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  • Styrkeprøven 2014.
    540km from Trondheim to Oslo.

    After a great meal with Al and the guys Friday night. I headed back to my hotel to snuggle up to my bike for the night. We had a long trip ahead of us. To say I was nervous would be an understatment, I had had a single solo 200km ride, and a single group start (race), as experiance. I wasnt really ready for this insanity.

    I arrived at the start With my jersey handing around my ankles from the weight of 'ALL THE ENERGY FOOD'. I have mixed experiances with Norwegian feed stations. As soon as we started the intensity of the Wind hit us. My start group of 50 quickly fell apart. I panicked a bit, well a lot, and started bridging gaps, and riding far too aggresively. Looking for 'the group' that suited my pace. When, after only a couple hours, I was riding with those that started 32 minutes previous to me. It was clear I needed to chill out. Chatting with some crazy looking German rider who was carrying 'ALL THE BANANAS'. I found out the Dovra mountian was right Ahead, after a feed station. But there was a feed station after the desent down the other side. Awesome I thought, I'll attack the Climb, recover on the decent, and chill With a coffee and cake in Dombås.

    Except the Climb, while shallow, went on forever. I built up quite a few riders on my Wheel, as I pushed too hard. All, I imagine, grateful for my poor judgement. But I reached the top feeling great having been a good boy and having spun a low gear. Pulled along the Plateau, and looked forward for the decent. Which never came. The wind was brutal up there, and what was nothing but a Sharp peak on the graphic I'd seen. Was a fecking long Wind beaten road. Finally arrived at the decent feeling cooked. Squashed myself into a ridiculus aero position and sped down. Arriving at the feed station still feeling pretty finished to be honest. It was a tough 190km. There was stew, nutella sandwiches and coffee though. So I headed back out feeling at least a bit human.

    Found myself in a quicker group this time. Although not really a well organised one. Seemed to be a mixed of single file pull sharing , and a double line paceline. It was in this group that the car brushed me. We approached road works that had narrowed the road for a mere 10 meter streatch. But the red Toyota had to squash past anyway. Thinking I'd move across, he did so. I didnt move across however. We were already too close to each other. A poor reflex from me would have wiped out half a dozen riders. I lowered my elbow for the impact, and closed my eyes. Felt a little brush on my arm warmer and it was over. I put it out of my head. But 10km later we near collided With a dozen idiots in matching gear. Having had a rest With there support car. They'd all rolled there bikes into the fecking road, and were now faffing around blocking it. We had to stop. But no one went down. We met another big team further down the road. Feeling tired, and With them looking pro. I figured it was time to tuck in. Except they were all over the place. When one MAMIL swept across my front wheel, simply because he was reaching for a drink, it had all got a bit much for me. I accelerated and put my fate in the next feed station being close. Thankfully it was. Plus it had several types of cake and coffee. I charged the garmin and decided I needed to get my head together. Plus I plain wanted to sit and eat cake after nearly 300 odd km.

    The next stint went so much better. I got in with a group of Danes. 7 riders all riding a nice smooth pace, all doing a pull, and all looking out for each other. Bliss. At the next feed station one of the dans came to find me (eating more nutella sandwiches). He pointed to their support car, shoke my hand, and asked if I'd like to join them when we started again. As the group was working well. Silly detail really. But after being on my own through it all up to then. That hand shake felt amazing.

    We headed off as a 3, quickly became 7 again. But this time the pace was up. I didnt mind just then. But one of the Danes was hitting a rough patch. After my pull I rolled off the front to take my well earnt rest at the back, to see he'd been dropped. I made what, at the time, felt like a silly emotional decision, and gave up my rest. I dropped off the Group and pulled the 2 Danes instead.

    At the next feed station I hit issues. Stomach issues. I couldnt drink or eat for fear of being sick. I didnt feel terrible. But I knew I was on a short fuse. As I slowly cracked the 2 Danes did more and more of the work. Eventually I had to ask them to leave me. So I could recover at a slower pace. I was so Dizzy I could barely steer, and each time I lowered my head, my eyes closed, and I slept for a second. It was middle of the night, raining, dark, and at that point the 120 or so km left looked impossible. I told myself to think of breaking 100km left, and that it must be a feed station soon. As I trundled along alone I managed a few sips of drink, then some flapjack, then a big slurp of energy drink. I was coming back. Smallfurry was Down. But I wasnt out.

    Arrived at the next feed station feeling OK. The big bonus being Meeting the guys again. They looked cold but otherwise in good shape considering. Munched a few nutella sandwiches, and headed off. There were now several feed stations close together. So the last stint would all be about small steps.

    Rode alone but at a decent pace as the sun came up. A Group of fast moving riders started to pass me, and figured maybe I could keep up. As the last guy passed I was up to speed and hanging on. By the skin of my teeth. But it could work maybe. It didnt. I was dropped soon after. But on the next Climb I caught them again. This time I could hang on and recover at the back.

    At the last feed station I felt good. Strong in fact. I wont pretend I wasnt in agony. But I had some strength in me and thats all I could ask for at this stage. Followed the same group out. Did some work With them this time. But they couldnt Climb. With 20km left I figured I'd risk it. I went off the front on one of the final Climbs, and just kept pushing. Hit the last long Climb up the motorway to Oslo spinning well. Passing other cyclists at double their speed. That was it in my mind I'd made it. The fat lady wasnt singing yet. But I was too close to fail now. At the top of the Climb. I forced my aching upper body to lower itself into the drops. Changed into the highest gear that still worked, and smashed it. I barely held 300 watts. So it was no record breaking 8km TT. But it felt like it. Fueled on adrenilin, nutella sandwiches, and relief. I smashed the pedals, ignored the screams from my shoulders to sit up, and crossed the timing line at 40+kph. Feeling like I'd won.

    I then had to ride some annoying windy roads, and up a big hill to the other finish line. Weird idea.

    21 hours, 28 minutes
    540km
    4000m climbed
    28kph average moving speed
    30 nutella sandwiches
    and one broken but relieved Smallfurry.

    http://www.strava.com/activities/159715198

    http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/event.py?event=Sports/GKDE/2014/Styrkeproven&match=1243&name=Lee&new_search=1

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