So, I'm back. It was about time I made myself an International reporter. Crazy Dad moving around so much that he decided to put some distance between himself and the family. Well, I guess what's good for the body is good for the soul!
Fortunately this was only "part-of-a-business-trip-turned-vacation", and I guess it had been quite some time in the making. Mommy was all for it, so what am I to say and put on the brakes onto a trip that appeared to be rewarding mentally as well as physically???
Alright, alright, time to cut through the chase already. I know Daddy will always carry me in his heart, and my heart will never be the same unless I can share some space in it with him...so it was a Wednesday morning when I waved good-bye and hopped on my bike to ride to school, and Daddy soon thereafter found himself in an airport boarding a plane first to Frankfurt and then to Madrid!
There is a lot to be said about uneventful travel and changing planes without stress - even a five hour layover seemed short to Dad considering the smoothness of all the transitions. And before Dad knew it there was Pablo to greet him and make him part of the family! Little did my Dad know that he practically had another life in Spain that he was going to live for the following four days. It almost seemed surreal starting from the late exquisite lunch that Pablo's mom had prepared, to the basketball game with some friends (Daddy still can't shoot worth a shit), to a night out about the town, to some relaxing time around the pool, to some favorite hidden spots for Tappas and Pizza (which YES apparently was invented in Spain), to a road-trip, a MTB bike race, a return to sanity in THE spa of Madrid, and a late dinner that will only be served in Spain. It all seems like a wonderful dream that I can't stop asking details about before Daddy puts me to bed every night.
But! We are here for the RACE. The RACE!!!
MATAHOMBRES 2009. 82 km (51 miles) + 2,000 m (6,561 ft) in accumulated ascents! If this didn't sound like a recipe to kill my Dad, it sure sounded like a lot of pain to me! But nonetheless, once the plan had been made Dad decided to break out of the mold a little more and started his own solo lunch ride in order to prepare for this event. And believe it or not - a little training here and there, can actually go quite a ways....
Pablo and Dad arrived in Camarena de la Sierra at about 4:00 pm on Saturday afternoon. Just enough time to find a spot for the car, check the bikes, pick up the race pack, check into the Youth hostel, eat some dinner, rest and chill until the options are limited to trying to getting some rest. By 6:00 a.m. the following morning the entire Youth Hostel was steaming with race anticipation. 600 bikers had enlisted to partake in this year’s edition of Matahombres! 600 Mountain Bikers - who to my Dad, all looked a lot more fit than he felt - but at least Pablo had been a big friend and gotten my Dad a ride that felt like being on top of a cloud - what could go wrong from here???
9:00 am. Fireworks go off! Dad: If there ever was a time to start peddling it is NOW! ........and they were off....... The race was a two-loop course roughly the shape of a figure eight. The first 40 km (25 miles) went by in a flash. It all started with a slow ascent followed by a much longer descent. I think Daddy kept on thinking the entire time: How is this possible? We will fu*king have to climb all of this again to make it back up to the village!!! And soon enough... here came the climbs.
Pablo and Dad waste no time thinking about stopping at the first fueling station. Why stop at a fueling station??? After a downhill??? Some gentle folk stand by the side of the street and cheer them on. Pablo and Dad find their spot in the line-up and climb and climb. Dad said that it felt like being in a row of ants laboring up a mountain. No chance to go faster then the lad in front of you, and NO CHANCE TO GO SLOWER either, because of the guy right on your tail! And then again, more downhill??? How is this possible???
After an amazing 2 hours and 20 minutes the first loop was complete! "Venga Chaval"! It sure wasn't going to continue being this easy. They had been warned about the second part!!!
They circled through Camarena de la Sierra, and then turned left to start making their way up the mountain. I think this is where Dad noticed that the pack was quickly falling apart, and the good, the bad, and the ugly started separating from one another. An approximately 16 km (10 miles) ascent to the peak of the mountain: El Pico de Javalambre! Also known for its Ski-Resort. 2020 m (6,627 ft). Pablo was quite the sport: So that Daddy didn't have to break his rhythm (what rhythm? - Daddy is not a dancer!), Pablo peddled ahead to the fueling stations and filled up the water bottles by the time my Daddy got there - so he didn't even have to stop - all he had to do is peddle, peddle, and peddle...and then peddle some more...and yes, eventually there was also a top to this mountain.
To keep things interesting a small thunderstorm was developing off to the left on the adjacent mountain range. The race manager, after having made sure to point out that there was a time cut-off, had also mentioned that the chance of having to cancel the race in case of severe weather existed. I think that's all Dad was thinking about on the last 5 Km of the climb. I'm gonna get to the top of this mountain - and then they are going to ask me to stop - because of this cute thunderstorm that's brewing up. And all I'm going to be able to say is: Oh, no.
