"this is not a bicycle race... this is mostly about your capacity for supporting long periods of time in isolation..." - it's been almost two weeks since the initial briefing of the Transportugal, this also means it's been almost a week since it finished...

What have I been doing during the last days?... Well... 1'st let me tell you how it was... (in case you didn't notice, here comes another long story - the longest ever...)

Day 1: "try to sit down and stretch your legs" - I've just finished the 140 km stage and I'm suffering with cramps all over my legs, someone takes me off the bike and I stay in the ground for a long time before being able to stand... This has been the hottest riding day of my life and my worst fears where confirmed with the evidence that my body wasn't prepared to withstand pedaling in a roller coaster and supporting 30+ temperatures... In the middle of this, breaking another chain looks almost a non issue (fixed in less than 5 minutes)...

The landscape was amazing... And I still can't describe the emotion of seeing the Douro river down in the valley 10km before the finish line... After being able to stand I asked for a massage and hoped for the best during the following day...

Day 2: "you've already been disqualified, you should stop for the day and keep your energies for tomorrow..." - After pedaling 100+ kilometers in hell, I'm advised to stop... And... I do... The day didn't start very well, I barely ate breakfast, my pulse was so accelerated that I was feeling like riding for long hours even before I touched my bike... I forced myself to eat but I felt like my stomach wasn't working and my body wasn't receiving any kind of nutrient... At a certain point the temperature was so high that I could feel the wheat raising from the ground and burning me from bellow while the sun burned me from above...

I know that whatever we do there will always be circumstances that will throw our limits to another dimension and up to this point that day was the closest I'll ever get from riding in a furnace... I knew that in those conditions I'd start having cramps sooner or later and by km 60 there they where... As usual cramps are not a big issue unless I have to put my feet in the ground (I'm ok when I'm pedaling) but at km 85 I felt like my whole body was shutting down, and when my legs stopped and I had to place my feet in the ground it felt like the world was about to end for me...

I still don't know what made me reach km 100... My brother was silent, Nuno told me something on the lines of "you aren't stopping unless you puke"... Honestly, when I stopped at the last checkpoint, not finishing a stage didn't look the worst that could happen to me at that point...

Obviously I don't remember much about the landscape we crossed, I took some pictures during the 1'st 20 km, but after that most of my memories are from cramps, inability to digest and looking at the GPS all the time hopping for the stage to end...

At night I asked myself if it was possible that months of training had been exhausted in a single day and I was doubting I'd be able to reach the end... Both my trainers looked worried on the phone... Leonor finished the call telling me: "if you fall and feel like you can't get up, call me... I'll shout so loud that you'll be back in your bike in a heartbeat!!!"...

Day 3: "this almost looks like one of our normal riding days" - Nuno comments that we're riding like we usually do... We're crossing "Malcata" a mountain range with near vertical ascents, descents to match and al combined with dangerouslly loose pavements (somebody mentioned that the sensation is like riding over marbles - could not find anything closer than this)... And yes, for the 1'st time in the race we're really having fun...

We're not thinking about the temperature, nor the cutout time, my heart rate looks normal and although I feel that 75% of my strength is gone, I'm confident that we'll finish the stage... But we don't... Everything was fine except the time we spent in café's having cold drinks and enjoying a bit of air conditioning...

Anyway... Everything seams to start working... I have another massage by the end of the day to play on the safe side and wish for a calm night of sleep...

"Malcata" is probably one of Portugal's best kept secrets... The memories of riding "up there" gave me energies for continuing and finding out what else would be there during the remaining days...

Day 4: "I'm so sorry for you... Do you have enough water?" - Jacqueline asks me if I have all I need for surviving before leaving me on the trail... The day was going fine… I was physically stable, emotionally confident, temperatures were coming down, and the last stretch of the stage crossed a series of trails that I'm familiar with and that score among my favorite…

Out of nowhere a rock hits my rear derailleur breaking it along with the bicycle frame… I tell my brother not to wait for me although he insists to (at least one of us should finish the stage) and try to walk the last 10 km of the stage... After 8 km it's clear that I wont be able to finish the stage on time…

In case you ask yourself how does it feel to break and expensive bicycle and what crossed my mind while walking 8 km after pedaling 90+… I'll probably disappoint you by saying: nothing much… My mind was empty… I noticed that by walking I was seeing things in the trails that I didn't while flying through them…

Of course I considered my options. The best was something on the lines of finding a way to get back home for getting my other bike and joining the race in the next day… I'd loose at least one stage... Resting one day was some sort of a conflict: a part of me would not mind to rest, but at the same time...

Day 5: "man, you're going to remember about this forever!... " - Little Joe, a former XC racer and a self proclaimed adrenalin junkie is amazed with my (almost film like) story… Indeed... 24 hours ago I had a broken frame and no solid idea on how to continue… How did I go from there into finishing the longest stage (160+ km) in the competition without any disruption???… Well, long story short: it was pure luck…

A not so short version is that my owner was there when I broke the frame because Vitor Gamito (one of their racers and a former winner of the Portuguese tour) was doing that stage for marketing purposes… My intention is not to go into publicity, but they where spectacular, not only for taking my bike to the shop to be repaired, but also by leaving Vitor's bike with me so that I could continue…

Ok... There was no excuse for resting, so... There I was in the next day ready for the longest stage in the race...

