Race 12. Le Alpe d’Huez Triathlon. 2nd August 2007
This was one race I was going to take pretty seriously. I was still not super happy with my result last year, 11th, largely a result of my own stupidity (having my brakes resting on my front wheel, see previous blog for details), and felt that this year I could hopefully match it with the top guys on the mountain. So who did I have to beat?? There was Herve Faure, Patrick Bringer, Sebastien Berlier, Nicholas Lebrun. As far as I know there are at least 3 world titles and a host of national titles between them. Faure was the big threat, last years 3rd place then went on to win the Embrun man (the hardest Ironman in the world) 2 weeks later. I was able to get my good mate Andy Gruetter 
from Switzerland into the race, so he was someone else I had to look out for, as after a few years not competing very seriously had bounced back to form by winning the Swiss national long course champs. He and Anita had joined us at the top of Alpe d’Huez in their big blue camping bus, from which within bestows the average camper a myriad of storage holes and dual function areas, transforming this simple bus into a masterpiece of Swiss craftsmanship. I don’t want to get off track from the story of the race but it’s a pretty amazing van.
The day of the race was pretty windless and cool, a little rain in the morning but nothing out of the ordinary. Raph our team manager drove us to the race site the back way from the top of Alpe d’Heuz, quite an experience with the danger of a wet, skinny, twisting road being extenuated by 1000m drops and nothing to stop the bus taking a severely vertical route but a rusty guard rail made in the early 1900s and good driving on Raphs part. There were a few nervous passengers, and I was one of them. Not because of the route we were taking, just because of the pending race. All the way to the race start we passed athlete after athlete riding to the start, all on their new flashy bikes with oiled muscley legs that looked like they belonged on racehorses. For reason that escapes me even now, a large majority of them had their race numbers already around their waists, and seeing numbers like 526 then 644, set my mind to the race start where 650 of so athletes would start together in an elbow
flying drown-athon. I remained quiet for the remainder of the trip. In transition it was pretty hectic as there were people everywhere. Andy and I were numbers 8 and 7 respectively, which was pretty cool, and nice of Cyrille Neveu (the race organizer, and Cesson team member) to put us together. Tameka was number 18 and Chris Felgate (from Zimbabwe, who had made the journey across France for the race with our team) number 20 so we were all close in the massive transition. Andy drew a lot of media attention being a Swiss star with his flashy red bike and race outfit to match. I have a flashy Giant bike but it hardly matched my fluro race suit so I dissolved away into the sea of anonymity, and enjoyed the comforts of slipping on my race suit without a camera 17mm away from my bum as I did it.
To me everyone wearing a yellow swim cap looked like a fast swimmer, which encompassed the entire field, and hastened my eagerness to get in the water and have a good warmup. I rushed to the swim start area then spent the next 5 or so minutes lingering at the waters edge like a hesitant wilder beast at a crocodile infested river crossing, terrified to get in but compelled by the masses behind to do so. For me it was not crocodiles. It was far worse. It was the cold. Just 4 days ago we had plunged into the fridged waters off the coast of North France and now here we were, about to jump into a glacier filled hydro electric dam. The choice to get in was kind of made for me as I stumbled on the slippery rock bottom and fell in all the while trying to look like I meant to do it. Very classy. The cold hit my head first then my neck and then arms, like lots of tiny people all over you wheilding small chunks of wood and repeatedly hitting the same spots. My warm up swim consisted of 12 strokes, lift the head some back stroke and breast stroke (all head up) and a mad scramble up the other side of the dam. 
I was not alone. There were a lot of grown men cowering on the slippery rocks around me. Needless to say it was the coldest swim start I had entered. As the course was a oblong shape with just two left hand buoys to negotiate I opted to start on the far right of the start line. Here as long as I didn’t run aground on the rocks I felt I possessed the most direct line to the first buoy. Chris was going to be the fastest swimmer in the race (we had checked the start list) and buggered if I could find him. I thought he would be on the right or close to that but he was nowhere to be found. It was a very broad start line and dotted along it were officials on kayaks. I was ‘fortunate’ enough to have one plonked right in front of me pushing me and my swimming friends (I figured they must have been friends as they kept holding and grabbing me) around me back, while others just out of oars reach surreptitiously floated forward. I had asked a few times if before the race gun went off he would move, and he assured me he would. I was still thinking of this as I pulled myself along the side of his craft. . . moments after the start siren was blowen!! Start pictures show countless kayaks being besieged by foggy goggled swimmers as they passed the start line. All things considered I had gotten a pretty good swim start and after a few hundred meters found myself near the front of the field. Chris had dashed off solo in the lead and I was second about 10 meters adrift. 
