Day 6 // A Pig in the Proverbial

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Words by Jake Thorpe

Photos by Tomás Montes, Sam Dugon, and Weronika Szalas

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A Crepuscular Creature

As dusk drew in on Day 5, Hawk Team 1 – now settling, rather reluctantly, back into the Dr Jekyll of Control Car 1 – suddenly noticed a rare dot moving in our direction. Having ridden the stretch of parcours to the race’s second control, Robin Gemperle (001) had turned on his heels, looping back to continue his journey beyond the tight riding restrictions of the Tatra National Park. Little did he know, he was flying straight towards our outstretched talons. We picked up the spoor and the hunt resumed.

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But Robin is a wiley creature, he knows how to throw a scent. Winding along the vascular network of backroads that crept alongside the banned main road, he kept us guessing. With each new ping, we’d switch sides, trying to predict his next move, only to be left stranded as the dot slipped by. 

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And then, after three days of near misses, we finally struck our mark. In a stroke of luck, after our dozenth u-turn of the night, we were met with our first glimpse: a tail light, blinking red in the gloaming. 

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As we scrambled to capture this rare encounter, Robin followed suit, scrambling, himself, down a brambled river bank and into the murky waters below. With bike safely shouldered, he crept into the shin-deep stream, disappearing from sight into the cavernous space beneath the road. Moments later, he reappeared, safely across the prohibited strip of asphalt and back on route. 

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“I thought that for sure you’d check out what I’m doing,” he laughed, unsurprised to find us here, at the crux of his route. We were at a loss. Chance had united us, nothing more. “What are you doing here, Robin?” was the only possible response. Robin proceeded to explain. 

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Having noticed, during planning, that his intended route included a five-metre stretch of banned bridge, he came up with a contingency. Spotting the stream running below he dreamt up a solution. Of course, it was a gamble. Maps are generous with possibilities, but miserly with consequences. There was a chance Robin’s plan would run aground. And yet the only way to know was to try, so try he did.

Feeling rather pleased with the outcome of his little experiment, Robin questioned, for a moment, his plan for an imminent rest; “I’m actually so stoked I could go on!” he beamed, wide-eyed. But wiser voices soon prevailed. “No, but it’s good to go to bed, it’s actually super cold.” Colder now, no doubt, after his paddle in the bracing waters of the Tatras. 

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Discussing his lead, Robin admitted that holding such an advantage was a double-edged sword. Comfort can quickly lead to complacency. While his gap provided a reassuring buffer, Robin noticed that no longer feeling the heat of riders breathing down his neck risked blunting his racing edge. “Now I’m here talking, blah blah blah,” he explained, “where otherwise I’d be in a rush.” It’s a fine line to tread. 

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Beauty in the Struggle

Feeling, perhaps, that heat beginning to rise, Sarah Bosslet (120) and Camille Albisser (270) saw their advantage shrink a little through the day as Lea Hemberger (404) gained ground. Pushing a little more into the margins of the day, and doing so at a slightly higher average speed, Lea was slowly eroding the FLINTA category lead. 

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The German admitted she was glad to be shot of Sweden. “It was hard; I didn’t really find my rhythm,” she acknowledged. Leaving, however, had been no mean feat. Having attempted to book onto an 20:30CEST crossing, her plans were foiled by an uncooperative website. This forced her to catch a later boat, which was then delayed. Yet as Lea was swiftly discovering, enforced rest and fresh legs might not be such a bad thing. Now at the cadence of a country a day, Lea had no doubt found her rhythm.

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Just behind her, Anna Carlqvist (223) was finding the day’s tempo a little frustrating. Struggling with a route that alternated between washboard gravel and bad tarmac, the balance of the day, for Anna, had been far too heavy on bodily oscillation, and far too light on forward momentum. 

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Central Europe’s banned roads have demanded more creative planning from riders – none more so than Robin, of course – which has driven many to explore a greater range of routes than they did through Scandinavia. Discussing the banned roads, Anna noted, “I appreciate it because it means that you don’t just plan the fastest route, you do one that’s safe as well. It has taken me to some beautiful places,” she continued, “but it’s hard.” Anna seemed to be looking forward, once more, to making progress.

