2017 RAID GALLAECIA, PART FOUR
Our transition from hike back to bike was relatively quick, as there wasn’t much to distract us at the TA besides those delicious tuna empanadas. But we ate all we could, topped off water and mounted back up, knowing we had a through-the-night, 70K bike ride ahead of us and wanting to do as much of it as possible in the daylight.
We left the TA at 7 p.m. The first challenge, we all knew, was getting back up that relatively big mountain we had come down six hours earlier. We quickly got to the base of it and then started uphill, riding when it was possible and walking when it was not. It was still sunny out and we enjoyed the increasingly impressive views as we climbed the switchbacks. We had chosen a different road up, and on this route, the top of the mountain was mossy and beautiful – oddly reminiscent of Macchu Picchu. It was a good moment for everyone on the team.
We continued along a ridgeline, slowly gaining altitude as we followed a muddy double-track road that slowly rose above treeline and made its way past another windmill farm (they seemed to be on the top of every ridgline in the region). We made solid progress but the road seemed long and tedious. Finally, we hit a T-intersection and turned right on a newly paved road, climbing on a steeper uphill until we reached the location of the first CP on the route. It was located in a stone hut built on a promontory with an expansive view over the rocky shoreline and the Atlantic – absolutely stunning. We spent about five minutes here soaking in the view, before the high winds chilled us and needed to retreat. On our way out, we saw Issy Absolu come through, but they passed us as we took a moment to put on another layer before what we knew would be a long, screaming descent back to sea level.
We all immensely enjoyed the downhill, flying at top speed down fresh tarmac. The fun was tempered for a moment by a car that seemed to be tailgating Melody and Cliff, who were in the back of the train. It turned out to be Vicente, a race volunteer who we had crossed paths with several times in the race, seemingly always in rare moments (honestly!) when were more spread out than usual. He always told us to get closer together, and it had become a running joke within the team. Well, the joke continued, as Melody and Cliff pulled over to let the car past, and sure enough,Vicente was behind the wheel, telling us to get closer. Melody started yelling that we had only slowed down and separated because of his tailgating, and Vicente laughed and waved us on. We reached the bottom of the hill, where there was another CP waiting, along with Vicente with his camera. On foot and not traveling at 40 mph, we saw how beautiful the town was. A tight cluster of whitewashed buildings knit together with narrow ,cobblestoned roads, all coalescing at a rock-walled church in the town center. Vicente snapped some shots of the team finding the CP just as the sun was going down over the ocean. It was a very peaceful and pleasurable moment, which the whole team knew would disappear soon as we entered the long night ahead.
Saying goodbye to Vicente, our next immediate task was a steep, rocky trail that led south, up out of the town. It was a pretty trail, but definitely unbikeable. Progress was slow but the views over the ocean were decent compensation. We ran into a team sleeping at the top of the hill and continued past them, making our way along a series of paved and hard-pack gravel roads on the top of the escarpment.
In preparation for the race, we had all read Nathan Fa’avae’s report from Seagate’s experience in the 2015 version of Raid Gallaecia. He had discussed the bike sections at length – in particular, how there was no one obvious route, but rather a seemingly endless series of micro-route choices on the network of small roads and trails criss-crossing Galicia. Racing neck-and-neck against Haglofs Silva, Fa’avae said the two teams would take different routes and then meet up around the next bend, or at an intersection an hour down the road. Fa’avae’s conclusion was that as long as you steered generally in the right direction, the micro-nav decisions seemed to even out in race time.
With this in mind, Rick conscientiously attempted (and largely succeeded, for many hours at least) to keep us mounted and moving, making decisions on the fly and rarely stopping to inspect the maps. As night fell in earnest, it was pretty clear Rick was in the zone. Eric and Cliff chatted for a bit and decided that Eric would take care of Rick, with the idea that, due to their familiarity and history racing with each other, Eric would be better in the role. Cliff played caboose/sweeper, keeping up a steady conversation Melody as the two of them attempted to keep up with the boys making an adrenaline-fueled push – “in their element,” as they put it.
The route took us through the occasional town, but mostly stayed on wild, idyllic gravel roads lined with pine needles and smelling sweetly of the forest at night. We were sad that it was so dark out and we couldn’t see much of the area through which we were traveling. Sporadically, we would veer off-road and face a descent or ascent on single-track trails, usually because we had to pick up a CP. We were making good progress, and we knew it. Spirits were high.
That culminated as we passed through a small town, where two guys stood outside an open door of a bar, smoking. “Cerveza?” Cliff yelled. Surprised at the sight of four American biking through their town in the middle of the night, the men started shouting questions. Cliff answered them as best he could, and a quick amicability formed. One of the men, clearly pretty inebriated, went back into the bar and emerged with a can of Estrella, the local beer. Team Chaos Machine went to town on the beer. It was gone within seconds. The same man who had brought the beer went back into the bar and grabbed another, while Cliff told the other man about the race, and about where the team was headed that night. Everyone was laughing as we pounded the second beer, which was ice cold and tasted about as good as beer will ever taste. Cliff had his mind on a third beer, but Rick reminded him that we were, indeed, not done with the race or even the stage, and so we thanked the men profusely and told them we needed to ride on.