As I approached the first buoy I was joined by two other swimmers who slotted in just in front of me and provided me with a nice ride all the way to the swim exit. I got out of the water in third right behind Sebastian. I knew it was him as his name was printed on the rear of his wetsuit. In transition we were instructed to place or wetsuits, cap and goggles into large, numbered, plastic bags. Then tie the bag so it could be transported to the top of the Alpe without precious belongings being lost on the journey. Chris and I had a little secret tactic that we were sure would out stealth all of the swiftest guys in the transition. The night before we each carefully selected an elastic band (from my extensive collection) with the appropriate size and stretch properties, that could withstand the rigors of the swim on our wrist then slip off in a flash onto the neck of the bag, alleviating the need to manhandle a time consuming knot in the end of the wet and slippery bag. Sebastian had trumped us with an even more crafty method, just don’t put anything in the bag and run off with your bike. I had also opted to try another thing for this race, socks. Not for warmth, and only partially for comfort, I had thought it through and decided that the few seconds lost slipping two pre rolled socks on in transition would be rewarded with time saved putting running shoes on in the next changeover, and the sock itself would stop my shoes rubbing further through my feet, a weekly phenomenon in races for me. The sock decision cost me little in time and was a blessing for the run.
Out on the bike I went past Sebastian on the first rise and then Chris who was in the lead at the time, so then I was in the lead. This lasted for around 2 minutes then another guy caught me and set the new, and considerably quicker pace for the race. It was not known to me at the time but this unknown guy was part of a team. His swimmer was with us out the water an even me putting socks on in transition was not slow enough for me to gain a small advantage on the in the transition. I sometimes wonder what people do in there. Not knowing he was a team rider, in hindsight, proved to be an advantage as I treated him as a threat and marked his every move. As we entered Bourg d’Oisans we were joined by Sebastian again, which was fine by me as I had been riding strong but well within myself with the steep slopes of Alpe d’Huez looming. It had beaten me twice last year, once in the race with my brakes on and then again a few days later when I tried to time trial up it, and paid for setting a too quick pace. I was fearful of its steeper slopes, particularly the first 3km which are the most severe. For those who have watched the Tour de France as the riders swoop left off the flat roads and hit the first gradients of the climb with panash, erase those pictures from mind as you read this section. There was no lead out or attack or lift in pace. Phil liggett would not be commentating too excitedly at this section. I was so eager to remove my chain from my large chain ring I had nearly done it too early, and for the initial stages spun my legs out of control. Sebastian and team guy (for lack of a proper name) shifted down gears accordingly and we all settled in to a climb that for the best in the world would take 40ish minutes and for us closer to 50. I was amazed to feel the pace I wanted to ride at a little to quick for Berlier and within the first 300m he had slipped back some 50 meters. Not long before the first turn Herve materialized out of no where. I had been ticking along with team guy in my own little world that his presence gave me such a shock I yelled out “here we go” or “here he is”, I cant remember the exact string of words but it would have sounded pretty stupid. Herve had no intention of riding with us on he climb and made his intentions very clear surging to the lead and trying to drop us. Being less intimidated with the mountain now I was climbing it I was more than willing to respond and follow his wheel. 
