TCR // cap no. 185

After a three year stint living in China developing a healthy obsession for turning pedals I returned to the UK just over a year ago to settle into a more British version of grown-up life for twenty somethings like myself... cue paying off student debt, discussing credit ratings, reviewing wedding venues and cultivating a taste for craft ales, obviously not in that order. After three months back in the UK the bike was firmly in storage, a combination of getting reacquainted with british pubs and british winter riding with a very meagre attempt to bring my park run time down saw me trade the 5 hour club ride in for a 5 kilometre dash around the local park (a more effective use of time some may argue). By the time the office Christmas party season had dried up it was time for drastic action. Never one for doing things in moderation, new year’s resolutions were drawn up and an application for the Transcontinental race submitted.

The Transcontinental race or TCR as it is known had been a challenge niggling ever since that first long ride a number of years back. All cyclists know the feeling, the type of ‘long ride’ that takes you out into the deep waters of mental reason and brings you back via undiscovered roads to leave you with the satisfying buzz of self-accomplishment. All those that don lycra for the early weekend hours know it – it’s a moreish feeling, office life is never quite the same. After a fair few years of rides that have pushed my own perceived boundaries further and further into the unknown the Transcontinental seemed to offer the perfect mix of lunacy, adventure and physical exertion; extreme escapism for mind and soul. I duly applied and was fortunate enough to receive a place.

Now in its 7th year the TCR will start in little over two weeks on the 27th of July. The route this year will go from Bourgas on the Bulgarian Black Sea coast to Brest on the north westerly tip of Brittany, France. To add to the drama there will be checkpoints up in the high mountains of Bulgaria, Serbia, Italy and France, forcing the route up 37,000 m and over 3,800km. For those not so familiar with how this type of race works its fairly simple, the clock starts on the Saturday departure and doesn’t stop until you reach the finish line in France. All stops are included in this time meaning that sleep, supplies, eating and drinking all form a large part of race strategy. The race is also unsupported, meaning no luxury of support cars, mechanics or mum and dad swinging by with a full loaf of buttered Soreen to pass out of the passenger window. Accommodation is done on the fly and can be anything so long as it is open to everyone, be it hotel, hostel or bus stop bivvy.

Whilst a simple precis the geography covered over the course means that planning, training and logistics has ever so slowly consumed my life this past 8 months or so. Free time has been taken up by either sat in the saddle enduring a wide range of training loads or glued to the screen of google street view virtually travelling down eastern European roads to assess road quality. Other activities have involved testing kit, nutrition and hydration strategies, riding at night, in wind, rain and heat, riding sleep deprived, fatigued and very rarely when fresh, kipping in fields, pushing weights, attempting to improve DIY bike mechanics through YouTube and failing at yoga. One other thing that has come out of this has been a partnership with Roswheel bags, they have designed some custom bags for the race based on a number of conversations we’ve had about function, aerodynamics and durability to a level of commitment that has been extremely humbling to have been involved in. A number of proto-types have been drawn up, built – shipped over from China and tested on rain-soaked rides through the peak district, windy efforts across the Cambridge Fens and cold outings in the Yorkshire dales. There was even a 100km challenge through April’s Storm Gareth on local roads in the Lakes before being unceremoniously dumped off the bike somewhere near Shap and having to call home.

With only a handful of training days and some last minute prep still to do, the enormity of the task at hand is very much dawning on me, with some well-deserved tapering on the cards and therefore suddenly a lot of free time on my hands I am left twiddling my thumbs visualising alpine passes off the back of a couple of thousand kms and a few hours’ sleep, generally just scaring myself about the numerous what-ifs up ahead. In many ways the hard work is done, according to Strava I’ve spent over 400 hours on my bike so far this year, a somewhat worrying amount of time staring at asphalt (10,851 kilometres of it to be exact) with Elton John songs stuck in my head. The small matter of crossing a continent by leg power alone is now the task in hand and I’m looking forward to rolling out of Bulgaria – it is a two weeks holiday according to my timesheets after-all.