“Urgh,” I allowed cracking an eye open, “Woz the time?”
“Time to be up if you want breakfast this morning,” Mand suggested.

Sugar, I don’t want to repeat yesterday morning – not that it was exactly my fault but that doesn’t make much difference to the end result does it? I hauled myself out of bed and headed for the facilities.

“You were well out of its last night,” Mand mentioned as I did my business.
“Don’t remember.”
“Kept going on about some Will chap,” she went on.
Will? Who the heck is…ah, that Will, “Like what?”
“You seemed to think you were sharing a room.”
Oh bum, “Must’ve been dreaming.”
“Some dream,” Mand grinned poking her head around the door.
“Don’t remember,” I admitted.
“So, who’s Will?”
“Er no idea,” I fibbed, “You wearing thermals today?”

My road rash is scabby now but there’s some more bruising coming out although it thankfully doesn’t hurt much. On the other hand, well my right one actually, the wrist is still quite swollen and a glorious rainbow of bruise, I’ve got about eighty percent of movement but it does hurt a bit in certain positions. I guess it’s gonna be a try it and see thing today.
 
Down in the breakfast room it was business as usual, everyone tucking into a decent breakfast with all the trimmings. That doesn’t mean a total pig out of course, that’s counterproductive but a bowl of muesli just isn’t gonna cut it when there’s a good four hours in the saddle ahead of us. I started with a boiled egg followed by yoghurt, scrambled egg and bacon ‘sandwich’, a cheese and meat sandwich then finishing with a croissant loaded with Nutella® and of course several cups of coffee. Bet I still get the munchies down the road but I’m sure Kat and Petra will have snacks for us when we stop for coffee.

“Not very warm,” Tal opined when we emerged into the outside world a few minutes later.
“Arctic,” Ron added.
“I’m gonna wear my ski gloves,” Manda told us turning back towards the hotel.
“Good idea,” I agreed, “Fetch mine will ya?”
“Cost ya.”
“Whatever, they’re on the desk.”

George addressed the assembled womanhood, “Okay ladies, I’ll drive point with Kat, the bus’ll follow behind. Steady pace please, we’ll stop at the top of the pass for coffee, Jen, you’re in charge on the road, let’s get moving.”
 
No arguments with that, even with thermals and ski gloves I was shivering as we waited. Mum led off and once more we headed up into Feldkirch, George passing us on the way in. it was sort of déjà vu when we passed under the castle and started the climb through the gorge although today it wasn’t foggy damp but foggy frosty.

We stayed on the road today though, a steady rotation starting after we passed the motorway turn with its resulting reduction in traffic. The trees and fields were heavily rimed, the road however was merely damp although the odd roadside puddle looked to be iced over. There were a few glimpses of blue sky through the fogginess and the mountain tops to our left glinting white in the sunshine.

After a few kilometres George signalled a left turn which took us not just over the river Ill and the autobahn but out of the mountain’s shadow into the slightly warmer air of the sun-bathed northern side of the valley. Another turn headed us eastward once more and I felt pretty content and happy as we cruised along at a little short of thirty K.

“This I can live with,” Gret mentioned.
“Hope it’s like this all the way,” Mand added.
“Not likely,” I put in from behind them, “We have to go over some of these rocks.”
“Spoilsport,” Gret told me.
 
We trundled along in the morning sunshine, the roads dry with no real traffic, through a couple of villages interspersed with wide open meadows, the mountains not looking particularly high on our side of the valley. Once again George indicated a left turn which headed towards the wall of the valley, looks like we might be getting to some climbing. It was a bit of a drag into the village, Thuringer, then the main road took a left and we didn’t, going immediately into a narrow and steep climb.

I say steep, not stupid but enough to have us all out of the saddle up the ramp, around a hairpin and it eased slightly before a wider turn led into a steeper straight. At least the road widened out which meant the oncoming traffic could pass easily. We escaped the village and whilst still climbing quite hard it was now across a sunbathed meadow dotted with farm buildings.

The worrying thing was the pretty obvious snow line that we were steadily approaching. By the time we reached Thuringerberg we were all huffing a bit, jackets were unzipped and the choice of clothing under debate. Looking back across the Illtal the mountains were starkly outlined against the clear blue sky, north facing slopes appearing to be in darkness. The climbing eased as the road turned along the contours taking us towards what appeared to be a narrow defile topped with snow covered peaks.

We’d got a bit spread out on the climb but as the road bounced about a bit, everyone got back together and all the grumping of being warm was replaced by jackets being reclosed and a re-adjustment of headgear. I don’t know how far we’d climbed but we started to lose some of the gain as we dropped into a cold, greyer world. George accelerated away as we dropped once more into a rime encrusted black and white world.

There was no wind down here, the plume of steam from the wood yard rose straight up through the silence and then the road bent upwards once again. As we climbed it became difficult to differentiate the frost from deposits of frozen snow at the roadside and each breath resulted in a cloud of condensed air. This latest steep ramp eased off when it reached some trees, by the time we emerged and entered the village of Sonntag the frost was gone leaving us with just a few patches of unmelted snow and a return to sunshine.
 
