AUGUST 9, 2024

HELLENIC MOUNTAIN RACE REPORT 2024

Not Type 3 Fun

Words by Rory Stuart

Introduction

How was the race? Good? Bad? It was such a blur that I honestly couldn't give you a proper answer other than it was not type 3 fun in any way shape or form.

My memories of the race are scattered pieces of paper desperately trying to not sink in turbulent eddy-infested storm waters. My only hope for a more complete understanding of the race rests on the photos I took on my film camera. They will reveal the landscapes I saw that were truly breathtaking, as well as the frustrations I had. I fear that one roll may be tainted by debris I found in the camera when changing a canister. Maybe those particular memories will not be reclaimed and those days will remain as merely legend.

I know that a lot of my Instagram stories were of issues I faced. Or of the hills. Throughout the race so many things went wrong - my brakes, tyres, chainring, stem, illness, hallucinations. But whenever my mind was at its weakest and I accepted that I could just scratch, the universe gave a little prod and set wheels in motion to make me continue onwards. Perhaps this is me drawing lines between unconnected events, but if a placebo can truly help then who am I to question it?

From completing Bristol Glasgow Bristol (on the second attempt) I'd learned that it's too easy to obsess about how many hills or metres elevation or time there is left. I'd carried the "it is what it is" ideology forward to future cycling, including this race. Regardless of how many times I re-check the route there will always be that mountain to climb, or those kilometres to complete without any resupply options. The only thing that will reduce the impending obstacles is maintaining forward momentum and rolling up the miles until it is done.

Day One

The excitement of day one was unreal. My first ever ultra race! The route started with a loop around the monasteries, which I’d done as a shakedown ride a couple days prior. I am still very much a road cyclist by experience, and my off-road riding style is different to those who have grown up on the trails. I knew that if there were a lot of folk directly behind me then I’d be forced to ride unnaturally and with less control. I ended up getting towards the front of the group within the first kilometre and my gamble paid off. The walking sections caused the group to split up enough that I could, on the whole, ride in my own way.

The following section was mostly road, allowing me to cruise along at more of a time trial pace. I knew this would be the only time I would be riding with the podium position contenders. As the first dirt road descents came, I knew that suspension forks would have been a blessing, but with my setup a compromise between touring and completing this event, I’d opted for fully rigid. 

Beyond Metsovo the rain began to pick up and the dirt tracks turned to quagmires. The only silver lining was that I didn’t care about going straight through deep puddles, with my feet already so soaked! The rain kept coming, and with darkness well and truly set in I went about the task of finding brick and mortar accommodation. Online searches yielded no results, nor did a phone call to a hotel 13 kilometres away. That is until I asked if there were any suitable bus stops or covered places in that town that I could bivvy in - suddenly a room was available! 

By this time, my brakes had already been rubbing for a bit, but with 10 kilometres of boggy forest tracks to go in the pitch dark, it was not the time nor place to be messing with them. Progressively they got worse and worse, and by the time I had reached the town my wheels were skidding as I walked down the damp cobbled streets. Another pair from the race walked in to the restaurant with the hopes of finding a bed. Fortunately for them my room slept three! After food and a bit of chatting they headed off to sleep. For me, sleep would have to wait. If I couldn’t sort out my brakes, the race would be over. 

Day Two

A set of brake pads should last 2000km fairly happily. 160km was how long the first set lasted - brand new before the race, and worn half way through the backing plate within the first day. 

I spent 3 hours in the evening trying to push the seized pistons back and change the pads. My best bet would be to open the brake to bleed out some fluid, which worked until I turned my bike upside down and all pressure was immediately lost. I accepted my fate. A bus to the next city and a DNF was imminent.

In the morning, I asked the hotel owner about car garages that may be able to help. They’d be open in 2 days - time that I simply did not have. A motorcyclist overheard and insisted that he would give a hand and let me use his tools. I finally had pressure back at the expense of more lost DOT fluid. The motorcyclist didn’t have brake fluid, but I remembered that DOT fluid absorbs water so adding some will help improve the pressure at the expense of maximum operating temperatures. I added in as little as I dared to the reservoir so the brake functioned but not so much that the boiling point of the new brake fluid mixture was heavily reduced.

