I was sleeping in the room next to Georgi so thought that a great tactic would be to lie on my back and snore for four hours keeping her awake then shoot off. “How long is too long?” was therefore 4 hours. Which would wake me at 1230, A relaxed breakfast then on the road by 1am, the perfect time to start day three, and a serious chance of getting the last 280km done. I also made the deal with myself that if I woke up earlier and felt ok, or needed to go pee that I would just get up and go (that after all is the whole point of the “how long is too long approach“).
Two hours later I was getting sick of being woke up every 20 minutes as a new cyclist arrived, door open, light on, door closed, door open loud mouthed German, door closed, light on, airco on, light off etc etc. “How do I feel? Fine….move…” I was shocked that after 760km in two days that my leg muscles felt fine, obviously my eight hours a week training plan had worked well.
During the quick chat with the ladies over coffee, out of curiosity I asked how many had already left CP2 before me. 21 was the number. “Hmm, if I get a wiggle on, I might even make top 20”. The thought that such a high and seemingly unobtainable position was within my grasp was tantalising. I checked the tracker and saw that around 8-10 people were at CP 2 or approaching it. About 40km ahead Steven the Frenchman was almost at Sur where he’d planned to get a hotel for a few hours (he left CP2 when I went to bed). So a plan was made, time to get into racing mode instead of just pushing myself. All I had to do was stay ahead of the sleeping beauties and get to Sur and sneak past Steven before he woke up, hopefully passing Amit along the way. Fingers crossed Georgi would sleep long enough.
At 1045pm I was on the move again, hoping to crack out the last 280km in one go (re-reading this again now it seems so absurd, pre trip my longest ride had been 280km and now I was going to do it with 760km in my legs. What a fascinating team the human body and mind are).
For the first two hours I rode flat out, riding my bike like I’d stolen it, knowing the only message Johann would have sent that night would have been HTFU (hurry/harden the fuck up). My theory was to get as far as possible from CP2 so that if people did wake up and happen to be interested in the tracker or racing that they’d see I was already 50km ahead and wouldn’t try to chase me down. Though I can’t imagine this tactic makes sense to anyone that has had more than 5 hours sleep in three days.
I passed Amit an hour or so later and pushed on until Sur, getting into town around 1am, Luckily a coffee shop was open so I restocked on drinks knowing the next section was fairly desolate. I also got the nice gentleman to make some chicken curry sandwiches. One to eat, two for later. Before I’d finished eating the shutters of the place were closing, my timing had been perfect. As I left Sur my left knee decided it had had enough, forcing me to walk up the first hill. I popped my emergency anti inflammatories (not something I use often) Then spent a couple of kilometres adjusting the saddle height to the least painful spot. Then slowly carried on. Steven was now on the move and chasing me down, he was obviously in a hurry, CP2 was also now awake and moving. The last sprint was now on.
The next few hours are a blur of following the yellow line and trying to stay awake. The occasional hilarious message in my WhatsApp group helping with “shut up legs”. Many friends going to bed too late and getting up too early before work to see if I could stay ahead of Steven, Georgi, Cristian and Jeff and the others, all moving fast and closing the gap.
Predictably during the the witching hour the hallucinations started. Tree’s, bushes and other shapes would look like animals. The end of a roadworks traffic barrier looked like a kneeling man giving something to a child and dozens of other random shapes looked like things they were not. I was able to rationalise this as pure lack of sleep and didn’t worry about it, at least they weren’t trying to talk to me or force me off the road.
At around 6am I was struggling to stay awake. I checked the tracker and saw that Steven was just behind me. Perfect! I set my countdown timer for 10 minutes. Expecting him to pass while I slept or just as I woke up.
“Ooh I do like to be beside the seaside..” I sat up and saw his light just down the road, I lay back down for 2 minutes and sat up as he passed saying good morning and making it look like I’d just woke up and was faffing around. He grunted and pushed on. Predictably he picked up his pace. I brushed my teeth while giving him a 500m head start then kept that distance for the next hour or so as the wind picked up. The head wind got crazy and he maintained the speed. It was time to relax and push the pace a little, slowly closing the gap. I’d spent most of the Winter pushing into Dutch headwinds, it felt like this is what I’d been training for. Soon after I closed the gap to 50m Steven stopped for a break, looking worn out. I picked up the pace again and spent a horrible and painful hour smashing into the gale force winds eventually stopping at a garage at daylight as it opened for breakfast. Two or three minutes later Steven arrived, we had a quick chat and complained about the wind while I force fed myself a breakfast of crisps, chocolate and ice coffee then I pushed on eager to stay ahead of the bunch chasing me down (they were now only 10km or so behind albeit the toughest 10km of this section). After the race he complained that I’d left the garage without him ?? Obviously his frustration at me distracted him as he soon discovered he’d left his phone behind and had to backtrack to the garage to pick it up (obviously I didn’t know this at the time).
