I’m sitting in the Minneapolis airport on my way home from Aalborg, Denmark. Though the haze of travel is dulling my thoughts, there is finally time to reflect on last weekend’s UCI Gran Fondo World Championships. Fed by a series of qualifying events, the annual World Championship itself moves to a different city each year. As they state on their website, the series “promotes high-level competition for Masters and Amateurs…focusing on both very competitive riders who either just miss the skills and talent to become a Pro Elite rider or who still want to compete at a high level at a later age, but also to fun riders who like to keep fit and finish the event.” So there you go.
I qualified at the Canadian Masters Road Cycling Championship (I still need to write about that one here) which was my A-race of the season. I hadn’t even heard about this “Gran Fondo Worlds,” or if I had, didn’t give it much thought. Masters Nationals was my goal. Plus, it was scheduled for Aalborg, Denmark, which was presently not within my travel budget. (More on that another time!)
For Nationals, I didn’t know what to expect regarding the competition. I knew I was riding strong, but you never know who will show up. Our category was, of course, quite small. Winning all three events felt amazing, but the field size was not lost on me; I juggled my excitement with feeling like a bit of a small fish in a small pond. I would’ve probably still raced well in a larger field…but, but, but. The familiar chant of self-effacing amateur athletes everywhere!
I knew that I probably qualified, but didn’t think about it much after the race. I just enjoyed the high of the weekend and accomplishing my goal. Days went by. Worlds flopped around in my head and bubbled up in conversations with friends and family. Some said it was the chance of a lifetime—I had to make it happen. Others listened as I tried to convince myself I was ready for some chill time. Plus, my brother and nieces were scheduled to visit during the exact week of Worlds to help celebrate my dad’s 70th birthday. That made the decision extra difficult.
Then two things happened. One, I got the official qualification email from Cycling Canada. Next came the offer from my race team, the Victoria Wheelers, to help finance the trip. When that text came, I knew it had only been money holding me back, and my heart jumped into my throat. I started a GoFundMe to help with additional costs, found a cheap flight (and probably one of the last hotel rooms in Aalborg), and I was booked. My family would miss me, but they also get me. Their blessing was everything.
I knew right away that training would look very different than in the lead-up to Nationals. Worlds would be the cherry on top, not a new “A race” to keep pushing for. I had a backcountry camping trip with Felix, an off-grid family paddling trip, and a work contract in Maine that all kept me off my bike for 10 days straight. Training would have to fit into the leftover spaces. I’d go to Aalborg with whatever fitness I could hang on to through August.
Suddenly I was jamming two bike bags and a backpack into the Sprinter and James was carting me off to Vancouver. He had a meeting, and I’d found a cheaper flight through YVR, so it worked out perfectly.
…until I was checking in and realized I’d brought Felix’s passport by mistake. It’s a long story involving my trip to Maine, backpacks and bike commutes, but I’d grabbed his off my desk by mistake. (Tip for parents: label your passports on the outside like my friends the Taylors!) Thankfully, I’d arrived four hours early so James could make his meeting, and in a miraculous turn of events, had my passport in hand just two minutes before the check-in gate closed. The rest of the trip was breezy, with zero complications to speak of. Once on board, I ordered wine and cheered my mom and James. Even after countless overseas trips for work and racing, I’d finally made one of the most foolish of travel mistakes!
I arrived in Aalborg sleepy and relieved. I was pleasantly surprised by the quaint peacefulness of the city. My hotel was about 200 meters from the start and finish line, a happy coincidence. I built up my TT bike, went for a wander and a bite, and fell asleep before the 10 pm church bells sounded. I had my best sleep in a long, long time.
Wednesday was time trial prep day. I did a trial run on the TT bike and course with Alan, also visiting from Victoria. Then I waited in line for 2.5 hours to get my bike pre-checked (the UCI is stricter at Worlds than in BC!) I had to move my saddle back 3 cm and my aerobars back 15 mm. Eye roll.) In that line I met Lise from Denmark and we bonded over our vintage tri bikes. By the time I waited in another line to check in and attended the race briefing with Lise, it was after 6. I dashed off to dinner with Deb and Alan in the square.
