Top 50, we better, top 40, doable, top 30….oof!
So Northern Monkey aka Matt bridge, harbinger of hurt, had set us some straight forward goals, I liked these, I agreed. I’m a 4 time vet of Transalp, this is Bridgey’s 3rd, so we are wise, respectful of the event and the raft of ups and downs that come with multi day racing. Our big priorities, make sure we enjoy it, stay fit and stay mates.
The ‘Robs’, two of our road racing mates had teamed up. Rob Reid, a converted triathlete, and Rob Davies a second TA for him and a slimer, trimmer, stronger specimen who had been noticeably absent from club runs in the build up to TA. Opting instead for hitting every long soul crushing ride hard elusively, quietly and without much fanfare, true to his silent work ethic, Rob was going to punish us!
Rivalry is a good thing, as long time mates we’ve spent so much time either on each others wheel or protecting each other in a race is great to get the chance to lay things out bare, it’s a little bit of Fight Club and huge helping of humour. That said, I was convinced the two Robs wouldn’t pose much of a threat given one had never seen quite just how vertical alpine singletrack can go and one who had been so under the radar I wasn’t sure he was up for eyeballs out flagellation Transalp can offer up.
The two Robs. And Stu.
Day 1 and 2 had passed with much frustration, Bridgey had suffered the kind of cramp that turns you to granite, I’d struggled with the pace on the final climb of day 2 after working our little guts out to recover from a flat and leap frog back up to the 2 Robs who were storming the pace with Mike and Imogen. Basking in reflected glory was brilliant, but I don’t cope with ‘weakest’ very well, I pondered where I’d screwed up my own pacing and spent a few moments just chilling on the balcony of apartment, headphones in, Spies music on 12….with an alpine view, looks its all complicated in that brain cave.
Watch the view and contemplate.
Day 3, so help me
I was adamant I wasn’t going to be slow, weak, shit, or the focal point of any pace shift. Day 3’s profile weirdly suited my demeanour quite well. 60Km long and straight up to 2400m, down, back up to 1800m, some mental technical, a bump to negotiate, a vertical wall of bar end bending lunacy then a hurtful drag to the finish in St Vigil. No hiding, no grouping, just set up the pace (queue Northern Monkey) get the concentration dialled and hit it.
‘Pedestrian’ it was not, we left the neutralised zone and I worked to find every gap I could before the masses thinned and Bridgey plopped himself in front of me, knee high to a grasshopper and tough as guts, sitting on his wheel is an exercise in patience, diligence and a touch of torture.
For 20km you only go up, you sweat, you swear you ratchet the gears but nothing ticks off the miles better than just staying put, doing what you have to. The feed stop was odd, you have hit the ski station perched on top of this beast and still need to do another 4km of vertical, tap some more people.
Previously Bridgey has left large parts of his plasma in the mountains, he can be forgiven for not unleashing all hell on the descents, but we were ahead of the Robs and had surprisingly not seen any sign of them at the feed, I sensed Matt was going to lean a little further back and brake a little less. We careened off the first peak, some stellar single track and a good feeling in the pins, can we keep this up? Can we hold this?
Our middle third was fine, I never once left Bridgeys hip, he should have a left butt cheak bruise given the amount of times my knuckles grazed him. We eased back a touch, I felt we had to, conserve for the mother that tops out at the 44km. Merciful mountain gods, this thing was like black run open for idiots, my HR hit the ceiling, (massive swearing) click click, I’m walking (one big fat sweary word), it’s fine, I’ve got long legs.
I stepped up the wall, not massively slower than those who chose to tear at their bars in a display of utter determination and defiance. Mercifully we summitted, no Robs, tech descent Euro party time! Roots, crags, drops, switches, gulleys, fek me, my under carriage was not in a happy place. Bridgey locked up on a bad line, I nailed the right drop and plummeted to the valley floor, its at this point remember the other goal, fun, hell yes, this was off the chart….Bridgey please stay in one piece!
We had lost places, this didn’t bode well for me, Matt hates losing places, small man, go! ‘Just hang on this mate, save something for the kick’ Righto, gotcha, kick? Boom, aaah ‘kick’ like two well tuned roadies we reached right into that far corner and pulled out the eyeball wasabi, smashing past the Rocky Mountain duo who’d dropped us along with a plethora of ripped and meaningful race snakes….wow did we just do that?
Bridgey and Stu post race
Happy, I have no idea where we finished today (Ed: 45th), but yeah, happy! The Robs were barely off our finish time and humble and gracious in ‘defeat’ ‘oh were you guys racing that today?’ hehe yeah right see you tomorrow you nodders!