The 3 of us rode the next 500m together then, in what can be only be likened to the famous ‘look’ in the tour de France where Armstrong looked in the face of Ulrich then attacked, Herve turned looked at me and then changed gears and upped the pace. I kid you not this happened at the same spot as ‘the look’ in the tour and for some reason I wanted to let Herve know. I followed his surged again then went along side him and said “that was just like the look”. He had no idea what I was talking about, but the camera guy who had been shadowing us the whole climb did and gave a knowing chuckle. Well I was now riding about as fast up the mountain as I felt I should go and Herve still had a bit to give. Out of the 3rd turn he gave the pace a nudge and I reluctantly responded again, changing gears and standing up. As I did this my chain popped and jumped off my gears making a bad noise and causing my pedaling to slip. I swore and Herve turned and asked “Ca va?” (Are you ok??) I replied as composed as could be “oui ca va”, but this was far from the truth. I didn’t know what was going on with my gears and I was at the limit of what I could ride. Through the first small town of the climb, La Garde, the race changed. It was the first of two drink stations and the drink bottles looked pretty fancy so I grabbed two. Herve and team guy took none and just after were the road reduces in severity from 10% to 7% Herve launched a big attack. Team guy went with him for a bit then slipped away and I, knowing my limits, did what I could to minimize the defecate. 
After a kilometer or so the gap was 30seconds. I was having more and more trouble with my gears and then after 8km of riding and while in second in the race my gears finally broke. Within seconds my speed dropped from race pace to a dead stop and I was compelled to dismount my bike. One of the motorbikes with me stopped and a guy asked if I was ok. I said I had a “problem mechanical” and he figured flat tire, checked it, and feeling it was inflated gestured for me to remount my bike and he could push me back up to speed. Out of pure hope I did this. He pushed hard and he pushed well but it was in vein, as the bike was still stuffed and as soon as my helper removed his assistance from my back, my speed returned to zero. Motor bike man saw the dilemma I faced but not being able to help and with and exciting race to still photograph he left me like a small child would leave the wrapping paper of a new gift. I was alone, very mad and baffled as to what to do. As if to mock me it started to rain, then rain hard and then finally hail. 
I could see the funny side of it all as I ran along the rode in my bike shoes. There was a spares motorbike and Mavic car for the race, but neither were with the leaders, smart!! Raph in the team bus had been passing me at different points but he too was nowhere to be seen. I figured I was still in the race, hell I was still in second, just doing it a little tough. After a few minutes of running along some of the others started to pass me, indicating I had, before the malfunction gained a significant advantage on all but Herve. Another motorbike stopped and asked if I had a flat, I said mechanical and they took off. I met some spectators huddling in a car at one of the 21 turns. I asked for a spare wheel, but on receiving a negative response continued trotting. A little while on Sebastian passed me and gave me a “bravo” I smiled and said “merci” all the while wishing I could get his bike. After 650m of running (I know this as we later measured it in the bus) I found my knight in shining armor. He was some poor spectator sheltering from the pelting rain, holding his bike. . . yes bike. My eyes lit up like I had found a pot of gold and I quickly told him what he was going to do. When I say told him, I mean I was desperate. I asked him for his wheel he said no so then I pleaded then grabbed the bloody thing. I swiftly got mine out and gave it to him, took his out and put it in my bike all the while he was going “no no no” and “it wont work its 9 speed” I didn’t care, I wanted to participate in the race that was transpiring on he road behind me. I told him I would meet him at the Casino supermarket at the bottom of the mountain at 8pm and took off on him wheel. I am sure he would have thought I was crazy as he was left holding an expensive top of the range carbon wheel (tyre inflated) while I rode off with his old clunker. 20 meters up the rode I discovered my next problem, through the means of a near crash, as I had started off the rode in a big gear and my front wheel hit the side of the rode and, I lacking the raw power to over come the inertia came to a dead stop. Off my bike I got again. I changed down the gears and watched the chain vanish off the cassette and into the spokes. A further 30 seconds and the removal of some superfluous finger skin realigned the chain with the only gear I could effectively use for the remainder of my ascent. Not only was my bike effectively a single speed, it also resented my attempts to stand (just to change position) and reacted by slipping gears, giving my testacies an all too close glimpse of my top tube. I would sit and grind in the one gear for the next 8km, passing who I could and lamenting on what could have been. 
