Pringles and Pepsi: salt and sugar. And an ice cream – I feel like I’m on holiday!

The second water stop stands out as a cyclists’ oasis; pitched up alongside the dry, arid road is a sponsored banner promoting Gu.  Amongst the grappling, snatching hands, I refill my water bottle.  A rep from Gu proceeds to tell me the advantages of the ultra-enduro gel that releases energy over prolonged periods, and how the quick boost gel will get me over the mountains, how I might like a caffeine x2 extra, how about the sold gums to chew on in the meantime: what would I like he asks? “Whatever is free” I reply, earnestly.  I take a handful of samples to tape to my top tube in my next triathlon to make it look like I know what I’m doing.  It is good of the guys to be standing out in the desert waiting for us to cycle past, for which many are hugely grateful, but I feel a little heretic amongst those sucking away so diligently.  Instead, I take a dried date and a couple of figs from my pocket and remount my bike and look up the road.  Here it is: the best bit next...

The Hajar Mountains.  Certainly nothing alpine but here in the desert, a challenge nonetheless.  Time to stop socialising and get to the front with the big boys.  A hush descends upon the peloton as the first incline strings everyone out immediately.  This is it – no more pissing about. Time to ride.  It is not a race but no one wants to get dropped; everyone wants to challenge themselves and I want to be in the first five at the tunnel at the top of the main climb.  A couple of warm-up climbs first; the lead group splits, reforms on the 70km/h descents; a definite sense of purpose now.  I sit in, then a quick turn at the front, move off; there are plenty of others to share the work – too early to see how strong I’m feeling.  We reach the main climb past Wadi Helo – there is a strava segment here but I’m not sure where it starts.  I’m ten riders back, 10m from the front.  The pace doesn’t quicken, it remains steady but I slowly move past those in front.  This is it: the rhythm, the feeling, the satisfaction.  I pass others but the front two remain 10m in front, not getting away, not dropping me.  Then I realise its Elton – I’m not letting that bugger get away!  But I’ve left it too late – I’ll take third as I look over my shoulder to see a line of lycra coming up behind.

The descent.  I’ve ridden it a few times now, getting to know the curves and the potential end-of-the-day spots.  92km/h is my maximum, with a favourable tailwind down the valley and super smooth road surface.  Once past 60km/h it is all fast.  The local riders have an advantage going down.  I make a concerted effort not to lose time on the descent as I know I am still to perfect the technique.  And descending is all about technique: a disengagement of the mind from the consequences too, but descending is a skill to be practised rather than the ascent which is a fitness to be gained.  On previous climbs it has annoyed when I’ve smashed myself to pieces to take a minute or two out of someone, only for them to fly down past me on the descent.  As it is, a couple do pass but that is fine – we will need a little group for the run down to the coast.

 

The third and final water stop at Kalba before the last 60 plus km along the coast.  Pringles and Pepsi: salt and sugar.  And an ice cream – I feel like I’m on holiday!  The last two hours is fast time.  After the mountains the first group of riders collecting at the water stop ride with intent now.  No more chat – do your time at the front, push hard, but not too hard.  Sure, there is the second group behind, but no one wants to get dropped.  It is not a race, but it is no longer the social ride it was earlier.