“That was horrible,” Roni huffed as we reassembled on the level road through the village.
“At least the road was clear.”
“Yeah, you’d never get up that if there was anything on the road.”

Subconsciously I winced as I recalled Wednesday’s mishap, don’t know about up but definitely not down!

Mum dropped back through the bunch checking everyone was okay, I guess that’s what the road captain is supposed to do.

“How’s the wrist kiddo?
“Okay, aches a bit when I get out of the saddle, how far is it to the top?”
“Think we’re about half way up, let me know if it gets too uncomfortable.”
“Yeah.” I agreed.

 
The road was still climbing but quite steadily, by the time we cleared the village we were actually above the snowline but the tarmac was dry and with the sun now high in the sky it was quite pleasant. We looped higher up the mountainside through a series of lazy hairpins, the grade hovering around the uncomfortable point. A last ramp brought us into Fontanella, the road twiddling about a bit before leaving the picture postcard views for a descent into a heavily wooded, and cold, gorge.

  The road above Fontanella © Maddy Bell 2017

George’s Bimmer growled in protest as the road crossed a bridge into a twisting and steep climb through the snow-covered timber. There was no chance to ease into the climb, one second it was coasting across the burbling river, the next it was slinging the gear shifters inboard moving from the saddle to standing on the pedals. I could hear the bus complaining behind us as we clambered up what must be at least a twenty percent grade which had bikes all over the place as everyone had their own battle with gravity.

Without my dodgy wrist I would’ve been up the front, giving my all but today pulling on the bars was uncomfortable and so I quickly slipped back as I tried to return to the saddle as much as possible. Eventually things became less dramatic but by now we were strung out over at least a hundred metres. The road emerged from the trees to reveal the village at what looked to be the top, maybe a couple of K’s away still but it also revealed a tunnel.
 
I dragged myself back up to Gret, who looked like she was feeling it almost as much as me.

“Nearly there,” I suggested huffing alongside her.
“Not close enough,” she complained.
“Yeah that was brutal, beat you to the top,” I challenged.
“Like that’s gonna happen.”
“Oh come on Gret, it’s not that bad.”
“Urgh.”

The tunnel was lit, not well but enough to see the road but I was glad of the bus protecting us from traffic at the rear and adding extra illumination forwards. It wasn’t a long tunnel, maybe four hundred metres but it did twist as it climbed through the rock before throwing us out into the bright white of the snow-covered mountain. Ahead of us the rest were clearly having an informal race for the summit but the pair of us just kept a steady cadence up through the snow.

We reached the village board and Gret, the cow, took off. No fair, I went to follow but as soon as I pulled on the bars the pain was excruciating and I had to sit straight back down, bum. By the time I’d twiddled up the last few metres to the Faschinajoch summit the rest of my team mates were heading for one of the restaurants otherwise filled with skiers.

“You alright Gab?” Dad asked running up to me as I slumped over the bars.
“Yeah,” I gasped with a wave of my dodgy hand.
“Come on kiddo, let’s get you some coffee eh.”

 
A few minutes later, with hot chocolate rather than coffee in hand I was feeling somewhat better, more human at least. This morning really has been a rude awakening, my legs are okay, I can’t have lost all my fitness in like two days can I?

“Do you want to ride in the bus now?” Mum asked.
“Dunno, is there anymore climbing?”
“A little bit I think.”
“It’s not my legs, I just can’t pull on the bars much.”
“Hmm, well it’s your call but there’s no loss of face taking the bus, you’re injured, no one’s gonna think any less of you.”
“I know, I want to keep riding.”
“Okay,” she allowed, “But if it’s getting too much stop and that’s an order kiddo.”
“Yes Mum,” I agreed.
“Fine, five minutes okay,” she advised before turning to repeat the departure time to the rest and the bemused plank riders sharing the eatery.

George took a couple of snaps as we prepared to set off once again, it was actually quite warm in the sunshine and everyone, including Gret, was back to happy and smiling. We set off, the north side of the pass dropping quickly into shade and into one of those half tunnels. The speed was exhilarating, the road pretty wide and we streamed down the mountain grabbing snatches of the road below.

All that effort to get to the top and the metres are lost so quickly. We went into a last bit of full on tunnel ready to make best of our speed into the rest of the drop.
 
“ICE!” someone shouted ahead of us.

Bike brakes are pretty good but when you’re doing best bit of seventy kph it still takes some distance. I hauled on the levers, my wrist not enjoying the effort at all, most of my speed was scrubbed by the time I reached the tunnel mouth. Just as well, the road, in full shade was coated in a sort of frozen slush, not great in a car but decidedly lethal for two wheeled traffic.

By some miracle everyone was still upright, although Tina was stopped and struggling to keep vertical as her bike slipped away from her. If it’s like this all the way down no one will be riding. George had his hazard lights going, Kat was out and walking back up to us.

