I’m currently at an altitude of 1700m, the peak is at around 2100, and I’m riding at a VAM of 800m. I assume that means I’m half an hour from the top? Right? I’m not sure. I don’t really use VAM enough to know for sure.
Let’s try distance: I’ve got around 5km to go until the next checkpoint, which I know is at the top of this mountain, and I’m riding at roughly 10km/h. Cool, that checks out, there’s half an hour to go. Oh hell, I’m riding at 160 watts again. I know I can hold 200. “Come on Josh, pay attention,” I mutter aloud.
I’m in Switzerland, riding 275km from Zurich to Zermatt as part of the Chasing Cancellara ultra fondo. I’ve been on the Grimselpass, the biggest mountain on the route, for almost 90 minutes now and I’ve needed a wee for about 85 of those. I’ve passed a Ferrari that had earlier been crashed into a wall, I’m in a race with a group of three that don’t know they’re racing, and I’m repeatedly running sums through my mind in order to work out how much more of this climb I have to go.
Two months ago, I climbed Mount Snowdon with my fiancée, on foot, and exclaimed to her grave amusement that I “f*cking hate mountains”. It was a semi-serious joke borne of my disdain for walking as much as anything, but at this moment, the thought returned.
“If I could, I’d phone her and tell her again,” I muttered aloud. “I might even tell her I prefer it on foot.”
Rewind nine hours to 00:30am. My alarm sounds. Despite having climbed into bed at 8pm, I had laid there for at least two hours before finally nodding off. It feels like I’ve done little more than blink.
The reality of the challenge ahead begins to sink in. It finally feels real and a palpable flood of anxiety washes over me. I’m about to embark on my biggest ride ever, and I’ve had fewer than two hours of sleep.
I kick myself into gear and start eating breakfast. Autopilot takes over, and before I know it, I’m fed, my teeth are brushed, and my kit is on, but just as I’m about to leave, a thought enters my mind: “What if I die?” Morbid, I know, but I’m alone in a foreign country and I’ll be descending mountains having ridden over 100 miles on two hours of sleep. Mistakes could happen. “I’ll take some ID with me, just in case”.
With my driving license in tow, I head out from the hotel to the start line a block away, guided by the booming voice of the announcer and the light pollution from hundreds of high-powered front bike lights.
I…
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