FROM THE RACING DIARY OF A BIKEPACKER LUBOŠ SEIDL: IBERICA TRAVERSA #4
10. 07. 2019
Day 6 Thursday 18thApril 2019
Uňa – CuevasLabradas 141 km / 3.025 m superelevation, time on the road 14:00
We woke up in the morning and we didn't want to go out much. However, we had agreed to unlock the "bike room" at 6 o'clock, so we had to go. We had not finished packing yet, so we just ran out to pull the bikes out and then packed up quickly in the room. When we got back from the room to the bikes, the rain had already started. It's just a light drizzle, but we pulled out our rain clothing. I put on my Hurricane jacket. I had not been so unlucky as to test it in the rain so far, but its reputation had convinced me that it was the right choice to take it with me.
Just behind the village we turned off the road to some goat trail and pushed our bikes up a steep hill somewhere under a rock wall that rose somewhere above us in the dark. Then we traversed for a while at the foot of the rock and suddenly we were off the track. We stared into our GPS in disbelief for a while, as the track seemed to run through that VERTICAL rock and continued somewhere above it. I looked around, it was still dim, but in the end, I saw a narrow mouth of a ravine through which I went further. That was something. At times, the handlebars did not fit, so I had to push the bike on the rear wheel. At other times, I had to stand the bike on the back wheel, lean it against a rock, climb a 2-meter boulder and pull the bike by the front wheel. Fortunately, it was not raining, just drizzling in this sector, but still, the hopping on the wet rock in cycling shoes was quite an adrenalin. After about 300 m of this rocky puzzle and 50 meters higher, we reached the forest road, which was still climbing up fairly, but at least you could ride or walk comfortably. I needed to adjust my loose bag, so Nicola left.
Then followed a section where we were still mostly climbing, but we could usually ride normally. After some 20 km, we plunged into a brutal downhill ride, in fact, there was no road there, it was just a slope falling sharply into the valley, to the bottom of some still dry river. The route then continued through the valley, but there were freshly fallen trees everywhere. So, I had to throw my bike over one tree after another. I didn't think much about it. My psyche had been in superman mode for a few days. I simply didn't care what obstacles are in front of me, I just overcame them and moved on. The obstacles are here for us to overcome them. There is no way bothering with them, it's just a waste of time. When I had overcome the fiftieth tree, I caught up with Nicola, who was undergoing a mental crisis. I tried to calm him down, saying it was not Andy's fault, as the fallen trees were completely fresh, so he couldn't have known. And that he's fine, his only current opponent was next to him, and the others hadn't reached CP5 yet, and then they would have to deal with the crazy rock. All we had to do was to get out of there before it started to rain, and, God forbid, the creek that we sometimes crossed filled with water.
We went on and then we just laughed at the absurdity of the situation we were in. We wonder if our progress could be considered drafting. Sometimes we did not know how to carry the bike, where to bypass the trees. Sometimes we had to creep under the wall of the trunks and pull the bike behind us on the ground. After about 4-5 hours we got to a glade from which two paths led through the valley over the through trees and one directly up the slope to the top of the hill. It was the steepest option that, although we had to climb the crazy slope, finally freed us from the windbreak trap. I looked at the computer and found out I had ridden less than thirty kilometres in six hours. I was glad I had gone swimming regularly during the training so my hands did not give up after endless lifting and pulling of the bike.
There was only light rain and the route lead along gravel-sand forest tracks which offered comfortable ride even in wet conditions. In some village we asked about the possibility of buying something to eat and the locals sent us to some side alley where there was something like a bar or rather a buffet. The selection was very limited. We had a baked baguette with ham and cheese, having at least something to satisfy our stomachs. I set off a little earlier, because Nicola was still replacing the batteries in his GPS, but we both knew we had not seen each other for the last time.
A heavy downpour started but I was doing great. The jacket kept me in good thermal comfort and the track was reasonably "rideable" and going up and down, so I did not freeze to the bone when going downhill and I got warm again when going up the next hill. The bike was going great despite all the discomfort, and I found out how much I was enjoying myself and tried to go as fast as I could.