The turn inland brought respite from the stormy winds but brought a series of climbs, luckily with stunning views to keep things interesting. Somewhere around here or in the night my tired mind played a trick on me and I was convinced that the last day was 240km and I’d forgotten that it was infact 280km. That meant from the coast I only had 40km or so to go (or so I thought). My WhatsApp group was alive again as people woke up early for work. The extra energy from the support and sunshine and the wish to stay ahead of the chasers convinced me to push hard for what I thought was the last 40km.
Steven was right behind me ( I thought), Georgi was further back but would be quick over these hills as she only weights about 30kg or something and I was convinced Cristian and Jeff were drafting, they were catch up so fast on the windy section (and I’d seen them draft the previous day). The next 40km was pretty much a sprint, constantly watching the power meter, 180w on the flat, 220w up hill, I was fairly confident that this was a flat out pace I could keep up until the end. But still, Steven was closing the gap, as were Cristian and Jeff (fucking cheaters I thought to myself, I’ll show them).
This is probably a good time to point out that Cristian and Jeff were a duo team and not solo riders so are allowed to draft. During the race I didn’t realise this. I quickly apologised to them after making a fool of myself during our drive to the hotel after the race and spent the rest of the week feeling like a fool every time I saw them.
Around this time the trackers also went a bit weird, going offline for almost an hour in one of the canyons. Much to the frustration of my dot watchers.
Anyway, I continued to ride flat out, counting down the kilometers to 240, my food ran out, “only 40 minutes to go, no problem”. My water ran out going up the last big climb ” only 20 minutes to go, no problem”. I really needed a pee “No time, push on” I zoomed past a fuel station. As I hit 235km I was overheating, hungry, thirsty and still ahead of Cristian, Jeff and had lost Steven (probably due to the phone issue and the tracker dead spot), I’d also almost caught the Oman army team.
“Why does the track continue off the GPS page?” “Thats strange…” Boom, 239km on a road just before a village and I hadn’t seen the promised gravel section yet and this didn’t look much like Muscat, I was confused. I zoomed the map out and saw it was still quite a chunk to Muscat…..Bugger, Bugger, dickhead, fucknuckle. Today is 280km not 240km.
It broke my heart that I’d just given everything I had in the last two hours and I still had two hours to go. I was so disappointed that this was the way my brain had punished me for sleep deprivation. “Buck up buttercup, this is better than a crash in the night, don’t be a bitch and start pedalling”.
Luckily the village had a small shop where I could get some drinks for the last 2 hours of the riding on totally empty legs. Cristian and Jeff soon passed me (drafting again much to my frustration). The next hour or so was just a very gentle ride with sore knees, I’d already given everything I had. Soon after the gravel section while catching my breath on the last climb I saw the damn Frenchman at the bottom of the hill behind me. Bugger, I had nothing left but did my best to stay ahead. Ten minutes later I got through the gate to Muscat and into town just ahead of him.
But then there was a small hill, then another, “WFT still not there”. Then the sign “shit, still not there”. I was almost done, one last effort.
Then one more small hill, where Steven flew past me on a mission. I shouted go go go, what an amazing effort to still have energy left for a sprint 59 hours in, I could finally relax….
I stopped a couple of hundred meters from the finish line to take a photo, and savour this last moment alone and quickly reflect on what I’d just done. I’d ridden 1040km in 59hours and a couple of minutes. Some 40 hours faster than the optimistic 100 hours I’d hoped for. My plan to reverse engineer my shortcomings in ultra endurance races was working. I took a moment to enjoy this private victory. The hundreds of hours training the last year had paid off, as had all the attention to mental preparation. I’d smash all my own expectations in this race, I’d become my own hero.
Tired, sore, proud and emotional, I rolled across the finish line. 19th Solo finisher…Job done!
Though the race was an awesome experience. The best part of the trip was the next couple a days hanging around with the other riders, every couple of hours another few would roll in with new stories and amazing experiences all humble and proud of their achievement. The great thing about endurance racing is that it doesn’t matter if you finish first or last, everyone has given everything they have to finish. This creates a level playing field of mutual respect for all finishers. It was also a great opportunity to gather tips and info from veterans of this ultra racing non-sense. All good and useful for my future races.
My ultra endurance journey can now start in earnest….
Thank you for your time and support.
I so enjoyed reading this final recap Shane. This is such a test of endurance, both physical and mental. I can’t even imagine how difficult it was to ride those last 40 kilometers. And to finish 40 hours faster than what you hoped is amazing. Looking at the photos at the end, you would never think you had cycled 1040 kilometers in just over 59 hours, and 280 kilometers in the final push. Congratulations Shane!
Yes, the human body and mind are amazing when the stars line up 🙂 Knee’s are still sore almost 3 weeks later though, which isn’t good. Sadly a little more recovery needed than I’d like but such is life.