through Scandinavia, while so many were drawn into the blistering start, Omar hopes his more conservative strategy might see him gain ground on a waning vanguard through central Europe. As a rider with such a replete palmarès – of the races he has finished, almost all have ended on the podium – he has the pedigree to back up that approach. “I’m getting older compared to the other riders,” he conceded, having celebrated his 45th birthday a day earlier with a cinnamon bun on the Horten to Moss ferry, “but I have a lot of experience; I just have to use the weapon I have.” 

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While Omar retired to his cabin, Thomas and Guillaume Poinsot (237) were left in limbo, waiting on news of a free room. We were in the same boat. Having also booked tickets last minute, our race team – just like our riders – found there was no room at the inn. As Thomas approached the reception desk, a sign was produced: “No free cabins to sell or change”. With the sign proving less an accurate appraisal of the situation than a useful tool for crowd control, however, two cabins were soon conjured up, and we all tucked in for a restful night's sleep.

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Sadly, for Lucas Strittmatter (197), the sign may have been deterrent enough. Spotting him at breakfast slumped over a bowl of cornflakes, it seems the ferry hadn’t been quite as restorative as he’d hoped. “I had to sleep on the floor once again,” he explained – an inapt reward for his Swedish time trial.

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For Tim de Witte (003) and Mike Hall Bursary rider, Wojciech Wronka (095), however, it was no cabin, no problem. Both had slept al fresco – top and tail on the open deck. They awoke bleary-eyed but in good spirits, buoyed by exceeding their own expectations, the bivvy a fair price for an earlier ferry. 

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Employee of the Month

Off the ferry and onto Polish soil, Nicolas Chatelet (126) appeared to be coping well with the relentless pace at the sharp end. Having hit the middle of the three ferry scenarios that he’d mapped out three months back – covering 1,650 km in 71 hours – Nicolas secured a place on the race's second Baltic sailing alongside the rest of the chasing pack: Christoph Strasser (005), Jocelyn Roth (114), and Max Agut (051).

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Yet despite having disembarked two-and-a-half hours ahead of the next shipment of riders – Laurens van Gucht (113), Robert Müller (037), Jakub Tomasik (355), and Jonas Verest (368) – by midday Nicolas had slipped back behind those on the later sailing. During the heavy rain in Sweden, his Garmin, cracked early in the race, had become waterlogged and today, it had finally kicked the bucket. Forced to stop at a bike shop in Gorzów, Nicolas lost two hours to purchasing and then configuring a replacement device – a Wahoo. I’m sure that acquainting himself with a brand new interface in the middle of a race wasn’t high on Nicolas’ agenda, but necessity leaves little room for choice.

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Arriving to investigate this unexpected stop, we were baffled by the figure at reception in full helmet and kit, behind a mountain of chocolate bars. Leaning casually on the counter, every bit the proprietor, I wondered whether Nicolas had devoted any of his lost time on the sale of inner tubes to passing Polish commuters. The other staff had certainly welcomed their newest recruit. While Nicolas busied himself at the front desk, they treated his bike to a thorough deep clean. Hard work, it seems, has its rewards. 

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Powering Down

Just ahead of Nicolas, Christoph Strasser's (005) dot had doubled back through the Polish town of Międzyrzecz. Pinging sporadically around the outlets of a small retail park, it offered little clue as to his whereabouts, so we set off on foot in search of our quarry.

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Christoph's last ping had placed him outside the public library. Swotting up, perhaps? We went in, then back out; upstairs, then down – earning increasingly puzzled looks from the librarian as we did. Nothing. Another ping: the cinema next door. Kicking back, perchance? But our search bore no fruit. The next location was a little more worrying: across the road, a municipal graveyard. Signing off, maybe? But Christoph was nowhere to be found.

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Just as we had given up hope, a flash of familiar yellow Lycra appeared as Christoph emerged, retrieving his forgotten wallet from a nearby bench. Approaching, he offered only, “Sorry, I just need a moment,” before soft-pedalling down the road towards Hotel Tequila. Right – loosening up, then. Thirty seconds later, when we arrived, both rider and steed had vanished, swallowed by the embrace of a soft bed.

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In his absence, we speculated. Perhaps it had been a disturbed night on the ferry? Or maybe simply the cumulative toll of time in the saddle? Either way, the stretch since CP1 appeared to have knocked the stuffing out of the Austrian.

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Then, at 20:00CEST, news reached us that Christoph Strasser had scratched. Citing health reasons for the decision, from his hotel in Poland, for the first time in his five-year TCR history – one that has seen him take two wins, as well as a 2nd and a 5th place in the GC – he had pulled the plug on his race. “Health always comes first,” he shared, “you only get one shot at it.” We all wish him a speedy recovery.

