Rain was forecast for today here in our little corner of Andalusia. Goody, good, I think, that should give a mud plough like me a slight advantage in the MTB half marathon mountain bike race I’d signed up for.
By the time my soigneur and I leave our village at just past 8, the sun is rising, not a cloud in the sky. The hour long drive to the start at a little village called El Borge is impossibly scenic in the morning light. It is also very hilly, of course.
We arrive in good time, park up on the dry riverbed also acting as an overflow car park. Still sunny, and about 12 degrees. Oh well, I think, at least there’s a big women’s field this time, a whopping 10 out of 200! There will be someone to play with, and half of them will be really good so there’s no pressure on me. There’s a gang of guys, mostly juniors or under-23s by the looks of them, in Astana and Kazakhstan kit. We chat to them, turns out they are the National MTB team, here for a 2 month training camp.
After the usual neutralised gallop to the start on said dry riverbed, the local riders get gridded, among them 3 women. I make sure I’m at the front of the rest of the gang, and we are off. Having said dry riverbed, it’s actually more like a dirt track, double, and slightly down of course, being an ex river.
For probably the first time ever in a bike race I don’t panic! Hurrah! Probably because I’ve decided that I’m not going to place so the pressure’s off. The track is fast, so I put the hammer down, just for fun. I pass 2 women. I might not be a match for those skinny minnies on a climb, but this bray horse here has the weight and muscle power for exactly this terrain! I satisfy myself that I should now be in top half of the 10.
Then the course leaves the riverbed, flirts briefly with tarmac, and kicks up. Hard. Like 19-20% hard. About half a mile later, one of the girls I passed earlier comes past me. Ah well, I knew that was going to happen. Course then settles to smaller ups and downs, and the first proper descent comes into the next little place called Cutar, where there’s a feed stop. Just before that, another girl comes past, so I decide not to stop when she does, just to make up time.
There’s my soigneur on the corner , always a welcome sight. Another descent, and said girl from food stop appears again, clearly a better descender than I am. I catch her up on a climb, and upon spotting her blonde plait, decide to start a conversation to distract her. She is Norwegian, and what with me having a Norwegian name, we settle to a nice few kilometres riding together and chatting about life, racing etc. I reassure her that she doesn’t have to worry about me, as I’m in Master 50 category. She says she’s just out to have a good ride. Those are always the ones you have to watch, I think to myself.
We hit another evil climb, including an over 20%er with loose rocks and gravel, and I concentrate on finding a good line. When I get to the top, she’s gone. I can see her pushing her bike. You only have to hit one little thing on that sort of surface, and that’s it, you have to get off. I don’t see her again until she comes in to the finish some time after me.
First proper big descent, and on the 2nd corner, there’s a bloke sitting looking not very well, with his bike in the ditch, missing its front end. There are 2 blokes with him so I carry on. At some point during the climb to the highest point on the course at 820 metres, another girl comes past. I’m too busy looking at the beautiful views to care, convinced the podium is gone anyway. The organiser of the MTB race I won a few weeks ago rides past, shouting, Hola, Sol. That’s nice I ride Hare and Tortoise with a couple of MAMILS, their sheer weight not a match on mine on the ups, and mine not a match on theirs on the downs, bray horse or not. One of them is wearing a hydrapak with music blaring out of it. The other one is the organiser of the Clasica del Pavo, AKA The Turkey Race, the annual pre-Christmas hill climb which I’ve ridden twice now. He says hello.
At last, the 5km to go sign, and THE BIG DESCENT back into town! I can see another girl a few hairpins back on the way up so I decide that discretion isn’t a better part of valour today. I bomb it down, also worried that The Norwegian might catch me. I even manage a few drifts around corners, much to my delight.
Back on the riverbed now for the last km, and it’s fast! I’m also completely on my own. I ride up the ramp to town guided by local police, who, like absolutely everyone involved with the race, are fantastic. I realise I have no idea where the finish is! Keep going, keep going, nope, it’s not that gantry, that’s was the start, ah, there it is, where I signed on!
Phew! High fives with the other girls, and the Kazakhs, who appear to have taken most of the top 5 spots.
Category win for me, which is nothing new, as there are never any other over 50-s in these races. But what pleases me more than the win is that I do get my overall podium spot, on the third step. Which means that for just the brief 4km at the start, along the riverbed, I was ahead of all the other girls. That’s got to be worth a beer!
Happy riding, folks