The only positive was as I remounted I was caught by Andy and we rode together for a while, he setting the pace and dragging me through the field from about 12th to around 8th at the top of the mountain. A good way to finish off this story would be for me to run out transition like an animal, and have a super sonic run. If you want to believe that is what happened then stop reading now, well done your story is over. The hard reality for those non believers is this. A combination of bitter cold, altitude, inability to change position while riding and pure fatigue had turned my leg muscles into coffee table legs and I ran out of transition accordingly. . . like a small table. Fortunately this whicker leg sensation did not persist further than the confines of the transition area, and I was able to participate in the remainder of the run bending my knees and running like a human being. The course initially took us through the roads in the ski village then out onto some flatter sections of access roads. I use the term flatter very lightly as when you are running at 1800m on the top of a 3000m mountain nothing feels or in fact is flat for much longer than the distance of good stone throw. And there was no shortage of these crude measuring tools under foot. I had run past one athlete not far from the exit of transition and then closed in on another at the bottom of a long straight uphill stretch.
I figured that passing this combatant would elevate my position inside the top ten, mmm top ten sounded pretty good considering the events that had transpired on the lower sections of the mountain. Further up the route were other athletes, but as the terrain required most of my attention to maintain a upright running position as apposed to a flat on my face position (much less favorable) I was unable to properly ascertain who they were, how many there were or even if they were able to be caught. At one of the two U-turn sections of the run I was finally able to gage the exact position I was in. 
The first three Faure, Lebrun and Berlier were out of reach for me and I was sitting in 7th about 300 meters adrift of the guy in fourth. Well I battled with what legs I had left and by the end of the 7km run had changed my position to fifth, about 10 seconds behind the guy in 4th. This guy, who I did not recognize ended up being team guy (transformed into runner form), and thus did not contribute to the overall result, meaning I ended up 4th overall. The first 3 received those big cheques you see in movies or game shows, so I was a little melancholy I had missed one of those.
Just to answer some other questions. . . Andy ended up 9th, Chris ended up 22nd, and Tameka ended up 1st for the girls and 24th overall, pretty amazing! As for my friend with the wheel. Yes he did arrive, spot on time at the supermarket, with my wheel in hand. What a guy.
I think he was from Germany on holiday and seemed so much more happy to have helped me once our wheels were re-exchanged, than at our initial encounter. He asked how I went then showered me with Bravos and whacks on the back upon the answer. I know this has been a very long and arduous story for those who are still conscious and reading, but I felt it had to be explained in full detain to fully grasp the events of the day.
Result from race 12: 4th but no big cheque
from Switzerland into the race, so he was someone else I had to look out for, as after a few years not competing very seriously had bounced back to form by winning the Swiss national long course champs. He and Anita had joined us at the top of Alpe d’Huez in their big blue camping bus, from which within bestows the average camper a myriad of storage holes and dual function areas, transforming this simple bus into a masterpiece of Swiss craftsmanship. I don’t want to get off track from the story of the race but it’s a pretty amazing van.
The day of the race was pretty windless and cool, a little rain in the morning but nothing out of the ordinary. Raph our team manager drove us to the race site the back way from the top of Alpe d’Heuz, quite an experience with the danger of a wet, skinny, twisting road being extenuated by 1000m drops and nothing to stop the bus taking a severely vertical route but a rusty guard rail made in the early 1900s and good driving on Raphs part. There were a few nervous passengers, and I was one of them. Not because of the route we were taking, just because of the pending race. All the way to the race start we passed athlete after athlete riding to the start, all on their new flashy bikes with oiled muscley legs that looked like they belonged on racehorses. For reason that escapes me even now, a large majority of them had their race numbers already around their waists, and seeing numbers like 526 then 644, set my mind to the race start where 650 of so athletes would start together in an elbow
flying drown-athon. I remained quiet for the remainder of the trip. In transition it was pretty hectic as there were people everywhere. Andy and I were numbers 8 and 7 respectively, which was pretty cool, and nice of Cyrille Neveu (the race organizer, and Cesson team member) to put us together. Tameka was number 18 and Chris Felgate (from Zimbabwe, who had made the journey across France for the race with our team) number 20 so we were all close in the massive transition. Andy drew a lot of media attention being a Swiss star with his flashy red bike and race outfit to match. I have a flashy Giant bike but it hardly matched my fluro race suit so I dissolved away into the sea of anonymity, and enjoyed the comforts of slipping on my race suit without a camera 17mm away from my bum as I did it.
