151.9 km, 197 m
If there’s a day for a team effort… The route is pancake flat and we could collectively fly a peloton. To be fair, we do start out in one big group, although I know at the time this won’t last (and it’s not helpful for motorists trying to pass). But we’re relaxed and morale is high; today is just a formality, no crazy hills or daring descents. We snake along the coastal road like a dancing Chinese dragon, with flashes of red and green from the team kits. Ju is re-invigorated after his rest day, and pulls on the front, we ride like clinging remora around a shark; pedalling is ridiculously easy. The route is mainly on roads, and empty cycleways, and the views rush past as we chat about life histories. Then whops from behind, I’m caught napping! Mark, Iggy, Chris, Si and Brandon steam by, Tony Lowe ‘pulling a truck horn’ with his arm as he passes. Darn it. I wickedly pray they have a mechanical, but instead, watch on as they pull away into the distance. With the faster riders gone, there are soon calls for a coffee stop, but Ju is unstoppable on the front, and no-one wants to get off the choo choo train. Somewhere on the road behind us are riders zen’d enough to enjoy the actual journey, lingering at lovely roadside cafes and living their best life, but we’re not yet Enlightened. A few more miles, and there’s some tummy, and vocal, grumblings about lunch. These build, but still Ju is not for stopping. We surge through Latisana, the designated stop for lunch, and continue. It’s like those old western films, where the cowboy has to climb up the wagon shaft to pull the runaway horses up. After 2.5 miles, we haul him to a halt. There are some navigational discussions, then eventually, we loop back into Latisana for yummy pizza.
After lunch, I jump on the faster train, and we pull S, then SW into a building katabatic bora that saps our speed. Iggy as the self-designated peloton captain, is shouting orders, and keeping things ship-shape. We’re riding team time trial-style. The idea, obviously, is to work as a team, like the Star Trek Borg. Everything should be optimised to the forward movement of the whole team. This strategy means that the riders behind the leader need to make ever effort to conserve their own energy, tucking-in any sticky-out body parts (elbows, heads, knees?!) behind the Captain America shield-wielding front rider, and keeping no more than a fish-slice gap from the wheel in front. If there’s a side wind, riders chevron, like geese behind the lead rider. Reciprocally, the rider on the front needs to pour a perfectly judged effort into pulling everyone along, while taking a safe line, and calling out any obstacles’ (potholes), as the riders behind have only a fish-slice’s worth of judgement. After their 2 mins, like a mayfly, the lead rider pulls off, and to the windward side, selflessly sheltering the other riders, and drifts to the back. Finally, each rider must perfectly judge their effort to have just enough energy to latch on to the back of the group and recover. If they fall off the back, the train will have to either slow down to pick them up (bad for team speed), or drop the rider (fewer riders, so also bad for the team). If you get this wrong, Iggy will shout at you.
We each pull for ~2mins on the front, before shifting to the back for a rest. It’s fast and exhilarating, and not something I get to do often. I think Iggy has a soft spot for gelato, and after about an hour, we stop at a café for an ice cream on the grass outside a café.
We continue the route, which narrows along a spit of land until we are waved down by John with the van. This is the end of the line. It’s all over. Finished. No. More. Cycling. I wasn’t prepared for how sad I’d be about this.
We dismantle out trusty steeds. As I enrobe Bruno Emonda gently in his robes of bubble wrap, I notice a nasty gash through the carbon fibre chain stay. It doesn’t look very good*. We leave the bike-packed van, and gather at the ferry port for a beer, waiting for the rest of the group arrive. Venice, our rest day, is shimmering in the distance; shimmering with gelato, I hope.
Epilogue
It’s five whole days until I finally unpack bike and bag in Blighty and finish this blog (it still needs a polish – another day). I don’t remember packing the camembert, but there’s definitely some cheesy odours oozing out. Lovingly, I unwrap the bike, and wash it down. The hole in the chain stay looks ugly, and I can’t seem to get the bolt-through wheel axle on, it’s not aligning anymore. Like a panicked parent, I rush the bike to York Cycleworks. Their sombre faces tell me everything I need to know. The drive home is like a trip back from the vets…without the pet.
It’s been a fab trip with some amazing, wonderful people. Huge thanks to John for exquisite organisation, with help from others (Brandon, Ju). Graham and Martin for driving the van and little Fiat, with help from John and Tony (I think Martin maybe enjoyed rallying the Fiat more than he’s letting on). Unbelievably good Whalley Sports Massage from Graham. And all the other help, love and laughs from everyone.
Finally, Dear Reader(s?), thank you so much for all your wonderful donations. If you’ve enjoyed reading the blog (and apologies for the tardiness of the last few days), and still wish to donate to the Bolton Lads and Girls club here is the Just Giving page. THANK YOU!!!