Rolling out of my sleep spot , the trail immediately began climbing upwards. I felt tired, weak, weaving from side to side, and within a few hundred metres I was off the bike being sick again. It dawned on me that it wasn’t a great situation I found myself in, hours from any semblance of civilisation in either direction, with a mountain between me and the next chance to stop and resupply.
Just keep moving, slow progress is better than no progress.
I kept telling myself this as I continued to climb. The surface began to deteriorate, the gradient pitching up ever steeper, rideable straights followed by unrideable hairpins. The gaps between riders had grown as we ventured further into the unknown, and sleep patterns began to impact timings, but I could still see the occasional flash of red up above me. I found this both intimidating, a constant reminder of how far from the top I was, and reassuring that I wasn’t entirely alone out there.
Once I had slowed enough, the effort of getting on and off the bike outweighed the speed gained from the small stretches I was able to ride, so I proceeded on foot for the remaining distance. I still felt weak and tender, the aftermath of being repeatedly sick starting to hit me, but I no longer felt nauseous. With no food or fluid left in my body I decided to risk eating and drinking, a mistake that I was confronted by a few short steps later.
I won’t be too graphic here, but let’s just say that I won’t be eating peanut butter again anytime soon. Once you’ve repeatedly vomited it up the appeal dwindles somewhat.
After what felt like hours, and perhaps even was, of hiking I reached the top. I had passed riders hunkered down in their bivvies at intervals up the mountain, envious of their relative comfort, and had been passed myself by riders still pedalling their bikes as I grew ever more exhausted.
I had envisioned tipping over the top and being greeted immediately by a long descent, but in reality there were still kilometres of rolling terrain to go. This would become a pattern that repeated itself throughout the entire race, the draining plateaus being almost as hard as the climbs themselves.
I was struggling to keep moving, my body stripped of any remnants of fuel, and delirium began to set in. I would say I was running on empty, but really my engine had conked out completely. Riding in a straight line became a struggle, and I was hitting rocks that weren’t even in my way.
It was decision time once again. I could carry on until the trail began to descend, and try to make it to lower ground as soon as possible, or I could stop here and rest some more. If I stopped now it was definitely going to be unpleasantly cold, but not dangerously so, and if I carried on in my state then I risked crashing in the dark in the middle of nowhere on a sketchy descent. Both had their glaring downsides, but one felt like the objectively safer choice at that moment.
I backtracked slightly to an area that seemed as sheltered as I would find, a slight dip surrounded by steep rock faces. It was hardly a flat surface to sleep on, but I didn’t have the energy to care. Every layer on, back into the bivvy.
I shivered awake a few hours later, my eyelashes frozen together. A quick check of the Garmin, it was minus five degrees. This wasn’t the time to hang around, so I quickly packed away my camp and set off, wearing all my layers and still shaking. Despite this, I was happy with my decision to stop. Although the benchmark was incredibly low, I did feel better. Beggars can’t be choosers, and this was the best I was going to get, so it was time to get pedalling again.
A few kilometres over increasingly rough ground later, I saw the familiar frame of Charles up ahead. He was certainly far stronger than me at this moment, but I had a slightly more appropriate bike for the terrain we were on, and I knew I could at least keep him in sight. That was my carrot, a blessing after a night with none.
The views were probably stunning as we swept down the mountain, although I saw nothing but the stretch of trail ahead illuminated by my headlight. At one point we were riding down a wide track that was stuck onto the side of the mountain, an expansive canyon to the left and the silhouettes of hills all around. I could only imagine what a sight this would be once the sun came up, although the plunge to certain death a mere metre to the side is perhaps best left unseen.
As I reached the flat gravel road below, dawn broke, and resupply awaited. The landscape had shifted drastically, as it did throughout this incredible route. The wheels were met with a smoother, softer surface, and vegetation had returned.
Into Afra, I was reunited with a number of other riders at a small hole in the wall shop. Everyone recounted tales of climbing mountains, freezing in bivvy bags, and dreaming of a proper meal.
I don’t want to shy away and hide the ‘bad’ moments on an event like this, and this is the only place where I received harassment from a member of the public. I wasn’t really functional enough to handle it on my own, but another rider stepped in and stopped it. A horrible moment met with a caring one; good conquering bad once more.
No food appealed to me, the idea of eating made me gag, and I had lost the ability to think properly. I just wanted to be back in my solitude. As I was getting ready to leave, having downed a litre of milk and called it a day on the food front, a photographer appeared from nowhere.
