Lost In Translation

So, I have some bad news and some good news. The bad news is I am having some real trouble with Achilles tendonitis so the racing this weekend didn’t go so well. The good news is I made it out alive.

Let me explain...

We had two races on the weekend. Elite races, 150 km each, France to Spain one day and then back the next. The first day started off really hard and the heels hurt from the moment I got out of the van. Sure enough I was in the broom wagon by Kilometer 50. Damn.

Next day I start heel hurt but feeling good and I am moving in the group and holding fine…but damn the heels hurt….Kilometer 28…stuff starts shifting in my heel like stuff is being torn off…OK, not good time to call it quits… we have a follow vehicle but no seats…I will wait for the broom wagon…

Hmm, Spain is nice and hot…riding limp legged so as to keep pressure off my heels…man this wagon is taking a while…oh, here come the Policia to close the course… he assures me the wagon is coming…good because it is not like I know where I am, or any Spanish for that matter, or am in any condition to keep riding.

20 min later…motor bike goes by taking course signs down. “Ah, there is no broom wagon” he tells me. I have to ride out the course with another fellow who is having trouble and should be along in a minute. And he is. Oh, he has no idea where we are either or where the course goes or how to speak Spanish…OK so time to be concerned but what are you going to do…keep riding.

45min later…ah the broom wagon…”Bonjour” and a wave and revving engine as it speeds away…hmmm…strange…but we are on an open highway so he is probably going to stop up ahead so where there is a pull off…one pull off…two…three…a town…a city…hmm. You know, I don’t think he stopped. Well, we have done 70 km…only 85 more if we are still on the course…are we still on the course?? Just head for France then…oh but this junction says that France is in either direction one 25 km on 35 km…it must be the 25…35 would be too long for the course. …hmm, but the 25 is headed straight at some snow covered mountains…with a good sized storm above…I don’t have any leg warmers…hmmm….maybe this roadside hooker knows the way to France…hmmm….

Oh good, the short way changed directions and it is the same border crossing from the day before…I can make it back now…the race still won’t be over for another hour. No one will even know I am missing…hmm, my partner is bonking pretty hard core….my heels hurt but I’ve got a tonne of energy so I will try to drag him home…come on then….


Made it over the border. Good thing it was busy otherwise we may not have been able to just ride right through.

“I know a short cut.” says my bonking French friend…hmmm…bonking men never know short cuts…

5:45 min of locked ankle riding later I arrive, just before my mates are going to get a police search going…oh and 10 km farther than the course…yeah good shortcut. My heel are pretty much numb…it is a good thing the peleton wasn’t a herd of antelope…if it was I would have been eaten by lions in my lame state.

Hmmmm….30 km in huh…I think it might be time for new shoes…hmmm…that was interesting…