2017 RAID GALLAECIA, PART FIVE
The TA consisted of one small tent, under which two volunteers and one team’s bicycles were gathered. We rolled in just as the rain rolled from leaky faucet to pressurized garden hose, and we searrched in vain for a dry spot where we could pull out our bivvies and take a brief rest. However, after searching all around the TA, we discovered that we were on a peninsula surrounded on one side by a windswept beach and on the other by private residences. It was a dark moment. Melody didn’t hesitate - she jumped right into her bivvy and fell asleep on the side of the locked building that hosted the TA (and a restaurant that was closed). Rick, looking sick to his stomach, also lost his battle to the sleepmonsters, ducking behind a stone wall in the vain hope it would offer some protection from the wind and rain. That left Eric and Cliff, and as they sat in the rain, wondering what to do next, Eric confided, “Dude, I’ve got about five good minutes left, so we need to make a decision quick.” Mainly at Cliff’s urging, Eric agreed that the team needed to keep moving - that if we stayed at this cold, exposed TA too long, it would mean the race. We had an 8k hiking loop to do, followed by a 40K bike, and then we would be in a real TA, with hot food, a roof over our heads, and all our gear bags. If we didn’t make it that far, well, we’d get through the hike and then try to find a hotel or restaurant that was open on the next bike leg.
With that, Eric collapsed on the wooden deck overlooking the ocean, in the middle of a rainstorm. Cliff remembered a trick he learned in the frigid infliction that was ITERA, and he converted both his own and Eric’s bivvies into stylish sweaters with the help of a multitool. After filling up everyone’s waters, he woke up Melody, then Rick, then Eric, whose entire arm had gone ghoulishly blue. “Don’t worry about it,” Eric insisted, unconvincingly. As we headed out on the hiking loop, Melody seemed recharged and volunteered to help navigate. But Rick and Eric both looked gaunt and sick, and stumbled frequently as they walked with closed eyes.
It was too bad that they were sleepwalking, because the hike was truly beautiful. The hike was on top of a promontory overlooking the ocean, and a nicely manicured path wound through bright green scrubbrush.and overgrown ruins from World War II. We found the first CP inside a pillbox, and the second was further along the coast at a lighthouse. We turned back towards the TA and found the third in a ditch a few kilometers further on. As easy as the navigation was, this stage still seemed to take forever. Both Rick and Eric needed to stop frequently for bathroom breaks, and when Eric took an inordinately long time at one break, Cliff found him curled up in the brush, fast asleep. With how sick they were, Cliff was certain the team would need to quit. He may or may not have cried on Melody’s shoulder, sad that the journey was going to come to a premature end. However, somewhere around 7 a.m., the boys revived a bit, and we made it back into the TA just as it warmed up enough for us to think we might make it out of this stage alive.
We made a personally triumphant return to the TA and got ourselves ready for a bike ride. The volunteers gave us a cheerful send-off, and we headed out with smiles on our faces, thinking we just might have gotten through our darkest moment of the race. A few kilometers down the road, we found a restaurant, and Cliff made a captain’s decision that we were going to stop for some refreshment.
We pulled into the parking lot and saw four locals drinking espresso on the patio - a good sign. Cliff poked his head inside to ask the owner if he was serving food, and the answer was positive. We were walked into a sunny side room, where we had plenty of space to spread out our wet and smelly belongings, and ordered a huge plate of whatever was hot. Soon, the owner returned with cafe con leches, croquetas, and, finally, a massive plate of pork cubes with potatoes. Everything was amazingly delicious. Rick hit the coffees pretty hard (Rick had between 5 and 8 shots of espresso) and that seemed to bring some life back into his face. A glass or two of wine also made Melody quite happy. When we rolled out of the restaurant about 40 minutes after we stopped in, we all felt nearly good as new.
Heading out of the restaurant, Cliff took lead nav, but not for long. The numerous, small roads of Galicia slowed us down to the point where Rick volunteered to step in. Seemingly back to full mental strength, he guided us through a complex web of roads and onto a trail going - what else - uphill. On top of a ridge, a beautiful singletrack trail guided us through an endless thicket of droom, and we picked off a couple of CPs quickly. A few hours later, after picking our way through some very tiny roads through some picturesque mountain towns, we found ourselves at an old church, where a race photographer snapped some shots of us coming up a steep hill and then finding a hidden CP wedged into the wall behind the building.
