Guadarun 2008 Day 2
Byran Sharp writes
Day 2 Grand Terre
Today was scheduled to be the longest leg of the event, following a coastal path around the east face of the island. We started from camp through the town of Le Moule with a safety car leading the way, a gentle sea breeze and an overcast sky made conditions more hospitable for the for the Anglais/Ecosse partners in crime. Twenty minutes passed quite quickly before the car peeled away and the competitors were left with only basic course markers and a route map to find their way. Behind the beach lay a giant strip of rough, jagged volcanic stone that was to be our playground as the course began to display it's technical side.
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A quick check of the map revealed a devilish ascent wasn't far away, a punishing slog up 75 metres was almost a break from the last hour of fancy footwork. Steep climbs, undulating cliif tops with spectacular views and steep descents followed each other in rapid succession, in the back of your mind you knew the worst hill was behind you but that doesn't make the current one any easier.
The central part of the race was flat farm track surrounded by endless fields of sugar cane plantation. The lack of visual references meant that straying off the route was all too simple, several competitors found themselves one marker short the frustration of wasted effort soon began to build. It's in difficult times like these that the "Delboy Trotter Diploma in French" that myself and Andy passed with flying colours proved to be woefully inadequate in communicating not only our concerns but also our opinions with our French counterparts.
The island spectacular volcanis geology, exotic vegetation and crashing waves revealed themselves as we eventually found our way out of the agricultural maze and back to the coast. A startegically placed water station was like an oasis, especially as the 3 central days were meant to be entirely self suffiecent, no time penalties just ice cold water.
The final few kilometers had us skipping and tripping along another tight cliff top path. It seemed to snake around endlessly, thick coarse shrubbery and painted stone markers lined the sides so glimpses of the horizon and what lay ahead were intermittent at best.
The best things come to those who wait, or in this case run, but the best was about to come. Finish lines are usually well advertised and have the competitors sprinting the last few hundred meters between metal barriers lined with cheering crowds. It couldn't have been more different, from the dense bushes and unforgiving shrubbery we emerged with only a yard of two of sand not just to the finish line but to a deserted bay lined on all sides by cliffs and filled to the brim with fine white sand and bright blue sea. I didn't see one person look at their watch or the finish line as they crossed it, if time penalties were handed out for wide eyes and open mouths we'd have all been guilty and happily take the punishment. I'll leave the rest to your imagination as my vocabulary really can't do it justice.
Again, as ever the food was faultless, yet another chance for the chefs to show off and for us to apprecaite every minute of it. The good thing about open air eating is picking your own table, there were plenty to choose from and everyone had a view to good to be true. The drudgery of unloading your kit from the transport before heading off to the ferry was quickly past as everyone mucked in together and got the job done. We still don't know how to pronounce "Paradise" in French but today we saw it written all over peoples faces.
to be continued
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