We left the TA at 7 p.m. The first challenge, we all knew, was getting back up that relatively big mountain we had come down six hours earlier. We quickly got to the base of it and then started uphill, riding when it was possible and walking when it was not. It was still sunny out and we enjoyed the increasingly impressive views as we climbed the switchbacks. We had chosen a different road up, and on this route, the top of the mountain was mossy and beautiful – oddly reminiscent of Macchu Picchu. It was a good moment for everyone on the team.
We continued along a ridgeline, slowly gaining altitude as we followed a muddy double-track road that slowly rose above treeline and made its way past another windmill farm (they seemed to be on the top of every ridgline in the region). We made solid progress but the road seemed long and tedious. Finally, we hit a T-intersection and turned right on a newly paved road, climbing on a steeper uphill until we reached the location of the first CP on the route. It was located in a stone hut built on a promontory with an expansive view over the rocky shoreline and the Atlantic – absolutely stunning. We spent about five minutes here soaking in the view, before the high winds chilled us and needed to retreat. On our way out, we saw Issy Absolu come through, but they passed us as we took a moment to put on another layer before what we knew would be a long, screaming descent back to sea level.
We all immensely enjoyed the downhill, flying at top speed down fresh tarmac. The fun was tempered for a moment by a car that seemed to be tailgating Melody and Cliff, who were in the back of the train. It turned out to be Vicente, a race volunteer who we had crossed paths with several times in the race, seemingly always in rare moments (honestly!) when were more spread out than usual. He always told us to get closer together, and it had become a running joke within the team. Well, the joke continued, as Melody and Cliff pulled over to let the car past, and sure enough,Vicente was behind the wheel, telling us to get closer. Melody started yelling that we had only slowed down and separated because of his tailgating, and Vicente laughed and waved us on. We reached the bottom of the hill, where there was another CP waiting, along with Vicente with his camera. On foot and not traveling at 40 mph, we saw how beautiful the town was. A tight cluster of whitewashed buildings knit together with narrow ,cobblestoned roads, all coalescing at a rock-walled church in the town center. Vicente snapped some shots of the team finding the CP just as the sun was going down over the ocean. It was a very peaceful and pleasurable moment, which the whole team knew would disappear soon as we entered the long night ahead.
Saying goodbye to Vicente, our next immediate task was a steep, rocky trail that led south, up out of the town. It was a pretty trail, but definitely unbikeable. Progress was slow but the views over the ocean were decent compensation. We ran into a team sleeping at the top of the hill and continued past them, making our way along a series of paved and hard-pack gravel roads on the top of the escarpment.
In preparation for the race, we had all read Nathan Fa’avae’s report from Seagate’s experience in the 2015 version of Raid Gallaecia. He had discussed the bike sections at length – in particular, how there was no one obvious route, but rather a seemingly endless series of micro-route choices on the network of small roads and trails criss-crossing Galicia. Racing neck-and-neck against Haglofs Silva, Fa’avae said the two teams would take different routes and then meet up around the next bend, or at an intersection an hour down the road. Fa’avae’s conclusion was that as long as you steered generally in the right direction, the micro-nav decisions seemed to even out in race time.
With this in mind, Rick conscientiously attempted (and largely succeeded, for many hours at least) to keep us mounted and moving, making decisions on the fly and rarely stopping to inspect the maps. As night fell in earnest, it was pretty clear Rick was in the zone. Eric and Cliff chatted for a bit and decided that Eric would take care of Rick, with the idea that, due to their familiarity and history racing with each other, Eric would be better in the role. Cliff played caboose/sweeper, keeping up a steady conversation Melody as the two of them attempted to keep up with the boys making an adrenaline-fueled push – “in their element,” as they put it.
The route took us through the occasional town, but mostly stayed on wild, idyllic gravel roads lined with pine needles and smelling sweetly of the forest at night. We were sad that it was so dark out and we couldn’t see much of the area through which we were traveling. Sporadically, we would veer off-road and face a descent or ascent on single-track trails, usually because we had to pick up a CP. We were making good progress, and we knew it. Spirits were high.
That culminated as we passed through a small town, where two guys stood outside an open door of a bar, smoking. “Cerveza?” Cliff yelled. Surprised at the sight of four American biking through their town in the middle of the night, the men started shouting questions. Cliff answered them as best he could, and a quick amicability formed. One of the men, clearly pretty inebriated, went back into the bar and emerged with a can of Estrella, the local beer. Team Chaos Machine went to town on the beer. It was gone within seconds. The same man who had brought the beer went back into the bar and grabbed another, while Cliff told the other man about the race, and about where the team was headed that night. Everyone was laughing as we pounded the second beer, which was ice cold and tasted about as good as beer will ever taste. Cliff had his mind on a third beer, but Rick reminded him that we were, indeed, not done with the race or even the stage, and so we thanked the men profusely and told them we needed to ride on.
