Any sports team will tell you that being able to compete close to home is a beautiful thing. Psychologically they will have an advantage with fans, familiarity and lots of support. Physically, they won’t have had to travel as far. But it is a major advantage for any marathon mountain-bike racer too.
My local Marathon is rocky, usually cold at the start and hot at the finish, and has a reasonably decisive climb near the start, right as you’re struggling to feel what your hands or legs are doing. But I get to sleep in my own bed the night before. And that counts for a lot. Being an Australian marathon though, I miss out on the home town support. Our races are out in the back of nowhere. Once you are partway into the race and have purchased some property on struggle street, it’s a fairly lonely experience, racked with anxiety about being caught by those behind. There aren’t many villages to ride through. You would be lucky to hear any cowbells, and feed stations certainly won’t be cranking out heavy Drum’n’Bass, Trans Germany style.
Europe, the heartland of marathon racing, is tailor made for those who will benefit most from the energy-giving hometown advantage. Many racers won’t quite live near the start, but that won’t stop a whole host of supporters coming out to assist. Time after time you can be chewing the stem in a small group, trying to not get caught, and just working hard to get to the finish. You’re not riding with any profi’s, it’s just other people like you – working hard and being all that they can be.
Your race notes say a feed is coming up, which is a good thing as your bottle was empty ages ago. As you gratefully blast into the town that that the feed should be in, you start to see all the vans parked. Surely the pro teams mechanics have moved on? But no, these are for your bunch. Just before the feed the rest of the bunch gets bottles handed up, gels jammed into pockets, and messages of support from wives, girlfriends, partners, parents, children or club mates. But as a non-local, you hit the anchors, fill your bottle, jam some food in the pocket or your mouth – and take off at XC pace to try to get back on. Now depending on the length of the event, you may need to repeat this scenario eight times.
But there is still help for racing vagabonds. Although their own racer takes precedence, most home grown support crews are usually happy to help. Gels may be proffered and bottles filled while still rolling. The hand eye co-ordination of feedzone volunteers in Austria still amazes me – they can get you what you need within a split second. Perhaps the strangest experience was the keen Swiss who dropped his walking poles, and elected to grab my seatpost and stem and run me up the hill. And after some post race discussion, I found out he did this numerous times for riders in the event.
So although it’s a very rare occasion to get planned help out on the course when out of your own country, there are heaps of people out there ready to lend a hand. And if that hand gives you a push – be grateful!