Girl in Gaiole – L’Eroica 2015

We were going higher and higher into the hills. With every bend in the road came a new breathtaking view of what was below us before… as well as passing roadsigns that were detailing part of the route of the ride. It was slowly dawning on me exactly how steep a ride L’Eroica would be. Now, don’t get me wrong – I LOVE a good descent, but going down these would be a whole new ball game. As I gazed out the van windows, that tiny voice of doubt started to natter away in my mind… but there was no way I was going to listen to it (well, not too much) and miss out on riding that terrain.

Other than the big day itself, one of the things I was hyped about experiencing at L’Eroica was the vintage bike market, along with the atmosphere of the village over the ride weekend. It’s quite the sight to see: pretty much all of Gaiole comes out in celebration of the event. You’re immediately welcomed in by all the locals – look up and you’ll see banners with messages of encouragement hanging from all the buildings. The small village lends itself almost entirely to the vintage bike market which could cover all bases for your kit for the ride – from old steeds and components to jerseys, banana helmets and shoes, it was all there and was magical to look though. Everyone was in the spirit and the romance of what was to come on Sunday…

For me, there was no need to buy a bike (as tempting as it was) as hire had been covered by Brooks – all I had to do was choose which of the bicycles in the shop would be mine for the day. The shop they were kept in was an Aladdin’s cave of cycling – I had to stop myself from checking them all out and just look at the group of bikes that were in my size! After what felt like ages of cooing over frames, I gravitated towards what became my steed: an Andre Bertin road bike…

I joined some of the others in our group in getting our bikes tweaked and having a test ride around the village. I was happy with the fit (and the fact it had no cages on the pedals – I’m still not ready for that yet) and the gearing was great – I’m getting better with shifters over time, so that was a relief. My one concern? The brand new Brooks Swallow saddle the bike came with. It was an absolute beauty, but the thought of breaking in a new saddle on a 46km ride worried me just a little. After being assured by people that this would be a dream to be sat on, I didn’t swap it out & hoped that this would be the case throughout the ride.

The festivities continued into the evening with the “Dinner of The Heroic” – an official meal laid on by L’Eroica the night before the event. In the best possible way it’s an overwhelming experience: a huge white marquee hosts table upon table of participants of the ride. Everyone there has a ticket for the evening, to eat the traditional dishes of Gaiole, and drink what feels like copious amounts of Chianti, which flows abundantly throughout the night. Sustenance is KING on this night! Stacks of bread, cured meats, bowls of Ribollita, pasta dishes, grapes and biscotti served with Vin Santo ran as far as the eye could see.

I totally loaded up on the courses… I know what I’m like when it comes to eating the morning of a huge ride (not enough) so I needed those extra calories to spend on Sunday. The dinner is intended to set you up for what the “heroes” will face the following day… so stuffing my face was 100% acceptable. Going crazy on the Chianti was not an option – after having my fill, all I wanted was a clear head and a restful night to take on whatever Sunday had to throw at me.

On the morning of L’Eroica I was a mix of emotions: mainly a bundle of excitement mixed with slight trepidation. Believe it or not, my face below was that of nerves. Rain had been forecast for the day and the early morning sky was brooding. Again that little voice started going off in my mind… “you’ve never done climbs and descents like this before Jools… and in the rain?!” I listened to it for a moment, but it soon got hushed when me and The Boy set off from the courtyard of Coltibuono and cycled the long and winding road down to the official start line. We gathered with the swathe of other riders setting off for the 75 and 46km courses. The sea of colourful woollen jerseys, vintage bikes and joyful conversations was drowning out any of the reservations that had crept in. Immersing myself in this atmosphere allowed me to think about the ride ahead and to just drink it all in…

We shuffled through, got our 1st checkpoint stamp and that was it – we were off. For the next few hours it would be nothing but stunning open roads, pedalling, fresh air… and rain. The dark clouds gave up the pretty obvious secret they were keeping: that the day would be incredibly wet. God knows what was (or wasn’t) going through my mind – I didn’t have a single piece of waterproof clothing on me! No packable jacket in my pocket, no water resistant cap stowed away in my musette – it was just the beautiful woollen jersey, padded shorts and a cap that stood between me and the downpour. Usually, there would be a slight tantrum at a small shower dampening my day: this was a full on weather assault. Something inside of me came to life in the rain… I’m still trying to explain it to myself now, but I absolutely loved it.