Thursday morning I was up early and off to the TT. A couple of Wahoo trainers were set up for us to warm up on, which was a nice touch. I had to be in the start pen by 9:45, as my start was at 10:01. Waiting in that start pen surrounded by other women in their 40’s, dressed in skin suits (unfortunately not me, that was a miss) and goofy aero helmets was so awesome. I sometimes feel like a weirdo for “still” being into this stuff; I almost got teary standing there listening to the announcers call out their names and countries. The start line and ramp was so professional, it felt like my own little Olympics.
I had a good, but not phenomenal TT, ending up 6th. I was, and am, a little disappointed, and that’s ok. I learned that the people who take this really seriously invest in gear, like a disc wheel and skin suit, but lessons learned. I was disappointed I didn’t push harder (it’s frickin’ WORLDS, Jen) but also satisfied with how I executed it. These races are an art form. I exchanged texts with some understanding athlete friends and enjoyed the rest of the day wandering around the city, stocking up on snacks at a grocery store, browsing shops, and assembling my road bike. The other Canadians were steadily arriving, and that night I enjoyed dinner at an Italian hole-in-the-wall with Deb, Alan, Garth, Rob (via Dubai), Dominique, and Danny.
Friday morning a bunch of us met for a coffee and easy spin on the road race course. My bike wasn’t shifting well and kept dropping off the big ring into the spokes. What a princess. Rob recommended a local mechanic that the US team had hired, so I messaged him and he came right to my hotel. Jen, my stranger-turned-roomie-turned-friend arrived around 5, and then it was time to get ready for the Team Relay, which I’d been roped into by Dominique, Debra, and Uli. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Since I was busy with the mechanic I missed the race briefing and my lovely team put me on the start line as rider 1. The race was not the “parade of nations” I envisioned (too many years in Kona!), it was a full-on criterium with a bunch of very experienced European men! We were the only team with three women. I got dropped immediately and found the whole experience wonderfully humiliating. But I laughed a lot, and got over it (and titled my Strava ride “not a parade.”) A large group of us had dinner in the square afterwards.
Saturday the energy in the town was building. Everywhere you looked were bike brands I’d never heard of and riders strutting around in their national kit. We did a team photo and then a few of us did an easy spin, then back into town for coffee. We rode to athlete check in, then home to relax for a bit before the race briefing. After the briefing, Jen and I did our pre-race prep and dined on pizza with Garth, Anne, Deb and Alan.
We both woke up with a healthy amount of nerves on Sunday, race day, at around 6:30. After breakfast, I walked down to the square to grab some extra gels from Rob, then back to the room to kit up and fetch my bike and nutrition. Jen and I headed around the corner to our start pen. The city center was jam-packed with over 2,000 cyclists ready to show off all their hard work.
Our group was about 80 in total, made up of the 40-44 and 45-49 age groups. To get to the start, we had to shuffle from our pen to the start line and in doing so, I lost my awesome spot near the front. No matter, I managed to work my way to the front pretty quickly. I love this shot from the UCI’s Instagram page of me leading the peloton through town. I felt strong right away and excited for what the day would bring.
All was well as we wove through the suburbs of Aalborg and into the Danish countryside. I was working hard, but being strategic. There was a lot of pre-race talk about how crash-prone this course would be with its narrow roads, numerous turns and unique Danish “road furniture” (signs and boulevards and such). I just focused on holding my line and looking for opportunities to move up when I could.
Around 20 k an unfortunate but inevitable thing happened: The 60-65 year old men, who’d started just behind us, caught up and overtook us with a tidal wave of male bravado. They had motos and cars with them, honking at us to stay right, and then an ambulance soared by. At this point, the 7 or so women at the front of our race grabbed the men’s wheels and took off up the first climb. This intermixing of separate categories normally isn’t allowed, but in this race it was. I got so boxed in by men on that narrow climb that I lost contact with what was happening at the front of my own race. I fought hard to stay on wheels as people whizzed past and jostled for position. At the top, I could see the lead pack that had split off the front. I managed to catch some wheels and just hoped we weren’t too far back.