To me everyone wearing a yellow swim cap looked like a fast swimmer, which encompassed the entire field, and hastened my eagerness to get in the water and have a good warmup. I rushed to the swim start area then spent the next 5 or so minutes lingering at the waters edge like a hesitant wilder beast at a crocodile infested river crossing, terrified to get in but compelled by the masses behind to do so. For me it was not crocodiles. It was far worse. It was the cold. Just 4 days ago we had plunged into the fridged waters off the coast of North France and now here we were, about to jump into a glacier filled hydro electric dam. The choice to get in was kind of made for me as I stumbled on the slippery rock bottom and fell in all the while trying to look like I meant to do it. Very classy. The cold hit my head first then my neck and then arms, like lots of tiny people all over you wheilding small chunks of wood and repeatedly hitting the same spots. My warm up swim consisted of 12 strokes, lift the head some back stroke and breast stroke (all head up) and a mad scramble up the other side of the dam. 
I was not alone. There were a lot of grown men cowering on the slippery rocks around me. Needless to say it was the coldest swim start I had entered. As the course was a oblong shape with just two left hand buoys to negotiate I opted to start on the far right of the start line. Here as long as I didn’t run aground on the rocks I felt I possessed the most direct line to the first buoy. Chris was going to be the fastest swimmer in the race (we had checked the start list) and buggered if I could find him. I thought he would be on the right or close to that but he was nowhere to be found. It was a very broad start line and dotted along it were officials on kayaks. I was ‘fortunate’ enough to have one plonked right in front of me pushing me and my swimming friends (I figured they must have been friends as they kept holding and grabbing me) around me back, while others just out of oars reach surreptitiously floated forward. I had asked a few times if before the race gun went off he would move, and he assured me he would. I was still thinking of this as I pulled myself along the side of his craft. . . moments after the start siren was blowen!! Start pictures show countless kayaks being besieged by foggy goggled swimmers as they passed the start line. All things considered I had gotten a pretty good swim start and after a few hundred meters found myself near the front of the field. Chris had dashed off solo in the lead and I was second about 10 meters adrift. 
As I approached the first buoy I was joined by two other swimmers who slotted in just in front of me and provided me with a nice ride all the way to the swim exit. I got out of the water in third right behind Sebastian. I knew it was him as his name was printed on the rear of his wetsuit. In transition we were instructed to place or wetsuits, cap and goggles into large, numbered, plastic bags. Then tie the bag so it could be transported to the top of the Alpe without precious belongings being lost on the journey. Chris and I had a little secret tactic that we were sure would out stealth all of the swiftest guys in the transition. The night before we each carefully selected an elastic band (from my extensive collection) with the appropriate size and stretch properties, that could withstand the rigors of the swim on our wrist then slip off in a flash onto the neck of the bag, alleviating the need to manhandle a time consuming knot in the end of the wet and slippery bag. Sebastian had trumped us with an even more crafty method, just don’t put anything in the bag and run off with your bike. I had also opted to try another thing for this race, socks. Not for warmth, and only partially for comfort, I had thought it through and decided that the few seconds lost slipping two pre rolled socks on in transition would be rewarded with time saved putting running shoes on in the next changeover, and the sock itself would stop my shoes rubbing further through my feet, a weekly phenomenon in races for me. The sock decision cost me little in time and was a blessing for the run.
