11-19-07 // Events: LA RUTA Journal Stage 4

Sue Haywood watches her step across a perilous trestle bridge.

Standing on the side of a dark mountain road, our bodies wrecked from four days of the most extreme mountain biking conditions imaginable, we wondered how we would make it back to San Jose. Our big yellow gear bags, with our race numbers printed on them, were piled on the road. The bus driver had stopped several times to poke his wrenches around the engine, but finally the thing heaved and died, its interior lights shutting off. It was supposed to be a three-hour drive from Puerto Limon to San Jose, but even after the finish of La Ruta de los Conquistadores, Mother Nature seemed to be conspiring against us.

First came the mudslide. Heavy rains throughout the day caused a hill to collapse, making the main route to and from the finishing town of Limon impassable. This resulted in a reroute of the marathon final stage, which started high in the mountains near the Turrialba volcano and finished on the sandy beach in Limon.

The course change was hardly noticeable—just another river to wade through, one among many. But the buried roadway was somewhat of a disaster for race logistics. Like all of La Ruta’s days, this one started early (3:30 a.m. wake-up), and after a long, exhausting race—which took some riders 10 or more hours to finish—plus some celebrating on the beach, Saturday was already scheduled to be a long day. Doubling the drive time back to San Jose made things that much tougher, but as we piled onto the buses carrying large bags full of wet, stinky and thoroughly trashed cycling gear our spirits were still high. Many of us had just completed the hardest physical challenge of our lives.

Frenchman Thomas Dietsch sprints to a winning finish of the 4th La Ruta stage

I took a seat next to a chap from London with a typical, yet amazing, tale. He came to La Ruta on his own, having read about it and seen photos in magazines. I asked how he trained for something like this in London. That was a bit of a problem, he admitted, but he did his best by escaping the city on weekends and racing a 12-hour solo event. His urban dweller friends couldn’t fathom this goal of his, but even though London is a tough town for a cyclist, he had dedicated himself to the mountain bike lifestyle. He was surprised and not entirely prepared for just how difficult La Ruta really was, but he still finished two of the four stages and vowed to come back someday to complete them all.

When our bus kicked the bucket, we got off and milled around in the evening darkness, wondering how in the world we’d get back to San Jose. Eventually, a three-quarters-full public bus pulled up behind us and some riders decided to shoulder their heavy gear bags and squeeze their way on. Some would have to stand for the entire ride to San Jose.

When a few local cabs came by, three of us flagged one down and piled in. It would cost $100 and we’d have to hold our bags on our laps for the entire trip, but it sounded better than standing on a packed public bus. There was no way my knackered legs, bruised from banging my bike on them during Stage 4’s countless portages, would hold me up. Heavy electrolyte consumption (and a few Imperial beers) had staved off cramps to this point, but my muscles were finished. No mas.

What followed was the most hair-raising cab ride I’ve ever experienced, as our driver coaxed his tired little red taxi over perilous mountain passes. He floored it to about 30 mph up steep climbs, then made up time by bombing downhill and passing 18-wheelers on blind corners. When we finally made it to San Jose, our driver, obviously not accustomed to city driving, got lost several times. Finally, right around midnight, we made it to the hotel, where a long line of grumpy racers stretched a couple hundred feet through the lobby. Some of us had planes to catch the next morning, and our bikes were still on a truck somewhere.

The bikes arrived around 1 a.m., and next came the process of unearthing travel cases, which were packed wall-to-wall in several hotel rooms. Those who were on early flights and therefore had to get it all sorted that night were at it past 2. It was a long final day at La Ruta, and everything that transpired after the finish in Limon became jokingly referred to among racers as Stage 5, the most arduous one yet.

This long-winded digression of the day’s main event is only noteworthy in that the mudslide contributed to the underlying theme of the 2007 La Ruta: unexpected twists. These began with the long, grinding final climb of stage 1, which seemed entirely underrated by the course profile as well as the spectators offering the deceitful news that there were only two kilometers to go when in fact there were 20, 25 or 30. Stage 2 was entirely new this year, and the final four kilometers of muddy, soul-sucking singletrack caused as much damage as the endless granny gear climbs.

Dreadful weather on Stage 3, up and over the continental divide and past the 11,300-foot Irazú Volcano, made the high-country passage unbearable for some, including those who were stopped at the last aid station and treated for hypothermia.

Reader Comments 

Posted Fri Nov21, 2008, 9:20 AM — By dsrt

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