But there was no way Pablo wasn't going to stop for some food at this probably last fueling station. Dad kept on thinking: So there I'm going to be. After having ridden 60 km, I'm going to be stuffing my face with a banana, and I'm gonna look up to see the race manager standing in front of me, shaking his said, saying: Lo siento, pero tenemos que cancelar. Pablo? PABLO!! We have to keep moving. I didn't come here to get cancelled in the middle of the race. NO. No. no. Somebody is saying: Raul......, but it's somebody else talking to someone Daddy doesn't know. Pablo, listo ya??? And off they go!
I think this is the point where the happiness starts settling in for Dad. There is a whole lot of downhill ahead. No more checkpoints! No more race managers. There is only one way down! Only one way to get back to the village! And it's down. down. DOWN!!!
Later when they check the speedometer it seems to have clocked out somewhere around 68 kmh (42.5 mph) - not bad for a gravel road.
Daddy is so excited that on the way down he decides to go through a puddle of mud and pick up a couple of extra pounds of mud. Hey! If it isn't a mountain bike race!!!
One more uphill to battle, and then the icing on the cake!
Senda! Senda??? Singletrack?!? Yes, sir! Single track. After mostly mountain and fire roads there was now to be singletrack! This is the stuff my Daddy likes to kill for! About 14 km remain - and it appears that these are going to be singletrack. What a dream come true. The adrenaline from flying down the mountain and the anticipation of most likely finishing this race turn out to be a giant kick in the butt for my Dad. The singletrack is beautiful. Narrow and winding. Changing terrain. There was brush and bushes, then there were trees, then rocky plains, and occasionally a rider or two, and too much of a temptation to not leave them behind. At one point Dad starts an attack from far left field pushing as hard as he can, no longer near the trail at all, peddling becoming difficult with rocks and roots and who knows what making the ride quite bumpy. The two guys Daddy is about to pass look up! Daddy is not sure if he sees surprise, fear or anger in these beaten faces after having completed about 8/9th of the race - but can only think about keeping on peddling. Once back on the trail Daddy is struggling for air. But there is no way he is going to stop now after just having blown past these two dudes. Air or not - these wheels need to keep moving. Daddy can feel the breath of someone on his neck, and soon he hears the familiar hum of Pablo's disc break: Pablo, eres tu, tio??? Si si, soy YO! I think we left them behind. At this point they are not even sure if those two guys just stopped after they had passed them. But time's a waste'n. No need to slow down now. They have the village in their sight! Volunteers urge them to slow down at every subsequent turn they take, bringing them closer to the finish, and then the clock marks 5 hours 32 minutes. Race completed! Finishers 317 and 318 have returned home.
Boy what joy it must have been to finish! On the way back to the Youth Hostel Pablo keeps laughing at Dad because he is walking soooooo slow. But there is that smile on my Dad's face, which was worth every bit of pain it took to put it there.
Later when they check the speedometer it seems to have clocked out somewhere around 68 kmh (42.5 mph) - not bad for a gravel road.
Daddy is so excited that on the way down he decides to go through a puddle of mud and pick up a couple of extra pounds of mud. Hey! If it isn't a mountain bike race!!!
One more uphill to battle, and then the icing on the cake!
Senda! Senda??? Singletrack?!? Yes, sir! Single track. After mostly mountain and fire roads there was now to be singletrack! This is the stuff my Daddy likes to kill for! About 14 km remain - and it appears that these are going to be singletrack. What a dream come true. The adrenaline from flying down the mountain and the anticipation of most likely finishing this race turn out to be a giant kick in the butt for my Dad. The singletrack is beautiful. Narrow and winding. Changing terrain. There was brush and bushes, then there were trees, then rocky plains, and occasionally a rider or two, and too much of a temptation to not leave them behind. At one point Dad starts an attack from far left field pushing as hard as he can, no longer near the trail at all, peddling becoming difficult with rocks and roots and who knows what making the ride quite bumpy. The two guys Daddy is about to pass look up! Daddy is not sure if he sees surprise, fear or anger in these beaten faces after having completed about 8/9th of the race - but can only think about keeping on peddling. Once back on the trail Daddy is struggling for air. But there is no way he is going to stop now after just having blown past these two dudes. Air or not - these wheels need to keep moving. Daddy can feel the breath of someone on his neck, and soon he hears the familiar hum of Pablo's disc break: Pablo, eres tu, tio??? Si si, soy YO! I think we left them behind. At this point they are not even sure if those two guys just stopped after they had passed them. But time's a waste'n. No need to slow down now. They have the village in their sight! Volunteers urge them to slow down at every subsequent turn they take, bringing them closer to the finish, and then the clock marks 5 hours 32 minutes. Race completed! Finishers 317 and 318 have returned home.
Boy what joy it must have been to finish! On the way back to the Youth Hostel Pablo keeps laughing at Dad because he is walking soooooo slow. But there is that smile on my Dad's face, which was worth every bit of pain it took to put it there.
