English
Here is the third installment of the Vatternrundan blog courtesy of the Vatternrundan competition winner Fiona Spotswood. Enjoy!
The Lake Vattern bike race is epic. The atmosphere at the event is electric and streams and streams of people on bikes of all shapes and sizes constantly set forth over the starting mats and head out for their personal Vatternrundan challenge. Our 9.28pm start was a good slot and we had over 2 hours of daylight to enjoy the first 100km, which was down hill or flat and with a tail wind! I immediately stuck in behind an 8ft Dutch guy and barely pedalled for the first 9km, thinking ‘this is going to be easy!’ A puncture and 15 minutes of stress later and I wasn’t feeling so good. Having lost my 8ft windbreak I had to rip past group after group desperately seeking out a bunch that was my pace.
70km passed like this and still no group (although a few waifs and strays had begun to string out behind me). I stopped at the first big feed station and refilled my bottles, gathered my thoughts and shared a nod with Anders, my new cycling buddy from Stockholm who had been the only one of my collection of riders who had bothered helping me out on the front. It was agreed, silently, that we would ride together. He was a Vatternrundan veteran of 4 attempts and knew what it was all about. He was also a mountain biker and we fat-tyre folk tend to stick together!
Amazingly, we ended up riding the next stretch with the guys from Wiggle/Nemesis, experienced roadies who rode so smooth and strong it was obvious they had thousands of miles in their legs. I glued myself to Adie’s wheel and hoped. It was a bit tough, and I was a little relieved when they pulled into the next feed station and released me to ride along with Anders at a slightly easier pace!
Together we rode on and at some point just before dusk, at about midnight, a team of Norwegians flew past us. Without any hesitation we jumped on their tail and that magical moment occurred where your speed bounces up and your heart rate bounces down simultaneously. We settled in for the 3 hour dark patch, joysticks illuminating the logoed and lycraed butt of the guy in front. Time flew past and we were eating up the miles, now heading northwards and into a head wind which only made itself known when we wavered slightly to the left of the wheel in front.
Anders had said he would stop for lasagne at a major feed station and at 4am I reluctantly left the Norwegian engine and joined him for a feed. It was good though – a big slice of lasagne and carton of milk. The food of champions! 10 minutes later we were out again and battling into the headwind on our own. We tried 2 minutes each on the front but it was too hard. We slipped to 1 minute and battled to keep our speed above 30. I knew it had been going too smoothly. We had been rocking with the Norwegians at 34 and this was a major blow. But we kept saying ‘we’ll be caught soon and have some shelter’. 50 minutes passed and still no group to join. Anders was losing his morale. We passed my hotel in Karlsborg, which was 200km in and I shouted with joy – that meant we were over half way up the North side. Only 50k left until we turned south again. Anders just grunted.
Eventually we reached another drinks stop and saw a gaggle of green and white riders by the side of the road, gearing themselves up to get going again after their stop. “The Norwegians!” I cried, brilliant. Soon they would catch us and we would ride together again. In the mean time we joined a bunch riding roughly our pace or a bit slower. It was better than breaking away and suffering for even longer so we stuck with them. About this time I had a second wind and I started to organise our group, who were flagging somewhat. “No more than a minute on the front!” I said. The boys laughed at me but did what I suggested and our speed picked back up to 34 or 35 on the flat. We were making far better progress and when the Norwegians caught us we melted in with them easily. I was feeling stronger and stronger with each passing km and pushed hard up the climbs. The group thinned and soon it was just Anders and me plus 2 Norwegian teams. We were rocking.
The end of the lake appeared and we turned south. Anders had planned another stop 50k from the end but I said ‘no way’. The thought of more battling on our own without the others was unappealing. With our tail wind we were motoring at 38 or 39 and I persuaded Anders he could hang on for 1 hour more. I gave him some Mule Bars and a Windose gel to perk him up and we continued. The last 40k was hillier but it was the home straight and everything came out the bag. We were making breaks, sprinting up the climbs, rolling through and off and enjoying the tussle. The Norwegians were a strong team and it was a real learning curve for me riding with such experienced roadies.
Motala appeared, complete with waving marshals, a few sleepy spectators and some tight turns. A sprint finish saw me take 2nd spot from our group and we all stopped, medals on, and shared a smile and a hug after a fantastically exciting and fun ride. The ‘sprint’ of course was pointless because we had all started at different times, but it was all about enjoying the moment and the smiles said it all. I never knew road riding could be so fun. The Wiggle guys had said ‘we’ll convert you’ and they might be right. I’ll never give up mountain biking, but riding those smooth Swedish roads, smelling the pine forests at night and working with a group of great riders was a lovely feeling and a far cry from the lonely procession that endurance mountain bike racing can sometimes be. I will be back next year for sure, hopefully with a bike as gorgeous to ride as the Focus Cayo which Wiggle kindly leant me, and hopefully with no punctures and just as much fun!
More pictures from the event.
