TCRNo11 // It Begins

Words by Jake Thorpe

Photos by Matt Grayson & Tomás Montes

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‍A Curious Breed

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In Santiago de Compostela, amidst the droves of shell-laden pilgrims trudging their final, blistered steps towards the end of their Camino, another restless species has begun to gather in preparation for their own migration.

At this stage, the lone TCR rider is often heard but rarely seen. Their existence is usually limited to the telltale tick of a freehub traversing a hotel lobby, or the crunch and scrape of cleats on pavement – proof that, within the city’s gothic nooks and Romanesque crannies, something is stirring.

And even when glimpsed, taxonomy, for the uninitiated, is a tricky task. It’s a Saturday in Santiago, and sunny; cyclists zip liberally through the city streets. There are many red herrings. A set of quad-spoke Spinergy wheels, for example, cut an unlikely silhouette. Same genus, different species. Aerobars flash by – a promising sight – but they protrude from the sleek body of a TT bike; close, but no cigar. Then, delicately, an SPD cleat unclips from its pedal; an unshaven calf brushes a sub-compact chainset; gravel-grazed elbows lounge across raised arm rests. Bingo.

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Edgy Previews

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Other riders, however, have chosen to arrive en masse. Many of those vying for a spot on the Green Leaderboard, for instance, took an expedited trip along the Camino del Norte, catching a bus from Hendaye. There’s strength in numbers. But with company, fears too can propagate. Riders stole many-a-worried glance from the window of the bus as it sped along the Cantabrian coast on Friday, and the creases of the Picos revealed themselves. Furtive cross-checks of GPX files were accompanied by lighthearted quips – “looks a bit lumpy” – expressed in a tone that conveyed slightly less confidence than intended.  

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Wayward Paths

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All journeys, however, are not created equal. For many, simply arriving at the start line marks a challenge complete. Though tense, the bus journey for the Green Leaderboard hopefuls was, at least, uneventful. As riders gather for registration, however, stories of some rather more eventful journeys have begun to bubble up.

Pairs riders Lili Delannoy and Clémence Vandergheynst (379a & 379b) seemed, for a long time, to have got their dates muddled. Having spent 50-hours twiddling their thumbs at Barcelona El Prat following multiple flight cancellations, they looked better primed to launch into an early edition of the TPR than the 11th edition of the TCR. With seven combined hours of sleep in three days – and even that, not all in one go – the pair’s post-registration plan is to curl up in one of the city’s shadier corners and claw back as many forgone winks as possible.

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For Vedangi Kulkarni (243), it wasn’t her but her bike that took the scenic route. Interviewed just days before departure, her TCR rig remained a notable absence. In the end, she was forced back into the arms of an old flame. Arriving in the nick of time from its display stand at CANYON HQ, her trusty Grail – used on the most recent of her two global circumnavigations – will accompany her once again. Given it has already tackled the world, we expect it to make light work of Europe.

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The Full Spectrum

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It’s not just the physical journey to the TCR’s start line that’s riddled with challenges. For many the emotional journey to arrive at this point has been equally arduous.

During any ultra-race, riders are required to navigate the full spectrum of human emotion, but this kaleidoscope tends to reveal itself long before the Grand Départ. The start is only ever the beginning of the end. Relief washes in for those who’ve already navigated wayward paths; trepidation ripples through the ranks of those embarking on their first Transcontinental traverse; and a quiet, unwavering confidence emanates from that granite core of repeat offenders – those, like Mikko Mäkipää (044), for whom the TCR has become an endemic part of their circannual rhythm; an enduring, unshakable love affair.

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For even the most experienced riders, however, keeping that spark alive is far from guaranteed. Abdullah Zeinab (004), 32 minutes off a podium place last year, admits that the internal journey towards his second TCR has been his toughest to date. “Pure terror” was his precise prognosis. He credits his friends for encouraging him back to the start line. Now here, the spark has struck; the kindling’s caught; and Abdullah is, once more, alight.

By all accounts, it’s this spectrum of emotion, felt before the race and throughout, that draws people back. Rather surprisingly for someone who is hailed as a rider of such metronomic precision, Christoph Strasser (002) – hopeful for a third TCR victory – credits emotion as his reason for returning. “If you’re just a racing machine”, he explains, “it would be boring”.

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A Brief Scorching

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Race briefing. 17:00 CEST. 394 riders sit crammed within Santiago’s Casa das Máquinas – The Engine Room – aptly named, considering its inhabitants. Like the engine room of any great juggernaut in the moments before it leaps into life, the venue thrums with latent energy. And like any proper engine room it’s hot. Very hot. Briefing is a sweaty affair.

But despite the heat, the collective energy resists the urge to dissolve into lethargy. The results of the 100 TCR Women campaign are announced – 80 will start, double of any edition to date – and a new race is added to the quiver: Lost Dot 101 – a contest exclusively for those who identify as women, non-binary and trans, created to further break down barriers for FLINTA riders looking to enter the sport.

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Cobblestones and Bagpipes

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Rather incongruously – or perhaps not given Galicia’s ties to Celtic traditions – a lone bag-piper stands busking in a side street, the shrill harmony of her instrument carrying over the evening breeze to serenade Santiago’s main square. The sun, now edging towards the horizon, stains the facade of the Cathedral a lustrous caramel. Pilgrims wander, unaware of the congregation about to gather.

By 19:30 CEST, this has changed. Tonight, in Santiago, the TCR is the main event.

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For those aware of the race’s proclivities, it should come as no surprise that the journey this year once again begins on cobblestone. Hardly an inch of the surface remains in view as riders fan behind Jana Kessenheimer (001) and Lael Wilcox (112), taking the form, poetically enough, of a perfect scallop shell – the pilgrim’s vieria.

With a police escort hastily rearranged – the one agreed months back had been long forgotten in the heat of the Spanish Summer – the riders took off, soft pedalling through the city’s ancient streets.  

After a neutralised start, André Bachmann (005) shot into pole position. A paratrooper by trade, with 7,000 jumps to his palmarès, it’s no wonder he was so quick to terminal velocity. Spotted by Control Car 2 speeding through the arch at Negreira, the team admitted he wore a pained expression. Early advantages are hard won. Competition is plentiful, and competitors are fresh. Time will tell if this push will bear fruit.

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