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Also having found some creative routing, Nicole van Batenburg (029) admitted the occasional departure from tarmac did wonders to break up the road’s monotony. Sleeping more than usual, having recently discovered the extent of its virtues, Nicole is feeling stronger and better rested than she has in previous races. It’s clearly paying off. Tackling the parcours through the afternoon, holding 6th on the FLINTA leaderboard, by evening, Nicole had summited Praděd, and was making haste south to Slovakia.

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An Incidental Contest

Also on the parcours with Nicole, less than 5 km apart, were pairs riders Rémi Mejean (414a) and Marguerite Mulhaus (414b), and Dina Byland (424a) and Christian Dupraz (424b). After the leading pair dropped out of contention yesterday, the top spot in the category is now very much up for grabs. 

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Speaking to Christian and Dina along Parcours 2a, however, it was clear it would take more than a category title to tempt them out of their rhythm. Cold, wild swims and pitching a tent for a good night’s sleep – these were the real spoils of the race. And yet, the fact that they caveat their journey with such luxuries only serves to make their current pace all the more impressive. 

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Rémi and Marguerite, too, held enjoyment above achievement in their race’s hierarchy of needs. Sleep, humour and the sonorous harmony of their bike bells – rung to boost spirits in lower moments – remained the pair’s top priorities. Mazlow would be proud.

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The Full Paul McCartney

The later section of the second split parcours – Parcours 2b – lies a country away, across the border in Slovakia. If its precursor was an adventure, this stretch of riding is simply an ordeal. Having recced the section a day earlier, control point photographer, Weronika Szalas found herself wallowing in peanut butter mud and picking a perilous path through the frequent rock gardens. Typical TCR territory. 

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And yet, the connecting thread with its Czech counterpart comes from the sheer splendour of the surrounding scenery. Framed by the Low Tatra mountains carpeted in dense pine, the parcours follows forest trails, opening up occasionally to sweeping high-alpine pastures, before plunging back into the trees. Taking riders, like Parcours 2a, first up, then down, then back up again – but not round and round – it only narrowly avoids the designation of the Full Diana Ross.

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In its initial design, the parcours had hoped to force a choice: a 10 km hike onwards through the national park, shouldering the bike to avoid violating the local cycling ban; or a much longer ride, retracing the second half the parcours before a taking a meandering bypass along a valley road. Unfortunately, however, having caught wind of the possibility of riders passing through – and, I can only imagine, picturing a scene from one of the Grand Tours – the park rangers made it very clear that anyone spotted with a bike in the area, even as a decorative epaulet, would be liable to pay a hefty fine. So the Full Paul McCartney it was; the long and winding road lay ahead – the only viable option.

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An Atypical Distribution

Making the forced retreat from the top of Parcours 2b to descend to the control point below, the morning saw GC’s chasing pack claim their brevet’s second stamp. The mood of riders through the control followed a clear distribution: an inverted bell curve of experience. Where Robin arrived radiant, opening the control the evening before, Max Agut (051) and Jonas Verest (368) appeared glowing, clocking in 9 and 13 hours behind him, respectively. While Nicolas Chatelet (126) retained some lustre – perhaps in the knowledge that he currently tops the Green Leaderboard – by the time Jos Koop (063) arrived, the sheen had begun to tarnish. 

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Having leapt 22 positions in the 101 hours since his arrival at the first control, it was no wonder Jos was beginning to feel the effects of his push. “The body is a bit up and down, but that’s to be expected,” he explained. On the subject of the parcours, much of which still adorned his once-immaculate road cleats, Jos reflected that, next time, he might bring a mountain bike. Eyeing the sandwich of a volunteer with obvious envy, he stopped only briefly, refilling his bottles before saddling up and pressing on. 

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A Pig in the Proverbial

Representing the bell curve’s turning point, Martin Moritz (002) arrived just shy of midday, 6th to Slovakia’s control. He had intended to ride the parcours at night, but with cleats soon caked in mud and traction a pipe dream, he chose to down tools and find a hotel. Having spent much of the race on an emotional rollercoaster, it seemed overnight, he’d taken a ride on Oblivion. Mired in a motivational vacuum, after suffering at the hands of the punishing parcours, Martin was once again questioning his racing why. “You race like crazy for 2,500 km and then you get here and you play in a pig’s backyard,” he summarised. “It’s just, why?”