Out on the bike I went past Sebastian on the first rise and then Chris who was in the lead at the time, so then I was in the lead. This lasted for around 2 minutes then another guy caught me and set the new, and considerably quicker pace for the race. It was not known to me at the time but this unknown guy was part of a team. His swimmer was with us out the water an even me putting socks on in transition was not slow enough for me to gain a small advantage on the in the transition. I sometimes wonder what people do in there. Not knowing he was a team rider, in hindsight, proved to be an advantage as I treated him as a threat and marked his every move. As we entered Bourg d’Oisans we were joined by Sebastian again, which was fine by me as I had been riding strong but well within myself with the steep slopes of Alpe d’Huez looming. It had beaten me twice last year, once in the race with my brakes on and then again a few days later when I tried to time trial up it, and paid for setting a too quick pace. I was fearful of its steeper slopes, particularly the first 3km which are the most severe. For those who have watched the Tour de France as the riders swoop left off the flat roads and hit the first gradients of the climb with panash, erase those pictures from mind as you read this section. There was no lead out or attack or lift in pace. Phil liggett would not be commentating too excitedly at this section. I was so eager to remove my chain from my large chain ring I had nearly done it too early, and for the initial stages spun my legs out of control. Sebastian and team guy (for lack of a proper name) shifted down gears accordingly and we all settled in to a climb that for the best in the world would take 40ish minutes and for us closer to 50. I was amazed to feel the pace I wanted to ride at a little to quick for Berlier and within the first 300m he had slipped back some 50 meters. Not long before the first turn Herve materialized out of no where. I had been ticking along with team guy in my own little world that his presence gave me such a shock I yelled out “here we go” or “here he is”, I cant remember the exact string of words but it would have sounded pretty stupid. Herve had no intention of riding with us on he climb and made his intentions very clear surging to the lead and trying to drop us. Being less intimidated with the mountain now I was climbing it I was more than willing to respond and follow his wheel. 
The 3 of us rode the next 500m together then, in what can be only be likened to the famous ‘look’ in the tour de France where Armstrong looked in the face of Ulrich then attacked, Herve turned looked at me and then changed gears and upped the pace. I kid you not this happened at the same spot as ‘the look’ in the tour and for some reason I wanted to let Herve know. I followed his surged again then went along side him and said “that was just like the look”. He had no idea what I was talking about, but the camera guy who had been shadowing us the whole climb did and gave a knowing chuckle. Well I was now riding about as fast up the mountain as I felt I should go and Herve still had a bit to give. Out of the 3rd turn he gave the pace a nudge and I reluctantly responded again, changing gears and standing up. As I did this my chain popped and jumped off my gears making a bad noise and causing my pedaling to slip. I swore and Herve turned and asked “Ca va?” (Are you ok??) I replied as composed as could be “oui ca va”, but this was far from the truth. I didn’t know what was going on with my gears and I was at the limit of what I could ride. Through the first small town of the climb, La Garde, the race changed. It was the first of two drink stations and the drink bottles looked pretty fancy so I grabbed two. Herve and team guy took none and just after were the road reduces in severity from 10% to 7% Herve launched a big attack. Team guy went with him for a bit then slipped away and I, knowing my limits, did what I could to minimize the defecate. 
After a kilometer or so the gap was 30seconds. I was having more and more trouble with my gears and then after 8km of riding and while in second in the race my gears finally broke. Within seconds my speed dropped from race pace to a dead stop and I was compelled to dismount my bike. One of the motorbikes with me stopped and a guy asked if I was ok. I said I had a “problem mechanical” and he figured flat tire, checked it, and feeling it was inflated gestured for me to remount my bike and he could push me back up to speed. Out of pure hope I did this. He pushed hard and he pushed well but it was in vein, as the bike was still stuffed and as soon as my helper removed his assistance from my back, my speed returned to zero. Motor bike man saw the dilemma I faced but not being able to help and with and exciting race to still photograph he left me like a small child would leave the wrapping paper of a new gift. I was alone, very mad and baffled as to what to do. As if to mock me it started to rain, then rain hard and then finally hail. 