It worked. Sort of. I didn't have to scratch but it came to bite me in the arse later on in the day.

The route took us past Vikos Gorge (one of the world’s deepest gorges, and also pretty gorgeous if you ask me) before swinging up, up and up to Smolikas. Despite how toasty and warm the refuge before the summit was, the first control was just beyond - a small push before a nice bit of downhill to the control. Onwards I went and the hike-a-bike began. One step forward, push bike, brakes on, and rinse & repeat. I wish it were that simple! My brakes gradually lost pressure until the front simply wouldn't make contact with the rotors any more. My speed slumped as I had to ensure perfect footing, and that the bike was wedged reasonably still on the 30% slopes. As the ground levelled off for the plateaued summit, I somehow managed to pump my rear brake back to life. The front was still nowhere to be seen.

What should've been easy, with the control point all downhill from there, was in fact arduous, consisting of several km of walking whilst trying to resuscitate my brake. As soon as my Garmin ticked under 1700 m(asl) they came back to life. And with that, I slung myself back over the bike and trundled gingerly down the singletrack. A few sketchy sections where I chose to walk, but I eventually reached CP1 in the early hours of the morning.

Day Three

I can say what I saw but that deviates from the logical truth. Those truths are that fireflies do not glow red and that the mini church shrines are not people/there are not (I hope) people running through the shadows of hedgerows

So how did we get here? The dissolvable caffeine and electrolyte tablets had been doing wonders all day, with the slow consumption of an espresso-worth over a couple of hours keeping my mind running strong. I kept up the micro dosing all the way into the small hours of the morning, without which I don't think the hike-a-bike could've been completed with so little wobblies.

The steady flow of caffeine into my system did have one downfall. Upon arrival to CP1 I was absolutely buzzing. Going to sleep at 2 or 3 AM seemed almost foolish - I may as well keep pushing onwards and take a nap when the sleepies finally kicked in. Except that they didn't really. Not until the mid-afternoon, where a 5-minute power nap was required. All of these factors lead towards some mild hallucinations and a general lack of understanding of what had happened during the course of the day.

What I can tell you for sure is that I found a shop in Metsovo to finally fill up my brakes with DOT fluid, and that I reached CP2 that evening. Although, I have a sense that the day was not quite as easy as that two-step synopsis makes it sound.

Day Four

By day 4 I reached full acceptance of hiking up double track too bouldery to ride (not the same zen state was achieved on the hiking trails - a few more expletives on those). I'd enjoyed the solace of riding alone, but trundling up the mountain pass with company was most welcome now that the fatigue was fully established.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Jack and I had talked about sidewall slashes, and fate had clearly been eavesdropping. Not just the rear tyre sliced open, but a plunge through a puddle revealed a slow leak in the tube up front. At least that puddle helped to clean out some of the sealant when the inevitable tube fitting occurred. And so it was back to riding with me, myself and I.

I bumped into Jack once more outside a restaurant (shoe-gate in full swing by this point and a broadcast had been made about it) and with the aid of Google Translate, an omelette (practically swimming in olive oil) with feta and chips turned up. My body needed it so badly that a second was ordered mere minutes after the first had been set down.

Onwards and upwards - out to a bit of hiking trail beyond a lovely stone bridge. I took a wrong turn due to the overgrowth (and certainly not my navigation), which resulted in a lovely Alex Honnold-style 10-minute free solo back up to the proper track. Not so safe. Not so fun.

Having a canine friend is generally quite nice, except when they have the spatial awareness of a cat and a cowbell around their neck. The former meant I'd have to concentrate even more to try to preempt when it would walk in front of my wheel. The latter meant EVERY dog in the surrounding villages could hear it coming, and came running at full speed. Nearing the top of the climb its owner did eventually find it. Goodbye pooch. You were a good companion.