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Fortunately, at that moment, Manuel Rudaz (004) rolled up. Manu and Martin are close friends; both raced at the front of last year’s race, and this year have reprised similar roles. “Can I give him a hug?” Martin joked, “or is it against the rules?” Manu, too, had been feeling the race’s mercurial effects. “It’s up and down like a thousand times a day,” he reflected. But right now, for Manu, things were up. “It’s easier because I can see other people are also suffering.” 

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A particular frustration of free-routed racing, in its tougher moments, is that there’s no-one to blame but yourself when the going gets tough – unless, like Christian Holweck (014), you’ve inherited a route from your partner, in which case, you blame them. That changes on the parcours. No matter how tough it gets, you know that your fellow riders have it just as tough.

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As the day wore on, and riders continued to clock into CP2, the moods steadily lifted. John Wedlake – one of the Albion crew stationed at the control – mused on the “steady degradation of happiness,” and its eventual upswing. “The ones who’ve started that section first thing in the morning, without so many miles in their legs, it’s tricky section to start your day with” he explained, before predicting, “as you see riders come through the rest of the day, the mood will change; maybe they’ll deal with it a bit better.”

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Manu and Martin, for their part, both seemed boosted by their brief crossover. Suffering together is better than suffering alone. 

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Day Six Under the Dome

That does, of course, depend on the company. For Robert Müller (037), the companion in question was rather suboptimal. AEROBERT, his bike, was also having a hard day. It began with a loud crack behind him on the first slopes of the parcours. Looking back, Robert noticed that three of his cassette’s dozen sprockets had torn loose. Having chosen a cheap, aftermarket block in a bid to save 220 g, Robert was swiftly regretting his economy. 

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Without the correct tools to hand, and with no way to ride while they remained attached, he reached into the human back catalogue and selected an early favourite: classic rock. Taking to the loose cogs with a stone, like a mesolithic fire-maker striking a spark, he managed to beat them free and ride on with his remaining gears. This, of course, left Robert woefully underprepared for the parcours’ gravel slopes, forcing him to walk a good deal of the section’s first 25 km – in his hotel slippers, of course – before a replacement could be sourced at a local bike shop. 

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The next setback came when his aerocanister  – a modified rear container with a tapered profile – flew off on a pothole, spilling most of his kit and, crucially, his cous-cous. At the control point, Robert had proudly displayed his latest innovation: a large jar of cous-cous strapped to the back of his bike. “It’s my cous-cous cooker!” he exclaimed, describing how the combination of cous-cous and water, baked through the day by the sun, mirrored the effects of a crockpot. Sometimes, for flavour, cream cheese entered the fray. Sun-baked dairy. I can only hope the constitution of his stomach is stronger than that of his kit.

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Unintentional Racing

While Robert showcased his cooking, Thomas Boury (337) arrived on a different agenda. Thomas, it seemed, had caught the competitive scent. Rather than sticking around for the episode of Ready Steady Cook, he was in and out in less than a minute. No time wasted; with brevet stamped and trash disposed of, Thomas was back in the saddle, racing intentionally.

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Racing rather more reluctantly, but racing all the same, Josh Roberts (043) was caught by surprise earlier today when, back on the road after his crossing to Rostock, he was abruptly ushered onto the course of a local triathlon. Clearly the marshal, having seen him glued to his aerobars, assumed he was a participant. Saved from an intermediate effort of grand proportions – not often preferred during a race across a continent – by his incongruent bags, he was swiftly chastised and sent on his way. 

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New Bikes, Please

With the focus of recent days firmly on the Baltic crossing and the evolving front end, it can be easy to forget that almost half of our riders are still spread out on the other side of the water. One of those currently racing through Sweden, Sofia Passaretti (175), managed to avoid potential disaster today, thanks to an accommodating customer care team. After the Mjølkevegen and Rallarvegen double act of the first parcours, Sofia was distressed to discover a crack in her seat stay. Clearly the Cadillac gravel of the Norwegian strada bianche had been too much for her carbon frame.

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Sofia’s bike, however, was still within warranty, so she reached out to the customer team to explain her predicament. “I’m on the Transcontinental,” she began. Miraculously, by the end of her call, it had been agreed that an entire replacement bike would be shipped to the brand’s Göteborg store. All that was left was to take public transport down, and then ride back up her last point of human-powered travel – a small price to pay to remain in the race.

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