Mattie Dodd journal #18: lessons from a nine-day DIY stage race

Mattie Dodd has been keeping us company all season with his candid dispatches from the road. His latest journal takes us inside a stint of stage racing that stretched from the Czech Republic to Romania, via Slovenia and Italy. It’s classic Mattie: sharp-eyed, self-deprecating, equal parts grit and gallows humour. There are wrong turns and white-knuckle descents, cows in the road and close shaves with bollards – plus the satisfaction of finishing it all off in the white jersey.

I finished my last journal entry by mentioning how I hoped not to have any more cows finding their way onto the course during my upcoming races, slightly tongue in cheek of course. Well, lo and behold, coming round a corner on stage 3 of the Tour of Romania, the front of the bunch was confronted with a lone cow deciding that was the perfect moment to cross the road. Luckily, it was a relaxed point in the race and there were no casualties, other than the minor emotional damage inflicted on a teammate when I turned to him and asked why his mum chose that point in the race to watch from… More on Romania later, I need to rewind a bit.

It’s hard to describe to non-cyclists how it’s possible to completely ruin yourself in such a short timeframe

I’ve just come off a decent-sized block of stage racing, starting with the West Bohemia Tour and finishing with the Tour of Romania. West Bohemia Tour, in the Czech Republic, was the only one of those ranked as 2.2U – meaning it was solely for U23s. The first of four – well, three and a half – stages was a seven-minute hill climb. It’s hard to describe to non-cyclists how it’s possible to completely ruin yourself in such a short timeframe, so the best description probably comes in the form of a photo taken afterwards with precisely nothing going on behind my eyes.

The next two days saw me move into the top 10 on GC as a result of various offensive actions, to put it laconically. The third day, however, will pop up in my nightmares for a while to come. A long climb in the middle of the stage saw only 20 riders crest the summit together. An attack of three riders went away from that group as the road tipped downhill, quickly gaining a minute. I then launched a counter move and bridged across to them with one other rider – all good so far. Coming into the final 5 km, we had 30 seconds on the main bunch behind, which meant I was in the virtual lead of the race overall. There were a few grimacing passengers in the group, but three out of the five of us were firmly committed to the mad dash to the line. It was going to be close.

I managed to go the wrong way

Well, that was until I managed to go the wrong way. How that actually happens is a question I’m asking just as much as you are. It was a mix of my Garmin map not being totally clear, lack of signage, limited brain oxygenation and dark glasses. It gets even worse when I say that I was the only one to make that foolish mistake. I lost the break and was then swallowed up by the marauding bunch. That break went on to be caught with 500 m to go. Would a third rider pulling turns have made the difference? I’ll never know, but it was pretty gutting not to be able to find out. Let’s just say I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone on the way back to the hotel – anger and embarrassment don’t make for sociable interactions.

The final day was the least eventful racing-wise, yet the most eventful drama-wise. A crash at over 75 kph saw multiple riders go down behind me. While most came away with only bad road rash, a few were more serious, leading to an hour-long neutralisation of the race. A teammate had to be airlifted to hospital, though luckily his injuries weren’t as bad as initially feared. The race then finished with a bunch sprint and the usual associated chaos. I finished the race 6th on GC, a result I was pleased with.

The next Sunday was GP Kranj in Slovenia – a race where I think I lost years off my life. A city centre course meant road furniture galore and plenty of stress as a result. I managed to avoid losing any skin, but did witness a rider front-flipping over a bollard – which was pretty spectacular.

The combination of bad roads, technical descents, the infamous tifosi and just a mindset whereby riders are totally fine with competitors riding into a wall if it means they get to the front, makes it utterly mental

The Giro della Regione Friuli-Venezia-Giulia, to give it its full name, came later that week. Racing in Italy is always crazy. The combination of bad roads, technical descents, the infamous tifosi and just a mindset whereby riders are totally fine with competitors riding into a wall if it means they get to the front, makes it utterly mental. In a slightly strange way, that’s what makes racing there so enjoyable though. I don’t think I’m alone in that opinion either.