Unfortunately, there was no chance to enjoy any views, because there were simply none. I also missed the glasses that I had lost, they would have come in handy. My phone was turned off and packed in two bags somewhere under three layers of clothing. After about 80 km, I rode into Aragon, the mountains ended there was an 80-km journey through a valley outside the civilization in front of me. I told myself that I should get over this valley to be able to have something to eat and replenish supplies in the evening. The road through the valley first runs down the hill and along quick gravel roads, where I got perfectly frozen to the bone. Then I crossed the bridge over the river to the other side of the valley and continued wading through muddy singles on a steep slope. My progress slowed down dramatically and I did not see passing through the whole valley as possible on that day. Suddenly, as if by a miracle, a cottage settlement appeared and I could read the sign BAR on one of the cottages. I went inside and besides the attendant there was one customer at the counter who eagerly helped me with the translation. There was a fire flickering in the fireplace at the first table so I hung my wet clothes and asked for some food. Although the waiter was not one of the fastest and the man was trying to joke but I was really frozen and moreover I could not understand his Spanish, so I did not care. The important thing was that I got warmer and dried my clothes. It took some time, but the meal was great and I knew that I would be able to make it until the morning even if I had to bivouac somewhere in the wild.
Behind the settlement, the trail ran along the road for a while and then turned into another valley. This time I was going upstream, but at least I rode along the "rideable" gravel roads, which I really appreciated in the downpour. I could see traces of some bike that had passed there before me, but they didn't look very fresh. I could not tell whether it had been Nicola or some local. I went on and felt that I had had enough. There were still some 30 km to go until the end of the valley when I saw a signpost bearing the words Cuevas de Aragon (Aragon Caves). Hmm, a cave... It could be a good bivouac!? Who knows where I would hide when I left the valley? I thought about it for a while, but in the end, I said to myself: "OK, find a cave and go to sleep dry, you’ll have one more set of reserve clothes for cold weather in the morning, so it will be better than now. I left the gravel road and passed the village of Cuevas Labradas, whose name suggests that there are really caves around the village. Although it was only 8 pm, my body was screaming for regeneration. Less than a kilometre away, I found an amazing cave that could house a van. I put on my down jacket, levelled the base for the mat and climbed into my sleeping bag. It was the first time I had finished so early. The day was hard, though. I rode only 141 km but it was the hardest part of the whole Iberica.
I turned on my cell phone in my sleeping bag and, surprisingly, there was a signal. I could see Nicola had made it out of the valley and was some 20 km ahead of me in the town of Molina de Aragon. I expected him to set off at 6 AM. I, therefore, set my alarm clock to wake me up at 4 AM to catch up with him in Molina at 6 AM. I finished my bread, put a family of gummy bears for the morning within my grasp, and enjoyed the warmth of the sleeping bag. Even though it's still pouring down outside, I was fine.
Day 7 Friday 19th April 2019
Cuevas Labradas – Borja 219 km / 3.644 m superelevation, time on the road 17:18
The alarm clock rang at 4 AM and I was amazed at how great my body had relaxed after six hours of sleep. However, the morning packing was very slow. The most difficult part was to put on the shoes soaked with water. I put my cross-country skiing winter pants over my cycling shorts and I also added strips cut out from the rescue thermal insulation foil as the very bottom layer on the front of my legs from the thighs to the ankles. I also wrapped my socks in foil to keep my feet warm. I added one more layer to the torso. The Hurricane rain jacket went back into action again, as it had worked perfectly the day before.
