Day 7 // Rockin' Robin

‍Words by Jake Thorpe

Photos by Tomás Montes, Sam Dugon, and Weronika Szalas

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A Logistical Thorn

Now seven days in, Robin is still maintaining a daily average of nearly 500 km. Delving into the statistics, it’s clear that the Swiss Whippet – true to his name – is simply riding faster than his competitors. Holding a moving average speed of over 26 km/h, and an elapsed average of more than 20 km/h, Robin hasn’t yet had to eat too far into the margins of the day in order to maintain his advantage. Sleep soundly, ride rapidly – the Bosoni special – is Robin’s stock-in-trade. 

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“It’s funny, after 4 TCRs you can’t tell any more which borders you know and which are new,” Robin said, as he crossed his day’s second. About the Bosnian border, he mused, “this one seems super familiar, but I think I’ve never been here; they all look the same.” With countries becoming a fleeting fancy, and borders slipping beneath his wheels in a blur, it’s no wonder Robin’s having trouble telling them apart. 

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His progress remains unrelenting. Ahead of any Lost Dot race, a schedule is drawn up to help shape the pace of the on-road media team, determine CP opening times, and book the corresponding overland travel of photographers and volunteers. At CP1, Robin was two-and-a-half hours ahead of schedule; by CP2, it was three-and-a-half; and by CP3, five. His lead over our predictions was stretching, and it was only going to lengthen. “The schedule slows down, anticipating fatigue; but Robin doesn’t seem to be fatiguing,” explained Race Director, David Ayre.

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Already, Robin was beginning to push the limits of our infrastructure. Control point photographers were starting to wonder whether they’d arrive to their stations on time. And it’s not only the fixed points that are pinched; he has also been responsible for significant adjustments to our plans on the road, as well as a rather costly rebrand – with Hawk Team 1 forced to update control car decals, group chat names, and email signatures. Robin was fast becoming a logistical thorn in our side.

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So when a volunteer got in contact to ask whether, should Robin arrive ahead of CP3’s planned opening time, they should make him wait until the appointed hour to be admitted, we were rather tempted to oblige. The image, I must admit, was amusing. Robin standing, brevet in hand, at a locked CP – tapping his foot like an anxious dawn commuter outside a closed coffee shop – having raced meteorically across eight countries, only to find volunteers scrupulously busying themselves inside, gilding the lily, plumping pillows and straightening stamps.

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It wasn’t a silly question. We’re all familiar with control point cutoffs – minimum speeds that riders have to meet in order to stay in the running – but in brevet cycling, it’s also common for controls to set strict opening times. Riders arriving ahead of time are required to wait to have their brevets validated. This essentially enforces a maximum speed – something to encourage safe riding and sufficient sleep in events that are, by definition, long-distance, self-supported rides at a prescribed pace. The TCR, though? This is most definitely a race. 

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Route Envy

And not one, as Robin might’ve hoped, with just one horse. Nicolas Chatelet (126), having ridden on through the night in a strategic push, had gained rapidly on the elusive leader. With statistics that matched Robin on both moving and elapsed average speeds, it was clear that the Frenchman had found a new gear. A change in regime, for the first time this race, has become an imminent possibility; in fact, had it not been for Nicolas’ prolonged pause in Poland to source and then set up a replacement GPS, it might already have become a reality. By evening, he was just three-and-a-half hours behind. Robin’s buffer has been significantly eroded.

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Four hours further back, Jonas Verest (368), holding third position since the second control, punted for an easterly route through Hungary, while Robin hugged the west and Nicolas split the difference. As Robin quipped in a short clip, recorded from the saddle, “Whenever you’re in a free-routed race, when you see someone taking a different route to you, you become convinced that theirs is quicker.” Jonas, spotting this, messaged back directly: “I think yours is faster.” It seems that getting navigational cold feet is a universal phenomenon. 

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Behind Jonas, the top ten riders remain evenly spaced, incessantly trading places as the harmonium of sleep cycles stretches and shrinks their marginal leads.   

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What to Do With a Wolf

Experiencing a very similar dynamic, Sarah Bosslet (120) and Camille Albisser (270) remained impossibly close through the day. Neither found the going straightforward, yet fate was proving impartial, dishing out obstacles even-handedly. 

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Sarah had been forced to navigate some routing challenges after a road closure nudged her onto a pedestrian bridge – a bridge that delivered her right into the heart of a labyrinthine shopping centre. Having chosen to return to Poland, rather than sticking to the Czech side of the border, following the second split parcours, she then found herself mired in more mountainous terrain. Pockets of inspiration, however, often reveal themselves in tougher moments. For Sarah, this was a familiar climb, ridden on her last continental odyssey. Tangible proof of her enduring persistence. 

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Camille, meanwhile, was facing challenges of her own. A midnight pothole and its resulting puncture – held together with the last of her inner tubes – required a morning pitstop for a new tyre, no guarantee on a Sunday in Slovakia. As it happened, however, the area surrounding Parcours 2b is a cycling hotspot, and Camille was soon inundated with bike shops. With tyre fixed, gels restocked and new arm warmers donned, she was back in business, heading for the second control.

