Our first HC climb loomed at the end of the stage, waiting after we'd warmed up on a Cat 3, Cat 1 and close to 200km.
The morning was really bad, for the first time I couldn't put my happy face on, not even a pretend one (I'm pretty rubbish at the pretend face anyway). I'd crossed the threshold from low discomfort, through to medium and into the pain zone. I had no power in the legs, and being the sun lover I am, another cold rainy morning wasn't helping emotionally or physically to get the quads fired up.
I finally caved at the 80km stop, and in consultation with Dr Col (who is the pack doctor, who just steamrolls his bike through the course every day like a knife through butter, despite or perhaps because of his impressive Scottish stature) I had a panadol, 2 x nurofen and panadeine forte. Along with some physio, a hug and a can of coke (with some additional concrete).
Once again I now mention the kindness of others. Through the morning I was sheltered by a group which was principally made up of my three Germans (super domestiques Florian, Ivo and Ingo), and had my ladies Caroline and Katrine-Mari. Ivo helped me over the hills (on the "flat" part of the course) and then towed me back into the rest of the group.
But the HC, what a bastard. Katrine-Mari who had shot ahead took some time picking wild raspberries and other such activities so that we could climb together. With about three hours of climbing, at least half in the mist and rain, it was a tough slog. But compared to my flat morning spent in the hurt locker it was surprisingly manageable (especially with my patented zig-zag cycle technique on the steeper parts). Just shy of 12 hours cycling. A massive day. Just f-ing massive.
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