Day Five/Six(ish)

Looking back at my photos, I’m convinced I’ve somehow missed out a day. Or perhaps the memories have simply been suppressed? Somewhere there should exist a section of woodland, followed by a bivvy in a holiday home porch. I distinctly remember that camp spot - condensation dripping off the galvanised roof onto my face and bivvy bag all night long. It was also on that night that I made a call to my university housemate, Dan, to rationalise my choices. I started out the race with a little lurgy but it had progressed into a nasty thing with "better than strepsils" recommended at a pharmacy, and finding myself unable to breathe through my nose. I barely slept a wink, as mouth breathing and sleep do not go hand in hand for me. 

Thankfully I didn't go up the switchbacks of slide 2 (above). I did, however, go up 5 and 6. The climb was incredibly long. The kind that makes you seriously question the life decisions that have led to that moment. At the top though, all doubt was washed away. Looking back at the track winding its way up the final point of the col was simply breathtaking. In the moment it felt like a giant had dropped a piece of spaghetti, as it so elegantly draped its way down the slopes. So incredibly awesome to be able to ride in such terrain.

On maps I see switchbacks and get a sense of relief. I suspect most would have the opposite view, but they signify that someone has tried to lessen the blow of the sharp ascent in some way. The one thing that fills me with dread is seeing small sections of paved roads near houses on the map. Instead of making a hill more tolerable, someone has thought about it and instead decided that a 20-30% section of concrete washboard to be more apt. God forbid they put in a little work to make the climb easier to traverse. The fumes of burnt-out clutches are permanently lingering in the air. Thankfully there were only two of these bad sections, both of which I walked. Or, more specifically, stumbled.

Day Seven

I woke up to start the final day in a church, for which I am so grateful the keys were left in the door the evening prior. Another cyclist had seen my bike outside and joined me. With my eagerness in the morning to get to Nakpaftos I pushed onwards alone, but we later rejoined for dribs and drabs as our paces momentarily aligned.

There was one big ol' climb split into two: tar and dirt. The latter had two peaks but I glossed over that to make the climb less of a daunting prospect. I had a secret trick up my sleeve. At the end of the tar portion of the climb I'd spotted a restaurant on Google Maps. Perfect for a quick coffee and to finish off some of my food. Now absolutely pinging off the walls I hit the dirt for one final time. Somehow - perhaps caffeine related - I managed to tap into an unknown source of energy that sent me up and then up again in record pace.

For the first time then I saw the bridge to Patras. Just shy of the bridge sat Nakpaftos. The finish awaited. It's all downhill from there. With my back tire clinging on for dear life I decided to full gas and enjoy the last bit of riding. My hands were getting incredibly pumped with the lack of suspension, so going fully brakes free let them ease off a little. I glanced down at my Garmin and saw speeds of over 60 kph, and before long I was onto tar for the final approach. A swing down into town, up the main road before a U-turn to go down the high street to the arriveé.

6 days 4 hours and 12 minutes. I had done it.

Post-Finish

I do feel like one of the biggest changes - and the one I am most proud of - is nutrition. During my early years riding Audax, I certainly didn't eat enough. That's not to say I didn't eat at all, but I didn't have a healthy amount in relation to the energy expenditure. Over the past few years, I've become more in tune. I would take more time to make sure I was getting in not just the carbs but also the fats and protein. This event felt like the first time I'd nearly gotten it all right. I ate a quite frankly grotesque amount of food throughout the race, and it paid off. I still bonked a couple of times, but that's to be expected on such a taxing route. However, I felt the strongest (mind and body) I'd ever been on a bike. And that's even with brand new shoes 2 days before the race!

There are a few changes to my setup I'd like to do now I have a bit more wisdom - shed a bit of weight, lower gearing, a bigger tyre up front, suspension stem. Perhaps even do some actual structured training instead of only cycling whenever I feel like it. Which, in fairness, is quite a lot.

The only two things I have absolute clarity on is that these ultra events are absolutely bonkers, and I want more.

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