El Contrereloj de Paute

This past Sunday Sula and I participated in our first road race. There were about fifty plus roadies and less than ten mountain bikers who gathered at 8am in front of Christen´s bike shop. While other Cuencanians paraded in finely pressed clothes as they scuttled off to perform rituals and repent, we gathered to pray and give thanks in our own way, donning nothing less than our Sunday´s best.

The journey would take us out to Paute (I did not bring my camera with me, but for visual reference there are photos of a climbing bout at Paute in an earlier post), a beautiful trek with a quaint destination. Cradled by the massive forearms of the Andes on either side of us, we rode at a so-called ¨duro¨ pace, which translates roughly to a ¨consistently tough ride.¨ Around 40k out we reached Paute, ate some dried fruit and sandwiches, slugged some water, and then headed back towards Cuenca. With 12k left before the finish, everyone regrouped for the contrereloj. Being the only female mountain biker (there were two other ladies, but they were both roadies) I was first up, with a minute in between each person to follow. I clipped into both pedals as my bike was held upright from behind, and with a Spanish countdown we were off. The results: I felt strong, pushed hard, and surprisingly did not get passed by anyone. Twenty three minutes and thirty seconds after the first pedal stroke I was crossing the finish line content with the morning´s suffering. Acknowledging and appreciating opportunities, and then testing the limits of what I have been given--this is my religion, the flow of my spirituality; this is how I demonstrate I am thankful to be here on earth, this is, in many ways, how I pray.

As for the dynamics of the race itself, and I wish I had a photo to accompany, I must comment: about 1 hour out of the 3 in total was spent riding along the highway, yes, the same as we know them in the states, the highway. By now I have become quite accustomed to riding my bike on the autopista (mom, don´t read this), but to hold a TT on the highway, with an official finish line stretching from the curb to a parked motorcycle in the middle of a three lane highway, was quite the sight to see. There are not as many cars on the highway here as there are in the states, for several reasons, but the traffic is much faster; the scene perhaps parallels that of an early morning 287, to reference one of Jersey´s own autopistas. Although this is only my first road race, besides New Brunswick Alley Cats, I am fairly certain that race officials do not customarily warn riders about the dangers of traffic before sending them off on a TT. Not only must you race against time, but also hold your breath as fuming buses grumble past, and simultaneously keep one eye on traffic as it generally has little respect for you. To say the least, it´s a whirlwind run through an exhaust filled gauntlet; not only do you want to do your best in the race, but you also want to live. Regardless, cheers to racing in Ecuador, as the experience was superior.