Stu Spies raced the La Ruta in 2007, and has been reliving the experience. If you missed it, go back and read Day 3 again, but here’s the last day.
Unrelenting suffering…why does that keep springing into my head? As I bounced along one of the 40kms of railroad sleeper riddled train track I wondered if I’d ever do the race again. My new found Guatemalan pal Picc told me he did it last year and he wanted a top ten. You are clearly mad buddy, this race is for masochists and maniacs. He promised to buy me a beer if he got 5th in Master B figuring I had helped him. I had in fact been holding onto his wheel for dear life, but still got my beer!
We started our day in a frenzy, buses had become lost, one of the pro’s Sandro Spaeth of Switzerland was out with the shits. Oh come on Sandro, we’ve been pooing river water for the passed week! Stop being a baby. In general the pissing rain was making our start pen a pretty shitty place to be. Drenched to the bone, I was actually very chuffed we were about to do the final and most famous part of La Ruta, the infamous bridge crossings. The horrendous railroad track where you seriously question the wisdom of a hardtail. But there is hope – the Caribbean ocean, bring it on baby! I have my sunblock ready….it’s currently dribbling down my leg but those coconuts are begging for a beach!!
We’re off! Finally! Today I hoped to hold Eelco’s wheel for as long as possible, the legs were good and the pinch flat fairy only had to be held off for two pretty fast rocky descents, you make it through that lot and you’re laughing. Well the first climb started right where we left off the day before, a steep climb through the plantations where Eelco and Vik dropped me like a stone and headed of into the mist. I worked hard to keep sight of Vik (not because he rides a small frame) he was smoking!
I managed to claw Vik back in and we both passed Eelco fixing a chain. This had merely given Eelco the motivation to blitz the remaining hills with reckless abandon, but thankfully I had enough to hold his wheel and we set off collecting a few riders as we hammered towards the dreaded railroad. The best part about these races is the mix of people. I never really got tired of the Americans, their constant ‘Good JAAB’s ‘ were handed out every time you passed one, and the Texans we kept bumping into all seemed to have been been born in South Africa. Salsolburg or some equally no horse oil town, how could you not love them!?
The two leading ladies were with us again, never shirking a turn on the front and more than happy to give the fried men a rest. We hit the first railroad bridge. It was great, a local was yelling at me and pointing at a sleeper, I thought he meant stand on it so I did, it cracked, wood fell and I shat! Further down we hit another bridge with a train waiting to cross, the driver was not impressed and kept yelling at us to get off the bridge. The American returned fire with a volley of insults, ever the diplomats! But he was running on full adrenaline and after crossing that one I got dropped again.
Mile after mile passes, 120km of body jarring slog, I’ve now hit a train of riders who were getting organised by one of the Texan South Africans, lots of Good Jaabs all round. By now I was figuring he’s was stuck on repeat and contemplated hitting him with a bottle. He got bored of organising and rode off like a…well train down the rail lines. Picc and I got stranded, no groups and not a lot left in the tank, he crashed into a river at one point as the concentration waned and the pace slowed. Lo and behold who comes passed on a charge, but Garry and a train of riders that looked like they meant business. Hold them, hold them hold them oh for shit sakes they’re off AAAAAAAAARGH!!
Now all the gels in the world don’t seem to motivate you as much as a swollen ego. Bring on Charlie. Oh now, I’m not having that. Sorry Picc, I got beezniz. I jumped on Charlies wheel and made a nuisance of myself, I’ve learnt he doesn’t enjoy a hanger on so I stuck like baby snot to his nobby nick …it’s a tire I swear…and the final miles rolled in. I didn’t have the heart to be a total dick so soon we were chatting and swapping turns. I had thought about doing a gentleman’s agreement, do we race the line or cross together, technically we did both, I dropped him in the sprint, saw the timing matts a bit further on than expected and we got the same split. How I will never know, but for the record Charlie it was London Dynamo you read across my ass!!
Poor Vik, complete shutdown, after entertaining the locals who thought our own pint sized killer was one of theirs (he flattened all the huge riders around him) he suffered serious dehydration and lost a good hour or so running on absolutely nothing. The dribble bum claimed another victim. Garry was elated he was racing with a cold, dribble bum and a unknown bike and had swooped the last day. Matt never seemed overly fussed, he just thoroughly enjoyed the whole horrible experience. The ladies: why didn’t they join Dynamo? Both rode so well and were annoyingly humble in their achievements. Kerrie’s first Stage Race was a triumph, and Liz 11th overall even with 2 broken chains!! Eelco, Maccalsfield, a rider who really rode with style and grit, a Manchester track local who is relishing the thought of hurting a few more Mo’s on the track day. Please someone hurt him (in a friendly way of course). And of course Charlie, I think La Ruta wouldn’t have been the same without our womanizing, self-absorbed reality missing Ellsworth rider, thanks for the laughs mate and very well ridden!