Photo: A race number on my jersey. What’s that doing there?

“I don’t know what I’m doing here

‘Cause it’s not my scene at all”

‘A’ bomb on Wardour Street, The Jam, 1978

I’m not a racer. I’m an audaxer, very different. So what was I doing in a full on, closed road bike race?

This was a Gran Fondo. That means at least 120km and more than 2,000m of climbing. The very first Gran Fondo was on the 5th May 1971 (my 11th birthday) from Cesenatico. Today that event is called the Nove Colli and attracts 12,000 riders annually.

Perhaps the more famous Gran Fondo is the Maratona Dles Dolomites which is 138km and over 4,230m of climbing on the long course.

At 05:45 on Sunday 7th July I found myself riding to the start of the Maratona with my friend Pete from London Dynamo and Ming from Islington Cycling Club who we’d met on this trip.

I had one objective:

• To safely complete the long course ahead of the “Fine gara ciclisma” (End of Cycling Race) car, otherwise known as the Broom Wagon.

The roads re-open to the public behind this car. If you get caught by it your race is offically over. You can continue to the finish but they take your timing chip away from you so you don’t feature in the results table.

At 76km into the race the big decision. Would I get there in time to turn right to do the long course or would I miss the cut off and have to turn left for the medium course?

Pete and I were planning on riding together, at least for the first few climbs but he had a problem with his cleats. His left shoe wouldn’t stay in the pedal so he could only ride slowly to the first mechanics stand to get his cleats replaced for free by Shimano. I didn’t see him again until the finish.

Italians often talk about the raw emotion of riding amongst so many others surrounded by stunning scenery. I was very emotional on the first climb but for very different reasons. The mist obscured the views so it wasn’t that.

I could see two flags being waved up ahead. I moved over to the left and shouted “Bore da” (Good morning) as I passed. I cried. Not for Wales but for my late brother, Darren. In 2015 we had travelled to New Zealand to surprise our uncle on his 80th birthday. As he was born in the valleys we sang Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau, the Welsh National Anthem, for him. The flags just brought the memories flooding back. It didn’t help that we passed them again after the first loop. This time it was “Cymru am beth” (Wales forever). I’ve always been proud of my Welsh heritage (Welsh mother, English father). I blubbed again. Sadness and pride. Powerful companions for the climbs.

I knew that to make the long course cut off I would have to climb faster than I’ve climbed them before but not too much. I had to leave enough in the tank for the big challenge after the split. I used my audax experience, carrying enough food so I didn’t stop at any of the feed stations. The air cleared a little to take some photos but as this was a race I only had time for a few.

On the second descent Ming flew passed (he’s started in the grid behind us). I got the news that Pete had been to the mechanic but I didn’t see Ming until the finish either as he was much quicker than me.

The roads were damp so descending was much slower than we’d hoped. There were 7 big climbs on the long course. I saw an ambulance deployed on every descent. The tricky conditions catching out riders, especially in the hairpin bends. I stayed upright by taking all the bends gingerly then accelerating out of them. “Slow in, fast out” my previous motor racing training came in handy.

A big thank you to all the ICC’ers and others who slowed for a while to have a chat. I received lots of shout outs from Brits who recognised my ICC jersey. This encouragement lasted for the 55km of the first loop then it stopped. Not because the riders passing me were less friendly. It was everything to do with having to wear my rain jacket.

The heavens opened. So much so I thought it was hail. It was rain but the pounding on my helmet seemed like a thousand tiny hammers trying to get the dents out of a piece of metal. Some riders took cover. Again I used my audax experience and rode through it. The downhill bends were trecherous. Slow but vertical was my mantra. I’d hoped to get to the medium/long course split with more to spare but 45 minutes was all I had before the big climb.

Passo Giau is a monster. After a few km of downhill we turned left and boom. Straight into 9.9km of 9% average. It was relentless. This is what I was saving my legs for. About a third of the way up I received this message:

Such a shame for Pete that his mechanical put him behind. He’d have made it easily if he hadn’t had to stop for repairs.

At the medium/long decision point I’d seen the “Fine gara ciclisma” car at the roadside ready to be deployed. I felt the pressure of the closing car but I didn’t see or hear anything until 600m from the top. A white van and another with a trailer full of bikes. Surely not the broom wagon and the end of my race officially? I pushed harder to crest the summit only see the words “Staff” written on the van, not “Fine gara ….. “. Phew. I didn’t want to take any chances so I didn’t stop at the feed station at the top but rolled over into the descent. That decision cost me later. The winner of the race took 35 minutes to climb the Giau, I took 1 hour and 18 minutes but I’d made it ahead of the road re-opening so that’s all that mattered to me.

On the last big climb of the day I completely ran out of energy. I had to stop, rest for a few minutes whilst eating my last homemade flapjack (thanks Jan) and an energy gel I carried just for this eventuality. I was comfortably ahead of the evil “Fine gara” car so grinded up to the top of Valparola. I really enjoyed the final big descent towards the finish knowing that as long as I stayed upright I would achieved my objective.

However the race hadn’t finished with us yet. With less than 5 km to go we had to climb the Mür dl Giat (Wall of the Cat). It’s only 370m long but I draw your attention to the steepest gradient bit. 19%. That’s really hard after racing for 135km and Passo Giau.

It’s famous for the party atmosphere at the top and fans pushing riders up the hill. Due to the bad weather no such party and no assistance either. With 30m to go I thought my heart was going to explode as it reached 170 beats per minute. At least my recent ECG confirmed I have a strong heart and could take it.

If you want to see what I looked like on that climb and the finish soon after, you can:

This certificate confirmed that I achieved my sole objective.

I have no plans to, but If I do it again I’ll be in the over 65s category. That’s it, there’s no other age category above that. The category confirms I’m not a boy, my time confirms I’m not a racer.

My thanks to Pete and Ming who helped make it a great experience. I really enjoyed the banter over the three days. Great fun.