The first two days ended in bunch sprints, one reduced, one very much not. The third day was bizarre. On paper, the queen stage, so everyone was sufficiently on edge. Two and a half hours in, the race was neutralised (there’s becoming a theme here…). This time, it was nothing to do with the riders, or bicycles for that matter. A jury motorbike speeding between groups had been hit by a car pulling out of a side road. Both riders were badly injured, and the need for multiple ambulances and helicopters meant the race was called off. The final day came and went with a decent enough ride on my part, but nothing to overly write home about.

It was a case of no rest for the wicked, however, and the next day I was off to Bucharest for Turul României, or the Tour of Romania for us anglophones. (Whilst on the subject of language, Romanian is actually easy enough to read and understand if you know any other European Romance language.) Aside from the bike racing, it was cool to visit the country. It’s the furthest east I’ve ever been in Europe; at one point the race passed 20 km from the Ukrainian border – the drones being used for the livestream raised a little suspicion…

Image: Foto Andrei Balasan/Turul României

Stage 1 was slightly chaotic as a massive break escaped and was only caught with about 50 m to go by the bunch. The summit finish on day 2 was supposed (note the use of “supposed”) to be the GC day. I made the slightly do-or-die decision to attack before the bottom of the 20 km final climb – of those two options, I died. Well, not literally obviously, just got caught halfway up and saw my efforts come to nothing. It was a case of rolling home and saving the legs, in turn getting the rare chance to enjoy the view. Most of the south of Romania was nothing but pan-flat grain fields, but the mountains had a slightly mystical feel.

The do-or-die theme ran into the following day. The second of two 5 km climbs topped out at 35 km to go. I’d seen on the first descent how greasy the road was, with multiple crashes and my own fair share of momentary grip losses. With that in mind, I decided to gamble down the final descent, attacking on the plateau over the top and giving my best Matej Mohorič impression on the descent (I mean, we sort of share the same name).

There’s an Austrian expression, “spital oder pokal”, which translates as “hospital or trophy”. That was my modus operandi

There’s an Austrian expression, “spital oder pokal”, which translates as “hospital or trophy”. That was my modus operandi. With one other rider, we hit 20 km to go with a 1’10” advantage to a group of 30 or so behind. It was looking good. The bunch was closing though – two teams were burning through riders in an attempt to bring us back (so I’m told). After catching the final survivor of the early break, we passed the flamme rouge with barely 10 seconds to play with. That final kilometre was the longest of my life – though mainly because it was longer than a kilometre, the marker being in the wrong place.

The aforementioned ‘cow’ incident

I crossed the line in second, with only a five-second gap to the bunch. The adrenaline of the race was quickly replaced by the tedium of drug testing. The electronic database had gone down, so there was a lot of waiting around in a hotel backroom, looking forward to the opportunity to urinate into a cup, just to be able to get out of the room and my still damp kit.

I was riding into a block headwind, on the same road for 90 km, with one other rider – at that point, I was seriously questioning my life choices

That was supposed to be the GC action over with no climbs in the final two stages. Romania’s shelter-less grain fields and a north-westerly wind had other ideas though. 215 km and 500 m of climbing looked pretty dull on paper. So I decided trying to get in the break would solve both potential issues. Firstly, it’d be far more interesting than tapping along in the bunch all day. It would also mean that if the race did split in the crosswinds, I’d already be out front without having had to navigate the chaos behind – win-win. Well, that was until I was riding into a block headwind, on the same road for 90 km, with one other rider – at that point, I was seriously questioning my life choices.

Alas, my super sneaky plan did come to fruition. With 60 km to go, I was told by the team car that the front echelon of 25 was on its way. All I had to do was wait for them and jump on. With our sprinter in the group, we had a clear plan. He ended up 4th and I moved to 7th on GC. It was possibly the most energy-intensive way of getting to that end point, but there’s no argument whether it worked or not. It wasn’t boring either.

The final stage city centre circuit around Bucharest was without any major talking points, other than the novelty of a day in the white jersey. I held on to 7th on GC, the only sketchy moment being a near miss with an unguarded yellow pole.

After my DIY nine-day stage race, the final test was to keep feeling in my legs during the 17-hour drive back to the service course – which I just about passed. That’s the last of the stage races I’ll do this year, with the final few outings being some one-day races in Italy.