“Everyone okay?”
“Think so,” Mum told her.
“It looks clearer further down.”
“Okay, we’ll take it steady, Dave, give us some road,” she called back to where Dad was with the bus.

We set off carefully down the icy surface and after maybe two hundred metres it cleared and cleats were re engaged and with a collective sigh, we set off again on a clear road surface. Or was it, we were mostly in shade and the temperature was well down so whilst fairly wide we kept the speed in check.

We didn’t get any more of the obvious stretches of ice but some of the bridges looked a bit dodgy. It seemed like eternity before a steep straight and a short climb brought us into Au and the relative safety of civilisation. We picked up the Bregenz road, a wide fast affair carrying more traffic than we’ve seen all day, by the time we left the town Mum had us organised and we started with a fast rotation.

 
There were a couple of dodgy looking bits even on this road, I swear one long straight stretch was black ice for over a kilometre. The temperature only really started to rise when we reach Egg where, after, I dunno, thirty K of downhill we hit a draggy climb. Draggy yes but we were able to maintain our tempo over the top before picking things up a bit as the road started to drop towards the Rhein valley.
 
We descended into a gorge and it was only a last-minute shout of ‘recht!’ that saved us from plummeting into the no bikes tunnel, taking instead the old road. This was a real switchback through the river gorge, steep ramps, hairpin turns, sweeping bends and then it opened out into a built-up area. George led us through what turned out to be Dornbirn before pulling into a bus halt and walking back to us.

“It’s only a few kilometres back to the hotel from here, if you like you can take a longer way back.”
“That sounded like an order,” Mand mumbled.
“How much further you thinking Boss?” Mum asked.
“An hour maybe, there is some stuff I need to talk with Dave about, Mike and the girls can follow you in the bus.”
“What do you think ladies?” Mum posed.

A few shrugs and other noncommitting replies seemed to settle things.

“How about you Gaby?”
“I’ve got this far, as long as there’s no climbing.”
“Okay George,” Mum started, “We can do a bit of laning, don’t think we need the bus, we can always ring if we need help.”
“We’ll see you back at the hotel then, should be time to get you some lunch organised.”

 
Mum led us off and instead of continuing along the main road turned us down the next right-hand option. After the either up or down of the previous three or so hours it seemed a bit strange to be on the almost flat floor of the Rheintal. It was certainly more relaxing, it wasn’t exactly hot but it was a good few degrees warmer than we’ve had most of the day and jackets were being undone, gloves changed and snacks devoured.

We crossed what I guess is the Feldkirch autobahn, the road heading towards a wooded area standing alone in the open landscape. I wasn’t really paying attention so I was a bit surprised when we rolled across first the unmanned Austrian then the Swiss Zollamt with its armed guards. Not that they took any more than cursory notice of ten women cyclists entering the Confederation. I’ve no idea how Mum knew the way but she either led or called us through several junctions eventually putting us on a tiny field lane.

“You sure this is right?” Erika asked when it went from tarmac to packed dirt.
“Yup, you’ll see,” Mum called back.

Well it’s not like it was great big rocks or anything, you just need a few skills and we were quickly making a short climb onto what turned out to be the flood bank of the Rhein. The trail was okay if a bit narrow in places as we followed the river upstream towards what looked like a road bridge over the wide river. Not just a bridge as it turns out but another Austro / Swiss border crossing.

Our guide led us straight over the road and onto the now hard surfaced Austrian path. You always think of rivers being water side to side but, here at least, the swirling grey waters of Father Rhein wound between banks of sandy grey wash strewn with bits of tree. We followed the river for a couple of kilometres before we turned ‘inland’, turning our backs to Switzerland and heading towards the looming crags of the Voralberg.

Tracks improved to full on tarmac and eventually to a proper road. We followed blindly through the next village which looked sort of familiar, but it was another ten minutes riding before I actually recognised where we were, the Maccy D’s just along from the hotel. Of course, after what my comp claimed to be just over a hundred and twenty K, we just had to have a bit of a sprint and despite my wrist I had a pop.

Not that it did me much good, Katy and Mum both easily had me and I only just edged Anja – flippin wrist! We arrived at the Weisses Kreuz in dribs and drabs, heading directly to where Kat and Mike were sipping hot beverage by the bike transport.
 
“Where the heck have you had these?” Mike enquired.
“The roads have been wet today,” Mum suggested.
“Someone thought we needed some cyclocross training,” Tina put in.
“They’re road bikes,” Kat pointed out.
“And your point?” Mum queried.
Mike shook his head, “Whatever, glad I’m not doing the laundry.”

Kat gave him a dirty look, that’s her job when the team are away and with the juniors here as well it hasn’t got easier.
 

Lunch was sandwiches, coffee and strudel, welcome enough and consumed before heading up for showers.

“Before you all disappear,” Petra, standing in for the Boss addressed us as we snaffled the food, “Special dinner tonight, you don’t have to wear team dresses.”
“Nice,” Mand suggested from behind me, “Didn’t think I’d get to wear my glad rags the way it was going.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
 
© Maddy Bell 02.04.2019