Last year, during the Transcontinental Bike Race, Rebecca Harrison became known to us as 'The Girl In The Georgette' when we noticed her sleeping on the floor in one of our signature merino jerseys. This year Rebecca has been ultra-adventuring under her own steam once again, traversing the land of the free during the TransAM Bike Race. Discover her whys and wherefores of life on the long-distance road.
I’m in my cycling bubble – that layer of insulation from the real world where all that matters is pedaling, eating and sleeping. Post-TransAm I decided to ride 120 miles out to Ocean City for recovery – because I’m also in my cycling groove after just under 29 days of non-stop cycling. Because riding is my happy place.
And it seemed like the easiest way to get two people plus two bikes to the beach and reflect on what we'd just achieved…
It’s called the TransAm Bike Race. But I was only ever racing myself hoping to get to the finish and maybe even improve on my performance from last year’s TCR. There are no prizes in this race. Everyone is 'racing' for their own sense of achievement.
Preparation? We paid our money and then life got in the way of serious training. But with ultra-distance I guess this is an important point – the training required is less than you would expect. Luck and stubbornness are as important as saddle time.
However…. It turns out the Transam is 4,300 miles- almost double the length of the TCR! I consoled myself with the thought that at 51,000m there was only marginally more climbing. It was basically TCR plus 1,900 flat miles….
I also discovered you could choose to ride either west to east or east to west. There was a whisper that the prevailing winds blew towards the east and I would take any chance of a tail wind across the flat plains!
Plus, early morning is my favourite time of day so it made sense to ride into the sunrise.
Going to America was not as plain sailing as the TCR (where I finished a night shift, got the train to London and then the Eurostar to Belguim) Extra stress of packing lists and baggage handlers taking care of my bike was dissolved by the time we were using the fantastic bike assembly area at Portland airport, complete with tools, track pump and bike stand. It truly is a bike-friendly city.
The ‘race’ started at 6am and I was surprised who my nerves kicked in. Ignorance is bliss and with the experience from the TCR I was more aware of what lay ahead on the road. I knew there would be times when I would go hungry and thirsty, times when I wouldn't be able to find anywhere to sleep and times when I didn't think I could continue. You start to wonder “why am I doing this again?”.
A reiminder of why came on the first major climb we encountered. McKenzie pass in Central Oregon had only just been snow ploughed a couple of days before which meant it was still closed to cars - a cyclist's playground. It’s an annual occurrence and the lack of cars meant we could savour the scenery. It was a real privilege.
Crossing state lines became our new country days from TCR. They were something to look forward to and really made it feel like we were making progress, and sometimes also marked a significant change in the terrain to be tackled.
Wyoming state line was situated inside Yellow Stone National Park and that really set the tone for the whole state. Yellow stone was a shock to our British systems - the vastness of it all and supersize everything, from the skyscraping tree line to that constant ‘threat’ of grizzly bears.
And of course weather. As we passed from Yellow Stone into Grand Teton National Park we heard a tour guide tell his captive audience that there would only be indoor activities that day. There would be no indoor activities for us as we had the Togwatee Pass penciled in for the afternoon.
The wind on the flats of Wyoming was punishing – head or cross wind only it seemed. But finally, as happens on these events, things eventually have a way of picking up and turning around. A strong tail wind blew us into an atmospheric arrival at Jeffrey City, an old-purpose mining town, now with around only 50 inhabitants. Our motel had a staff of one – owner, bar man, chef and waiter. Proper mid-American small town obscurity.
I can only imagine the proprietor’s surprise when a couple of hours after our departure, one of our fellow riders arrived to refuel and started cursing us, “the Brits”. We eventually bumped into Mike a few days later. During dinner he explained that he'd been hunting us down for five days- not unusual in a race so long.
Mike regaled us with stories of repeatedly arriving in towns a couple of hours behind us, looking in creepy churches because that's where the tracker had us staying and scrabbling about in the morning when he saw us leave. We leap frogged each other for the next few days. From talking to other riders it seems this is quite a common phenomenon – across the entire continent riders were either trying to shake off their chasers or reel in those ahead. It’s funny to think of it in isolation as the rest of the American population goes about it’s business.
Janie Hayes, the eventual winner of the womens’ category was right when she told me on the start line that the TransAm saves the best till last. Crossing the state line into Missouri all of a sudden we had greenery and turns in the road. A welcome change after 500 miles of Kansas’s straight tarmac- great for getting big miles done but I felt every single mile.
We were soon into the Ozark mountain range- a luscious humid place reminiscent of the rainforest. Humidity, rolling hills, sweat, and using every gear available. It was intense. Ice cream and cold drinks were our only saviours.
The last mountain range we passed through were the Appalachians. At this stage you think the major climbing was left behind in Colorardo. The Appalachians stay below 400m in height so they don't appear too aggressive on the profile but you sure do bounce up and down inside that 400m!
As well as strong gradients, we met dense fog. Out of that fog, came a ‘trail angel’ who asked us if we knew about the ‘cookie lady’s house’. Turns out the cookie lady had, since the 70s, noticed tired cyclists slogging up the steep hill outside her house and decided to feed them cookies. When she died in the 90s she left her house to the Transamerica bicycle trail and it has become a cyclist's haven- they even still have cookies!!
It was a true American cycling dream and an example again of the human kindess that surprises you around every corneer – the unidentified client who paid our breakfast bill, the dot-watchers who guided us into the local fire station for shelter and plying us with British beers, the lady in Yorktown handing riders cold drinks as they passed, the cyclists who rode beside us for sections at a time.
Arriving at the columns in Yorktown, the finish line of the Transam, I felt a mixture of emotions - happiness and relief but also an overwhelming sense of emptiness. This race was not about reaching the final destination but the journey I'd taken to get there, the amazing people I'd met along the way, the sights of “real” America and everything I'd learnt about myself. I guess that's the reason for the “post-race blues” and why so many people keep coming back for more…
I thought back to the start line, where Nathan Jones the race organiser said that no one really understands what you're doing- not your family and not your friends. But I disagree. Anyone who has wanted to quit something, been so close to giving up but instead finished, not for prizes or medals but purely for their own personal satisfaction, then they will understand why we do what we do.
I knew that if I had scratched from the race the short term discomfort I was in would be over but the long term pain of quitting wouldn't leave me until I had come back another time and finished this race. So chapeau to all my fellow racers who completed the Transam and to those who didn't finish good luck for future attempts. If you are considering an ultra-distance event but are yet to commit, I say this - entering is by far the hardest part.