We continued on for another stretch, stopping at one stream crossing to refill water. After a period of at least an hour, we rode over a dam, with a lake on one side – a place we knew would have been really pretty in daylight. On one side of the dam, there was an open-sided shelter that looked like it would be a nice place to take a nap. Not more than a minute later, the rain started, first as a mist, and then quickly building up steam into a full-fledged downpour. We chatted about returning to the shelter on the dam as stopped to get our rain jackets on, but we decided to push on. The rain continued as turned off a road and were forced to walk up a rocky trail to ridgeline and more windmills. By this point, we were soaked, but Rick was still good on the nav, and so we decided the best way to stay warm was to keep moving. The trail, which Rick described as a shortcut, led steeply down a thick and thorny path, and when we finally got to the bottom of it, we turned right on what looked like a road on the map, but which was totally overgrown and nearly impassible in reality. Whatever parts of us were not wet before this got soaked now as all the vegetation we brushed through transferred its wetness onto us.
We backtracked off the “road” and found another way down, which was a little longer but eventually got us into the outskirts of what looked on the map like a bigger town/city. As we cruised into town, we were desperately looking for any kind of covered area to get out of the storm, but we were realistic about our chances, given that it was now at least 2 a.m. We reached a major intersection in the town, and our hopes raised as we saw a man standing outside of a running car. Cliff asked him if he knew of any places we could take shelter. He said he didn’t. Then Cliff realized, this is pretty bizarre. Who is this guy, just waiting out in the rain in the middle of the night? He asked, and the man turned out to be a local adventure race fan, out to observe some of the action. The team took shelter in a covered bus stop nearby to have a snack and weigh our options. The situation grew awkward as we began staring longingly at the man’s running car. Surreptitiously, the man walked over to the driver’s side, slipped into the car and drove away.
Looking ahead at our route, we saw that the next five-plus miles all led through the city, with the next CP out a causeway to a lighthouse. We decided to head that way and check out what the town was like, with the hope of finding some shelter along the way. However, we got to the lighthouse without seeing any good options. By this point, Melody had deteriorating from her usually chatty self to a grave quiet, chattering black form on the bike. Rick was also struggling, with gastrointestinal problems, and so biking back to town from the lighthouse, the team made an executive decision to stop at a pavilion next to a house we were biking by.
It was the darkest and most trying moments of the race. Eric got Melody into her bivvy sack and had her start doing crunches. Cliff gave Rick some of his spare set of maps to use as TP. Everyone was stressed, wet and in a foul mood. And then we started laughing. The situation was just so obviously ridiculous. After a good laugh, some group calisthenics and some funny video recordings, we got back on our bikes.
We backtracked off the “road” and found another way down, which was a little longer but eventually got us into the outskirts of what looked on the map like a bigger town/city. As we cruised into town, we were desperately looking for any kind of covered area to get out of the storm, but we were realistic about our chances, given that it was now at least 2 a.m. We reached a major intersection in the town, and our hopes raised as we saw a man standing outside of a running car. Cliff asked him if he knew of any places we could take shelter. He said he didn’t. Then Cliff realized, this is pretty bizarre. Who is this guy, just waiting out in the rain in the middle of the night? He asked, and the man turned out to be a local adventure race fan, out to observe some of the action. The team took shelter in a covered bus stop nearby to have a snack and weigh our options. The situation grew awkward as we began staring longingly at the man’s running car. Surreptitiously, the man walked over to the driver’s side, slipped into the car and drove away.
Looking ahead at our route, we saw that the next five-plus miles all led through the city, with the next CP out a causeway to a lighthouse. We decided to head that way and check out what the town was like, with the hope of finding some shelter along the way. However, we got to the lighthouse without seeing any good options. By this point, Melody had deteriorating from her usually chatty self to a grave quiet, chattering black form on the bike. Rick was also struggling, with gastrointestinal problems, and so biking back to town from the lighthouse, the team made an executive decision to stop at a pavilion next to a house we were biking by.
It was the darkest and most trying moments of the race. Eric got Melody into her bivvy sack and had her start doing crunches. Cliff gave Rick some of his spare set of maps to use as TP. Everyone was stressed, wet and in a foul mood. And then we started laughing. The situation was just so obviously ridiculous. After a good laugh, some group calisthenics and some funny video recordings, we got back on our bikes.
Fortunately, the rain had petered out, and while still wet, we could now start the process of drying out. We cruised out of town and up a hill, at the top of which, we could see the ocean. Down the other side of the hill, we knew there was a checkpoint, but we struggled to find it. Rick had hit a lull and needed a micro-nap. We lay down on the side of a sandy trail and rested for 10 minutes, with Rick utilizing his uncanny ability to fall instantly asleep. Eric woke the team back up and, with Cliff navving, we rode along a sandy ridgeline, picking up the last two CPs of the stage along the way. We rode through a town and made it the final couple of miles to the TA (with a little nav help from Rick as Cliff second-guessed himself on the maps), just as day was breaking.
CONTINUED...