When I set off, the trail went along the tarmac road and rose very moderately. Just enough to prevent me from getting cold and to warm up to the operating temperature. My legs were relaxed and my poor leather Brooks saddle had stretched incredibly, but it was surprisingly still comfortable. Only then did I realize that I actually had not had to deal with my sitting parts at all. I always just greased them in the morning and slept without underwear at night to keep everything ventilated. I promised myself that I would be more careful about them today and I would grease them more often. I managed those twenty kilometres into Molina in just a bit over an hour. I passed through the town and stopped at a cash dispenser. I heard some noise right next to me and I saw a group of people standing in the street in front of a bar. I stopped there and the smell of burnt cannabis struck me in my nose. One of the staggering characters gave me a high five greeting. I clapped my hand with his, pointed at the bike and then at my eyes and said in Czech: “Guard!” The gesture was probably so convincing that he immediately accepted the task and guarded my bike like a dog. In the meantime, I walked into the bar, took off my helmet and two jackets and looked around for something to eat. The selection was quite varied, everything was displayed in a glass case, so I had a proper breakfast and coffee, refilled the bidons and added some sticks to eat on the way and a can of Coke in my backpack. Most of the guests were captivated by my look, so they moved smoothly inside and my guard dog reported that my headlight was still on. He was afraid to touch my bike himself, so I rushed outside to switch the light off. There was a lively debate inside about who I was and where I was going from. Sometimes someone squeezed out a sentence in English, sometimes someone fell to the ground… When they learned that I had been on the way for the seventh day in a row and I had set off from Tariffa, I became a protégé of the local leader who went to Tariffa once a week, so he SORT OF REALLY KNEW FAR IT WAS. And they wondered how I liked Molina etc… "Well I don't know guys! It emerged from the darkness, and all I saw of it were you…" I thought to myself. However, when they found out that I was racing and that I was just slightly second (Nicola had left about half an hour before my arrival), they started cheering me up and asking what I still needed to be able to go right away and said that they would pay everything for me. The bartender double checked who was going to pay my spending (the leader insisted on paying for me), then smiled at me and said OK. The whole group spilled out in the street with me. I just praised the guard dog for looking after my bike and raced on. In the meantime, the dawn had come, and I saw that I had not been lying when I had told them Molina de Aragon was a beautiful city.
rode on a tarmac road for about ten kilometres and thanked myself for deciding to bivouac in the cave because I hadn't seen any shelter where I could hide from the rain since the morning. Perhaps except for the ATM area, but I would probably have been bothered by drunks from the bar and I wouldn't have slept as calmly as in that cave. The rain became more intensive and my ride turned into a struggle against the elements rather than joyful wandering. I don't remember much of the next route. I just know that at times I said to myself that it was a pity that the weather was like that because the place would have been beautiful in nice weather. After some 60 kilometres on the day, the road stopped going up and down and continued rather downhill. Moreover, it turned down into a valley of a local river, which we had to cross at the beginning. The water was rolling over the bridge that had used to be there and I had to wade. Fortunately, the current did not seem very strong, so I cordially rode into the water and passed with the water reaching about 15 cm above the hub of my 29” bike. The wheel was thoroughly washed, the chain and the cassette shone like new, and I rather did not think about what had happened to the hub and centre bearings. I greased the chain and went on. The route followed the stream and the water reached to the edge of the grassy path that I was riding on. I just prayed that the road did not go down and making me go into the water again.
My hands were even worse off. They were frozen to the bone and I started losing the touch in the fingers. The thumb of my right hand was so weak that it could no longer press the gear shifter. I found inspiration in the method of my friend Jirka Zdrálek, whose right hand ends somewhere above the wrist and he uses it to shift his gear and he can ride for miles with his handicap. So, when shifting I clenched my hand in a fist and then pushed into the lever. The good thing was, however, that the index fingers on both hands were still in working order and I could safely control the braking intensity of both brakes. I started to get hungry. My water consumption in the rain was almost zero, so I had to force myself to drink.
In some village, I passed a bar with a party-tent in the backyard where I hid my bike (to prevent it from getting wet accidentally) and went inside. Instead of being sent away, there was admiration (or compassion) that someone was cycling at that time, and the collective effort to understand me became a matter of honour for the whole community. They didn't make meals but when they learned where I was going from and where to, the bartender called his parents to bring me something to eat from their house. They just asked me not to sit on the chair. I gladly fulfilled their wish and I packed up my belly with the goodies they had brought to me standing at the bar I thanked them, said goodbye to everyone, picked up my backpack and apologized for the puddle of mud that I had left behind. The route continued with a slight ascent and the intensity of the rain decreased a bit, which was reflected in the fact that I could slowly feel my hands and the cold was not so unbearable (it was just cold).
