TransPyrenees Race
first roll of film since 2019
Everyone uses the word ‘scratch’, but I’ve never been sure of its origins. I did a quick Google and ended up listening to a man on YouTube talk about horse racing. In the 19th Century, if the horse was withdrawn from the race then its name was literally scratched off the list.
It was just 450km into my attempt of the TransPyrenees Race that my named was removed from the list, or rather, my digital dot on the tracking page faded to grey, and froze in the French ski town of Bagnères-de-Luchon. Sunday is a bad day to scratch, mainly because Monday is even worse. Nothing was open, not even the pharmacy to treat my raging cough. The blue skies inflicted physical pangs of disappointment as I watched forty-eight hours of idleness slip by. At least the hotel manager knocked €20 off the going rate for me.
I limped up the valley to a self-catered mountain gîte in a tiny village with no supermarket. I lay horizontal, developed a hunger, mourned the wasted blue skies some more, watched The Sopranos, and occasionally pedalled 6km to a shop for fruit and refrigerated taboulleh.
I also glued my eyes to the DotWatcher tracking page, waited for the Lost Dot Instagram updates, and read the race reports. The faceless dots of other riders became compelling stories, I was hooked, and my eyes begun to hurt. The screen time was sickening.
But - here’s the bit where I find solace in the experience - I felt inspired by the sense of event. Only 90 riders spread across 2000km of European topography and yet the excitement enveloped my ultra-cycling world. Crisp photography of spectacular landscapes. Updates from exhausted participants. Anecdotes from the Pyrenean God’s: Tourmalet, Portet, Aspin. And friendships made on the road, usually at McDonalds.
It all sounds convenient doesn’t it? Some sort of pseudo altruism, where I scratch from a race and suddenly become more interested in other people’s experiences. But I think taking my Contax film camera for this race was a good indication of my headspace. I am increasingly determined to find stories within these spaces, document things I see, and articulate more than my own feelings of solitude, adventure, satisfaction.
So where do we go next? Well I began writing this last night after a 15 hour shift of work. I spent a day in Streatham Methodist Church, providing hot drinks and snacks for 200 charity walkers with Crystal Palace Football Club. Today I’m at a cricket club in Watford. Not many stories or scoops here, just lots of recyclable cups, and snacks from brands that look like they’ve just started out, but will fold in 18 months.
Anyway, a few more pounds saved as I look ahead to my flight to Australia on November 1st.
Alongside work I have done a radical blitz of everything I own that no longer has purpose or sentimental value in my life. Vinted. EBay. Village news Facebook group. I’ve kept books, cameras, and unused bank notes from Albania. I’ve sold clothes and even a mattress, and now I’m closing in on £1000 of sales, and cementing a friendship with the couple at the Yodel drop-off point. I tried the In-Post lockers but hated everything they symbolised about our world. Selling things allows you to study human behaviour and I have a few thoughts on the topic. That’s what I’ll be writing about next.