“I’m really sorry, I’m usually pretty chatty, but I just can’t right now.” Message received, a few more snaps, a heads up that he would be taking a couple more in a kilometre’s time but that there was no need for small talk, and I was off. Apologies and thanks to Chris McClean are warranted here, you didn’t meet me at my finest moment.
The following hours were filled with beautiful, and thankfully fairly sedate, desert riding. I’m not sure how my legs were still turning, but I started to feel really strong over this section. Perhaps it was the sensation of finally making swift progress, speeding through the landscape, that gave me a few extra happiness watts.
Just as I began to relax back into riding and put the trials of the night behind me, bang, puncture. I was shocked by how quickly the tyre had gone flat, and my heart sank at the thought of rebuilding a sidewall and putting an inner tube in with so far left to ride.
I was in luck though, it was just a nail. In the top, out the side, an easy fix. Dynaplug inserted, a quick shake of sealant over the hole, tyre pumped, pressure guesstimated, back on the bike.
Before I knew it I was pedalling over deep sand once more, surrounded by cliffs, and a familiar looking oasis appeared before me. I had seen photos of this from previous editions, and it was even more surprising and beautiful in person. A sharp turn onto the long, steep, staircase out of the valley. I lifted my heavy bike for the first few steps, before my arms began screaming and I resorted to clumsily bumping it over them instead. An easier, if less elegant, approach.
For some reason I had anticipated the long road stretch that came next as an easy, flat, spin. A chance to recover and make up some ground. In reality it was, of course, a massive climb.
Thankfully, and ever more surprisingly, I was continuing to feel better and better on the bike. Settling into a rhythm I could enjoy the stunning views, and the smooth sweeping hairpins that extended into the distance.
The familiar dots in the distance reappeared at this point, riders making their way through the huge landscape ahead. I bumped into Josh again as the summit beckoned, both of us weary and weak from illnesses over the previous day. Parallel experiences had in complete isolation, I was struck by how little you know of others challenges while you’re separated on an ultra. You always imagine that everyone else is speeding along, an easy path revealing itself before them, but it’s more likely that they’re overcoming their own obstacles along with you.
Another ascent ticked off, and I could see a cafe! A moment of pure happiness and relief.
I ordered an omelette, fries, bread, tagine, a coca cola, and while I was waiting I popped to the shop next door for another carton of milk. It was 1:30pm now, and I had been riding since 3:30pm the previous day fuelled only by a can of pringles, and in that time I had also been sick so many times I lost count. The human body really is an incredible thing, and I was thankful mine had managed to keep going against all odds on this occasion.
I ate as much as I could, which wasn’t actually a lot considering how depleted my resources were by this point, and grabbed a few more snacks to shove in my backpack before hitting the trails once more.
The next six or so hours are a bit of a blur of rolling gravel roads, an occasional steep climb and descent, and a seemingly never ending journey further and further into the desert. The view, although lovely, barely seemed to change over this time, giving the illusion that no progress was being made. I couldn’t see how I was ever going to return to civilisation, but at the end of one of the rougher stretches of downhill we’d encountered for a while, there was the road.
Into the tribars, head down, I just wanted to get to the next town. I had marked this as a big opportunity to get a hot meal, top up on ride food, and maybe even find somewhere to sleep inside. I had begun to struggle big time as night had fallen, and knew I would need to bank some proper sleep before pressing on again.
Rolling into Tazenakht, for the first time on this ride I felt really uncomfortable. The sun had set many hours earlier, and pedalling through the dark, busy streets was a bit overwhelming. After so long without human contact it’s strange enough to be confronted by the presence of so many people and so much noise, but the cultural differences made the prospect of stopping here on my own an intimidating one.
Just as I was weighing up whether or not I was confident enough to find a hotel and sleep here by myself, I noticed the welcome sight of bikes loaded with bags propped up against a wall. Walking into the adjacent restaurant, I relaxed as I was greeted by the friendly faces of other riders. Everyone celebrated another arrival, a theme that would repeat with this same group in the coming days.
I ordered dinner, many courses of it, and more and more food was piled onto the table. Each of us consumed multiple meals, desperate for as many calories as we could stomach.
Hunger pains handled, I collapsed into bed. Setting my alarm for 2:30am, I looked forward to a much needed five hours of sleep under a pile of warm blankets. Ultra luxury at its finest.
Tomorrow is a new day.
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Molly Weaver.