This day was somehow a turning point for me: I'm not much into numbers, but I admit I'm attracted to large distances and this stage scored high in my anxieties and desires before starting the competition, today I can't understand how could the idea of skipping it cross my mind… I did not feel the day or the distance going by except for the last 10km where I felt my energies where going down by the minute... Anyway... A bit later than expected… Something was telling me that things had started to flow…

Day 6: "thank you..." - After crossing the finish line another racer, thanks me for leading during the last stretch of the stage…


140+ km of head wind and some rain makes us feel that we're always going up… Still this was the best stage up to the moment… I spent the last kms enjoying the landscape going by at a fast pace while thinking to myself that I wouldn't mind riding a little more…

In fact if there was any defined reason for me to do something as crazy as this it would be the desire to find out if there can really be peace in me when everything seams to be playing against my odds… It's probably difficult to explain how can someone be in a Zen state after riding for almost 8 hours but believe it or not this paid for every bit of effort and pain I had to endure up to that moment including riding in a bike that was much harder on my back than mine...

Day 7: "the bad thing about going down is that we'll have to go up again..." - A fellow rider comments about our arrival to the mountains after ridding for 2 days in the "plains"...


I used quotes because there are no real plains along the course, someone mentioned the concept "Portuguese Flat", meaning that we're always going up or down although there may not be difficult ascents, still we're pretty much far away from the concept of flat trail found in other contexts...

I recall thinking to myself that at least in the mountains we were shielded from the wind… And at least I had my bike back…

When climbing through hidden valleys I found the strange sensation of riding in silence again without the constant sound of the wind chant in my hears, but I could not forget Antonio's comment that west winds are responsible for temperatures going down in Portugal because they bring air masses from the sea, so I guess head wind was a blessing and not a curse during the last 300km...

Anyway, we're getting to the point where pedaling becomes routine… Up, down, wind, strong rain showers, whatever… There's just something pulling us forward, making our legs move beyond our will, pain is a recall from the past, suffering is forgotten… We're just mixing ourselves with the rhythm of the earth that moves beneath us… Thoughts come and go in bursts and in the middle of it all I can't believe this will finish in less than 24 hours…

At a certain point rain showers become stronger and for the first time I feel cold, I'm wondering that using a sleeveless jersey was probably not a good idea for the day… I get out of my Zen state for a moment and anxiety kicks in…

While riding through a sequence of mud pots I do a stupid move while looking at the GPS and I fall… My head hits the ground, I tell myself that it's probably time to retire my old helmet… I've a scratch in my left knee but it does not look too bad… I get back in the bike pedaling harder than I did before, throwing myself at mud pots and small rivers, trying to heal fear with adrenalin and mainly trying to stay warm…

After, some km I have to stop for healing my knee as it had not stopped bleeding… I use a pain killer for the 1'st time in the whole week… And up we go… After going up through the biggest ascent in the whole week ("Serra de Monchique") under a strong rain shower I'm ok again...

Day 8: "this is it… you've reached the end..." - Antonio greets me at the finish line… I'm happy for reaching the end, but at the same time I'm sad it finished… To be honest I'm in one of those "what am I going to do now" mindsets...

Today I rode alone most of the time… After falling again in the 1'st kms (one of those stupid situations where we stop and forget to unclip the shoes that should not happen anymore but still does...) I rode hard for some time in order to try to get my mind off the fear mindset I usually dive into whenever I fall… I stopped only once in order to refill my camelback and kept pedaling…

I remember asking myself why to rush if everything would be over by the end of the stage… For the 1'st time I think about my life outside the race… How far everything was for one week… How far are the emotions of this week compared to jumping into burning projects in the end of the world… How far have gone my notions of effort, pain and suffering… And above all what do I really value after going through all this...

My thoughts would burst in various directions stopping only when a rocky or sandy section would remind me that I should concentrate on my riding… As soon as the pavement become less rough my legs would proceed on their own and I'd get back to my thinking state…

Epilogue: it took me more than a week to start writing this, and more than two for finishing, this is probably because for some strange reason I wanted to give my mind the chance to concentrate on something else…

In the meanwhile I went back to photography, 4 wheeling, wine, I even tried to read through my backlog of photography magazines… One thing is for sure: The race was not an end as it might seam considering all the training and preparation I went through… In fact, a couple of months before starting I was conscious this would be more of a beginning and that nothing would look the same afterwards… I couldn't be closer...

It's impossible to describe the amount of suffering I went through during the 2'nd day, it's even harder to explain what made me continue on those conditions, so is explaining my happiness during the last kilometers of the 6'th stage and summing it all: It's difficult to summarize and explain how I feel about the whole experience…

The closest I got to is saying that my race looks like one of those pictures that most people consider perfect and unattainable, but that I know there's something making them less perfect that prevents them from figuring in one of my portfolios…

Just like unperfected pictures make me go out over and over again in the pursuit of something that eases my desire for completeness, the 30km that I did not rode pull me forward into continuing and going through it all again…

Now I'm even more aware that there are so many variables in to play that nothing can ensure that I'll make it in the next try… And again this sounds like going back over and over again to the same place looking for the perfect image and enjoying every piece of the process…

By that 6'th day I was sure that riding just for the sake of it in some kind of Zen mindset, would be addictive and that I would have to go back and look for it over and over again… This is just like the process of visualizing an image that may never hang on my wall…

Choosing the best place to place my tripod and going through all the steps for setting up my large format camera while forgetting whatever goes on in my everyday life is more of a small episode in a big journey rather than a step that will certainly take me to the perfect image…

For those of you who need to rationalize from time to time, what I mean is that I'll have to do this again... I may fail again and again before succeeding and if I succeed my goals will probably shift forward in order to get me going again…

We'll see...