On some 115 km was the city of Ateca, where I made a minor navigation mistake and missed a turn. Before I could turn back, Nicola with a bike emerged from somewhere. He said that he had been shopping at the store and then eating on the street and when some lady had seen him, she had invited him home for warm tea (or maybe coffee!? He is an Italian after all…) He advised me, where to find the shop. I rushed there to replenish my slowly dwindling supplies while Nicola was waiting for me at the bike. He said that there was a motel with a 24-hour reception where a double room could be purchased taken some 100 km away and asked me if I would go there with him. Well after the day before, I had no idea how far I was able to ride, and what horrors were awaiting us on the route, so I said that if we got there, I would join him for sure…
Since then the rain gradually ceased and we kept going somehow together. Nicola was joking about my thermo-foil, saying that my legs rustled like bags of chips. I said I had felt like I saw Andy's car somewhere in the rain in the morning. So, it may happen that he would be waiting for us somewhere on that day. The rain finally stopped and the clouds lifted. We could finally see the views of the landscape, just as we were approaching some dessert (after the rain) with rising bizarre rock formations among which a wonderful single-track wound. It was a beautiful place and we enjoyed it, took pictures, made short videos and enjoyed the movement along the route again.
A little further, when going downhill, we drove into some mud, which completely clogged our wheels. Moreover, it solidified like some cement mixture. We pull the bikes out of the track and tried to peel the mud with sticks, but even then, another layer of mud or stones clogged to the wheels when we tried to move further. There was no other possibility than putting our bikes on our shoulders and carrying them away. Where there was grass, we could at least put our bikes on the ground and push them, but this worked from time to time only. This repeated for about two kilometres. Nicola and I got separated on the way. When I got down to the valley on the tarmac road, I peeled the mud off my bike and my shoes again, lubricated the chain, and I was glad I was out of it. It was too early. The situation repeated itself four more times. I had to solve it by cutting off the mudguard in the front fork, which enlarged the space for the passage of the front wheel. Meanwhile, I learned to read the Spanish mud and avoided many other similar traps.
According to the profile, it looked like the last hill of the day awaited us at about 190th km and then there was about 30 km of smooth descent by some 500 elevation meters to the village, where we booked the beds. We quickly raced up the hill and then rode down the hill on a perfect tarmac road, happy that we would be in the room and finally relax in an hour. But after five kilometres we left the road and ran into the terrain, so instead of smooth descent, we had to go up and down the hill. This slowed down our progress and it cost us a lot of strength, as we had already ridden quite a few kilometres on that day. It got dark and we could see the lights of Zaragoza shining in the distance. We'd had enough, so pulled out my can of Coke, as a remedy for megrim. We went up and down for a few more times and suddenly the lights of our destination for the day appeared below us.
All of a sudden, we fell into a muddy trap on a field track from which there was no escape. There was a field with the same mud on both sides, so we peeled the mud off our bikes, carried them, tried to push the bikes, which would reliably glue the wheels, and repeated the process. This lasted about 3 km. Then the road was rocky and we could ride on. We descended into the valley going through puddles to rinse the tires a little. The metallic sound of the rear brake made it quite clear that the brake pads were done for and that I would have a program for the next morning before the departure.
We arrived at the village and were stopped by someone waving a flashlight. It was Andy, who took photos and made a video of us. He, too, needed to have a talk because, like us, he was still somewhere on the route, trying to catch individual competitors and document the course of the race. We chatted with him for a while and then went to the motel where we had dinner and had a look at the tracking. The guys behind us were probably still in the rain, because Alex, who was closest, had just arrived in Molina de Aragon and was lagging about 200 km behind us. That gave us a chance to enjoy a bit of comfort so we arranged the wake-up call as late as 7 AM ☺.
Photo: Luboš Seidl, Nicola Canzian, Andy Buchs – Iberica Traversa