We rode in that chaos for another 20 kilometers, with things spreading out a little. At 42 ish km, the 150km Gran Fondo, which was our race, split off from the shorter Medio Fondo, which thankfully these lovely men were doing. As I blasted off to the right, I was joined by 10 other women in my age group who’d found themselves in the same position. Suddenly, everything went quiet. It was just us, and the Danish farm fields glowing with that late-summer shade of gold.
The 11 of us rode so well together from that point on. We caught some stragglers from the 19-35 women’s age group, and a couple of men, but mostly stayed together. There was one Dane, a Belgian, two or three Germans, and two Dutch women in particular who were really strong. The Dane had some serious natural leadership skills and kept encouraging us to work together. “Together we are stronger ladies!” Every time I did a pull or went to the front or motored up a climb she’d say something like “Yes, Can-a-da!” or “You are a tough racer!” in her sweet Danish accent. She was awesome and gave me so much energy and confidence.
On we went through the fields of wind turbines, undulating cornfields, and villages of cheering locals waving the Danish flag. The kilometers flew by under the September Scandinavian sun—what a pleasure to be on strong wheels in such a dynamic group. I was so grateful I wasn’t alone and suffering in the wind.
I didn’t take in as many carbs as my coach instructed (~90 per hour), but I fueled as well as I could and felt stronger as the morning went by The last 10 km in town ramped up with tight corners and mini sprints. I didn’t let myself get too far from the front as we closed in on 5 km. Around 2 km to go I took the front. I didn’t want to risk pulling in the sprinters, but I also felt happy doing the work. Plus, I stupidly hadn’t practiced the hard right turn into the finish (it wouldn’t have been possible to practice it on the busy roads, but I could’ve planned better). There was an older woman right in the spot I needed to be in to lead the group around the corner. I tapped the brakes instinctively, and at least five of my companions went around me. Oh well, that’s racing! I finished 16th, in the chase pack that contained 9th through 16th (last in the chase pack!), four minutes back of the lead 8. So basically, I was top 10 😆
We all collapsed in the post-finish tent and congratulated each other on a safe, strong ride. Then I ran into Rob and we got gelato and debriefed. When my roomie finished, we headed out for a beer with Rob and a friend of his, then made our way to dinner with the crew, which led into another drink downtown before calling it a night.
On Monday, my last day in Aalborg, I slept in, had breakfast and did an easy spin back on the TT course. I got a coffee and a “cardamom spinner,” and did a little candy shopping for Felix. Then it was bike packing time! I packed up the road bike, then headed for a beer at the Basement Beer Bar with Rob. That led to dinner, which went way too late, and I didn’t start packing the TT bike until almost 10.
I realize how lucky I am to get to train and race in this sport I’ve grown to love. It’s been a needed shift from triathlon, and frankly, suits me better. I went into the race not sure how I’d stack up against the world’s best European amateur women. I knew the experience would be amazing, regardless of the result. The competition was stacked, and it feels amazing to know that I can hang.
On the personal front, the send-off that James, Felix, and my parents and brothers gave me meant the world. The financial assistance from the Wheelers, Novus Properties, and some key friends and family members (you know who you are!) made this dream come true. My mom, James, and Harbour Air also deserve a special mention for the passport fiasco. (Does Harbour Air sponsor athletes? I’d be a great ambassador.)
Next up: Whistler Gran Fondo St. Regis Cup Mixed Team (and a trip back to Vancouver to pick up my TT bike, which is still in Denmark.)
Stats:
TT: 48:20 | 33 km | 41 kph | est. avg. power 302 | avg hr 171 | 6th AG
RR: 4:17:33 | 153 km | 35.6 kph | est avg. power 250 | avg hr 146 | 16th AG
2 thoughts on “I left my heart in Aalborg”