With that, Eric collapsed on the wooden deck overlooking the ocean, in the middle of a rainstorm. Cliff remembered a trick he learned in the frigid infliction that was ITERA, and he converted both his own and Eric’s bivvies into stylish sweaters with the help of a multitool. After filling up everyone’s waters, he woke up Melody, then Rick, then Eric, whose entire arm had gone ghoulishly blue. “Don’t worry about it,” Eric insisted, unconvincingly. As we headed out on the hiking loop, Melody seemed recharged and volunteered to help navigate. But Rick and Eric both looked gaunt and sick, and stumbled frequently as they walked with closed eyes.
It was too bad that they were sleepwalking, because the hike was truly beautiful. The hike was on top of a promontory overlooking the ocean, and a nicely manicured path wound through bright green scrubbrush.and overgrown ruins from World War II. We found the first CP inside a pillbox, and the second was further along the coast at a lighthouse. We turned back towards the TA and found the third in a ditch a few kilometers further on. As easy as the navigation was, this stage still seemed to take forever. Both Rick and Eric needed to stop frequently for bathroom breaks, and when Eric took an inordinately long time at one break, Cliff found him curled up in the brush, fast asleep. With how sick they were, Cliff was certain the team would need to quit. He may or may not have cried on Melody’s shoulder, sad that the journey was going to come to a premature end. However, somewhere around 7 a.m., the boys revived a bit, and we made it back into the TA just as it warmed up enough for us to think we might make it out of this stage alive.
We made a personally triumphant return to the TA and got ourselves ready for a bike ride. The volunteers gave us a cheerful send-off, and we headed out with smiles on our faces, thinking we just might have gotten through our darkest moment of the race. A few kilometers down the road, we found a restaurant, and Cliff made a captain’s decision that we were going to stop for some refreshment.
We pulled into the parking lot and saw four locals drinking espresso on the patio - a good sign. Cliff poked his head inside to ask the owner if he was serving food, and the answer was positive. We were walked into a sunny side room, where we had plenty of space to spread out our wet and smelly belongings, and ordered a huge plate of whatever was hot. Soon, the owner returned with cafe con leches, croquetas, and, finally, a massive plate of pork cubes with potatoes. Everything was amazingly delicious. Rick hit the coffees pretty hard (Rick had between 5 and 8 shots of espresso) and that seemed to bring some life back into his face. A glass or two of wine also made Melody quite happy. When we rolled out of the restaurant about 40 minutes after we stopped in, we all felt nearly good as new.
Heading out of the restaurant, Cliff took lead nav, but not for long. The numerous, small roads of Galicia slowed us down to the point where Rick volunteered to step in. Seemingly back to full mental strength, he guided us through a complex web of roads and onto a trail going - what else - uphill. On top of a ridge, a beautiful singletrack trail guided us through an endless thicket of droom, and we picked off a couple of CPs quickly. A few hours later, after picking our way through some very tiny roads through some picturesque mountain towns, we found ourselves at an old church, where a race photographer snapped some shots of us coming up a steep hill and then finding a hidden CP wedged into the wall behind the building.
Uphill once again, to the final CP of the stage, just as it was getting uncomfortably hot and sunny out. On top of another ridge, there was no shade and, as miserable as we had been earlier that morning, we began wishing for a little of the cold we had been feeling before. After about 30 minutes of drudgery, we took a very overgrown trail in to where we thought the CP might be hidden, then realized we needed to ditch our bikes and hike down about 20-30 meters to get to the flag. The woods were thick with thorns and it was a bloody business getting there, but we emerged to our bikes knowing all we needed to do was point our wheels downhill and we’d be at the TA in no time.
However, our escape was to be delayed, first by a trail that petered off into nothing, and secondly by our decision to backtrack to a road we knew would lead us out of the trail system we seemed to be stuck in, only to find out when we emerged that we were a bit lost. Hiding in the semi-shade thrown off by a private house, we finally got our bearings and headed towards the city of Ferrol. As we got closer, the rural roads became busier and we found ourselves in an urban landscape. We saw a few other teams on foot, and we knew we were close to the TA. But even though we now acknowledged that this adventure had taken us into the heart of a city, it still surprised us to learn, as we followed the map dutifully, that upon arrival at where the TA should be, we saw the sliding glass doors of a mall.
However, our escape was to be delayed, first by a trail that petered off into nothing, and secondly by our decision to backtrack to a road we knew would lead us out of the trail system we seemed to be stuck in, only to find out when we emerged that we were a bit lost. Hiding in the semi-shade thrown off by a private house, we finally got our bearings and headed towards the city of Ferrol. As we got closer, the rural roads became busier and we found ourselves in an urban landscape. We saw a few other teams on foot, and we knew we were close to the TA. But even though we now acknowledged that this adventure had taken us into the heart of a city, it still surprised us to learn, as we followed the map dutifully, that upon arrival at where the TA should be, we saw the sliding glass doors of a mall.
CONTINUED...