I could see the funny side of it all as I ran along the rode in my bike shoes. There was a spares motorbike and Mavic car for the race, but neither were with the leaders, smart!! Raph in the team bus had been passing me at different points but he too was nowhere to be seen. I figured I was still in the race, hell I was still in second, just doing it a little tough. After a few minutes of running along some of the others started to pass me, indicating I had, before the malfunction gained a significant advantage on all but Herve. Another motorbike stopped and asked if I had a flat, I said mechanical and they took off. I met some spectators huddling in a car at one of the 21 turns. I asked for a spare wheel, but on receiving a negative response continued trotting. A little while on Sebastian passed me and gave me a “bravo” I smiled and said “merci” all the while wishing I could get his bike. After 650m of running (I know this as we later measured it in the bus) I found my knight in shining armor. He was some poor spectator sheltering from the pelting rain, holding his bike. . . yes bike. My eyes lit up like I had found a pot of gold and I quickly told him what he was going to do. When I say told him, I mean I was desperate. I asked him for his wheel he said no so then I pleaded then grabbed the bloody thing. I swiftly got mine out and gave it to him, took his out and put it in my bike all the while he was going “no no no” and “it wont work its 9 speed” I didn’t care, I wanted to participate in the race that was transpiring on he road behind me. I told him I would meet him at the Casino supermarket at the bottom of the mountain at 8pm and took off on him wheel. I am sure he would have thought I was crazy as he was left holding an expensive top of the range carbon wheel (tyre inflated) while I rode off with his old clunker. 20 meters up the rode I discovered my next problem, through the means of a near crash, as I had started off the rode in a big gear and my front wheel hit the side of the rode and, I lacking the raw power to over come the inertia came to a dead stop. Off my bike I got again. I changed down the gears and watched the chain vanish off the cassette and into the spokes. A further 30 seconds and the removal of some superfluous finger skin realigned the chain with the only gear I could effectively use for the remainder of my ascent. Not only was my bike effectively a single speed, it also resented my attempts to stand (just to change position) and reacted by slipping gears, giving my testacies an all too close glimpse of my top tube. I would sit and grind in the one gear for the next 8km, passing who I could and lamenting on what could have been. 
The only positive was as I remounted I was caught by Andy and we rode together for a while, he setting the pace and dragging me through the field from about 12th to around 8th at the top of the mountain. A good way to finish off this story would be for me to run out transition like an animal, and have a super sonic run. If you want to believe that is what happened then stop reading now, well done your story is over. The hard reality for those non believers is this. A combination of bitter cold, altitude, inability to change position while riding and pure fatigue had turned my leg muscles into coffee table legs and I ran out of transition accordingly. . . like a small table. Fortunately this whicker leg sensation did not persist further than the confines of the transition area, and I was able to participate in the remainder of the run bending my knees and running like a human being. The course initially took us through the roads in the ski village then out onto some flatter sections of access roads. I use the term flatter very lightly as when you are running at 1800m on the top of a 3000m mountain nothing feels or in fact is flat for much longer than the distance of good stone throw. And there was no shortage of these crude measuring tools under foot. I had run past one athlete not far from the exit of transition and then closed in on another at the bottom of a long straight uphill stretch.
I figured that passing this combatant would elevate my position inside the top ten, mmm top ten sounded pretty good considering the events that had transpired on the lower sections of the mountain. Further up the route were other athletes, but as the terrain required most of my attention to maintain a upright running position as apposed to a flat on my face position (much less favorable) I was unable to properly ascertain who they were, how many there were or even if they were able to be caught. At one of the two U-turn sections of the run I was finally able to gage the exact position I was in. 
The first three Faure, Lebrun and Berlier were out of reach for me and I was sitting in 7th about 300 meters adrift of the guy in fourth. Well I battled with what legs I had left and by the end of the 7km run had changed my position to fifth, about 10 seconds behind the guy in 4th. This guy, who I did not recognize ended up being team guy (transformed into runner form), and thus did not contribute to the overall result, meaning I ended up 4th overall. The first 3 received those big cheques you see in movies or game shows, so I was a little melancholy I had missed one of those.
Just to answer some other questions. . . Andy ended up 9th, Chris ended up 22nd, and Tameka ended up 1st for the girls and 24th overall, pretty amazing! As for my friend with the wheel. Yes he did arrive, spot on time at the supermarket, with my wheel in hand. What a guy.
I think he was from Germany on holiday and seemed so much more happy to have helped me once our wheels were re-exchanged, than at our initial encounter. He asked how I went then showered me with Bravos and whacks on the back upon the answer. I know this has been a very long and arduous story for those who are still conscious and reading, but I felt it had to be explained in full detain to fully grasp the events of the day.
Result from race 12: 4th but no big cheque
posted by Kristian at 2:36 PM
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