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In recent days, Camille had felt a recurring pattern emerging: good mornings, tough afternoons. But the balance, she felt, was sustainable; “If it keeps going like this, we’ll manage, we’ll handle it.” With her priorities fixed firmly on rest, Camille has been stopping between 22:00 and midnight and sleeping inside; the humidity of Central Europe has caused temperatures to plummet overnight, making a bivvy all the less appealing.

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Another disincentive for sleeping al fresco came from Anna Carlqvist (223), who, during her latest slog through the Slovakian night, was greeted by a wolf, calmly blocking the road ahead. “I don’t really know what to do with a wolf,” she admitted. Well, Anna, rest assured, neither do we. Arriving unscathed, fifth FLINTA rider through CP2, Anna was not hanging around. Having planned a route that was contingent on escaping the national park before the sunset cycling ban, she made haste for the boundary, and on, towards the Hungarian border.

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With the two leading riders having arrived at Slovakia’s control just 19 minutes apart – nearly three hours ahead of Lea Hamberger (404), their closest chaser – the race to top the FLINTA leaderboard remains too close to call. 

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Blustery Tedium

Meanwhile, in the Hawkmobile – formerly Control Car 1 – the day was one of transition. Having seen the leading pack through the second control, we pressed on south, covering the distance between the Tatras and Sarajevo in a single, continuous push. I must say, I didn’t envy the riders. Hungary, through the blur of our car window, appeared flat and tedious. This is, of course, uncharitable. Hungary is a country rich with history and culture; we were simply feeling churlish from being cooped up in the car for an eight-hour drive. 

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And yet, for riders, our assessment might not be so far off the mark. They’ll no doubt be feeling rather churlish themselves, having spent half a continent cooped up on their bike. Jakub Tomasik (355), tackling his Hungarian stretch today, shared our sentiments. “Apart from sunflowers and corn fields, there’s nothing else here,” he surmised, before caveating, graciously, “unless there’s a headwind.”

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Bird in Paradise

Before long, though, Jakub will be shot of the level plains. CP3, and a devilish climb up from Sarajevo, await; a climb that Robin Gemperle (001) has piloted this evening. In typical style, it looked for a moment, as if we might miss our Swiss muse at the third control. While we remained half-an-hour out, Robin began the parcours – the technicolour stretch of graffitied concrete once home to the icy time-trials of the 1984 Winter Olympic bobsleigh.

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As we edged closer, however, Robin’s dot refused to shift. Arriving to find him shovelling down fistfuls of bread – nirvana for any feathered friend – we caught Robin for the third time since Trondheim. “I saw your car on the map,” he said, “but I was like, no, I’ll be gone.” Perhaps bored by tracking fellow riders, Robin had moved on to tracking us instead. Evidently, the Hawkmobile is easily underestimated.

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But the consistent race leader seemed less secure in his margin than he had been in Slovakia, two days earlier. For the first time this race, he seemed to be keeping a weather eye on those behind him – in particular, one Nicolas Chatelet (126). “He knows what he’s doing,” Robin concluded, referencing the Frenchman’s choice to cut sleep in order to close the gap. “But it scares me because it shows it doesn’t bother him, doing that kind of stuff.” Unlike his TCR contests of old with the human metronome, Christoph Strasser, his new challenger was proving far less predictable; it was time for a new strategy.

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“I will reduce my sleep a bit now, and be quicker,” he vowed. But the prospect of recalibration felt far from straightforward. “I’m not in that racing mood,” he admitted, “I need to find that second gear now and get going.”

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Yet Robin maintained the impressive perspective he’d held at registration; he could still see the wood for the trees. Having spent the day crossing borders – physical, geographical landmarks: visual shorthand of his evolving odyssey – Robin was appreciating the pure adventure of his race. “It’s not only about being at the front and winning,” he concluded. “Of course, that’s the game we play, and I like that game at the moment.” But the Swiss Whippet appeared equally comfortable, on occasion, to inhabit an alter-ego: the Swiss Wanderer. 

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Taking a Trek for a Walk

Robin’s right. It’s not all about being at the front, not all about winning; it’s not even always all about finishing. Experience is the currency. What matters most, whether as a result of a podium, a GC finish, a race finish or a scratch, is how the experience of the race settles for riders in retrospect. For Sofia Passaretti (195), I’ve no doubt her resounding sense will be one of relief. 

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Sofia had suffered a cracked seat stay in Norway, and despite having managed to arrange a warranty replacement from the Trek store in Götenborg, the time taken to travel down, and then to set up the new bike had proven too significant-a setback. Sofia chose to call time on her Transcontinental effort. But her story doesn’t finish here. 

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Beginning the long journey home, Sofia caught a train south from Götenborg. After a scheduled stop in Malmö, however, she glimpsed a dreadful sight: her new bike being wheeled past the train window. Moments later, the doors closed and the train pulled away. Some panicked sobbing naturally ensued. But suddenly, a thought. The tracker. 

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Still pinging away, Sofia’s tracker was still on her bike. The thief was unwittingly leaving a trail of breadcrumbs – a trail that, with some assistance from the Swedish police, saw her reunited with her bike, and the thief awaiting trial for its kidnap. 

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