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Polish Progress

Having left Christoph just outside of Międzyrzecz, we took to the road in search of his fellow sailors. Like Nicolas, Jocelyn Roth (114) had also treated his bike to a Polish power wash. They say a clean bike is a fast bike, and in Jocelyn’s case, they’d be right. Spending the day at the head of the chasing pack, Jocelyn looked composed after his longest rest of the race so far, despite having spent it squeezed between seats on deck, rather than cocooned in a cabin.

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But Jocelyn had company. Max Agut (051), tracing a marginally different route through Western Poland, had his head down in hot pursuit. Scything across the flat, agricultural plains, fields of wheat and sunflowers blurring beside him, Max showed no signs of dialling back the pace post-ferry.

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Neither, for that matter, did Jonas Verest (368). In a tactical move, rather than rushing for the Trelleborg ferry, Jonas had diverted instead to Ystad, recognising the value of a guaranteed cabin. Having won last year’s Race Across France, and 2023’s Swiss Ultra Cycling Challenge (SUCH), Jonas is no stranger to racing at the sharp end. But his TCR history? That’s yet to be written. Having ditched his Ystad shipmates and eaten up the two-and-a-half hour lead held by the Trelleborg troupe, by nightfall, Jonas had taken up position at the head of the chasing pack.

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While Max and Jonas appeared to have elbows glued to their aerobars, Robert Müller (037), seemed to be spending very little time in his. The day was proving windy. Very windy. Even our control car was being buffeted by the blustery crosswinds that punctuated the prevailing tailwind. Aerobert, then, was truly at its mercy, its disc wheel and fabricated duct-tape fairings transforming it from bike to kite.

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Convivial Competition

Back in Malmö, Camille Albisser (270) and Sarah Bosslet (120), as well as 14 other riders, gathered at the port to set sail for Poland. Having spent the night trading the lead down Sweden’s west coast, the leading pair of FLINTA riders had arrived with plenty of time in hand for their 11:00CEST crossing. 

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But for Sarah, however unhurried her arrival may have appeared, the journey to the boat had been far from plain sailing. She had ridden through the night in a colossal 660 km push, navigating a serious puncture and mounting fatigue. “I never expected the third day to be the longest day in the TCR” she said, after a final resupply in Göteburg, “but if you do not try, you will lose – so I’ll try!” Safely on board, Sarah acknowledged that this sort of effort would not be becoming standard practice. “If I ever feel this tired again on the TCR, I’ll call it a day, because this is bullsh*t.” 

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Convivial competition was the name of the game as the two leading riders shared breakfast on a ferry for the second time this race. They both planned to take full advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet, for both breakfast and dinner. For the money-minded out there, I’d keep an eye on the TT-Line’s share price over the coming days; something tells me their profits are about to plummet.

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Chasing down a five-hour gap to the two frontrunners, Lea Hamberger (404) was heading further south. Arriving to Trelleborg at 16:00CEST with nearly six hours to spare before her evening crossing, Lea was soon joined by Anna Carlqvist (223), Larissa Unsinn (346), Hélène Fromenty (134) and, in the nick of time, Nicole van Batenburg (029). With the chasing riders regrouped, it’s anyone’s call who might close the gap on the leading duo.

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Dark Matter

Today, once again, Robin Gemperle (001) appeared to be riding in a race of his own. A country ahead, and with sleep in the bank, there’s not a lot that looks likely to slow his storming progress. Having opened such a chasm to the next closest rider, trying to catch him remained as much a challenge for our race team as it was for his fellow competitors. 

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In a last-ditch effort, Race Director David Ayre decided a rebrand was in order. Drab and utilitarian no longer, “Control Car 1” was dropped as “Hawk Team 1” took flight. What else but a hawk to hunt a Robin? Yet try as we might, he evaded our grasp. Pursuing him to the brink of the second parcours, just minutes before we arrived, Robin slipped into a nearby hotel, to vanish without trace.

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Reflecting on Robin’s race since CP1, I was reminded of something I’d recently read. Neutrinos – or ghost particles – pass unimpeded through the universe at immense speeds, interacting very rarely with the ordinary matter around them. Sound familiar? To build any picture of their why or their wherefore, you can only measure the matter that they impact – a fuzzy image inferred from their negative. 

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So it is with Robin. While little is known about his journey so far, save the rare interactions we’ve seen on the road, we must trace his story through his impact on others. Scarcely a conversation goes by where he escapes without mention. The image that’s emerging is one of unprecedented pace, and unwavering confidence. But the details? Those will have to wait.

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