A bit of traffic was expected from fellow runners, but we noticed as many cars proceeding in the opposite direction as we scooted along the N1 and wondered what got folks out at 3AM on a Saturday morning? Once we exited the highway the crawl up through the hills to Cilaos began. Nearing Cilaos there were several single track sections and we became members of a long convoy winding its way upward. At one point we had to stop and allow a lengthy caravan of “Grand Raid” buses to squeeze past. There must have been fifteen in the string and it made me grateful Jeff had come along – without a driver to drop you off the sole alternative was catching one of these buses from Saint Denis and they departed at midnight!
Arriving in Cilaos on schedule, we parked and walked to the stadium. Here I ducked into the first place where they were checking for ID bracelets, but it was a mess hall packed with runners. Most of the guests were fellow Bourbon Trail participants, but there was also a bunch from Le Grand Raid there chowing down. I could only admire these souls who had started a day and a half ago! Le Grand Raid crosses over our starting point and both eventually converge to a common trail, but I figure they want to avoid forcing Le Grand Raid runners to combat the massive Bourbon Trail congregation at the very beginning.
After grabbing a coffee for myself and a bread roll for Jeff I exited. Then I identified the proper place to check in and stood on another queue. They dutifully made sure I was packing the required goods (headlamp with spare batteries, emergency blanket, bandages, whistle, water bottles and food), scanned my ID bracelet and pointed me towards the interior of the stadium.
Could not find an attendant who knew English, so I was left to connive a solution for one remaining dilemma. When I picked up my bib last Wednesday it was different for two reasons. First, the bib was laminated in plastic (they are usually just a slip of paper) and second, I didn’t receive any safety pins. I’ve always been handed four pins to fasten the bib to my shirt, but of course that wouldn’t work too well since it was laminated anyway.
Observing the competition, I noticed many had used a paper punch to add convenient holes or slipped the bib into a larger plastic envelope that was being worn as a belt or necklace. Neither of those solutions would benefit me at this stage of the game, so I fished out the waterproof tape I had packed (only to secure my Continuous Glucose Monitor to my abdomen if need be) and attempted to tape the bib onto my shirt. Well, waterproof tape isn’t worth shucks on fabric, so I simply tucked it underneath one of the straps from my backpack. You couldn’t read my number or name, but I figured it technically kept me from disqualification.
Now there was just an hour’s wait for the culminating moment of the event I had been training eighteen months for. Surrounded by 1,599 others, most chatting with teammates or being cheered by the substantial crowd sitting in the stadium bleachers, some may have felt lonely. For me, however, it was a moment of reflection and I honestly felt prepared to give this my best. All the tension evaporated and I only reminded myself to check the Continuous Glucose Monitor frequently and stay alert for any symptoms of low blood sugar.
I also dwelled upon the mystic landscape. Cilaos is nestled in spiky peaks and a full moon was offering splendid back-lighting to the scene. As the sun rose the peaks transformed from large shadows into craggy, beautiful pillars.
These races have always started on time, but today it wasn’t until about 6:10AM that a guy climbed to the top of the closed gate where we were to exit and started yelling instructions (which I couldn’t understand). Everyone massed in front of the gates, but it was another six minutes and more yelling before the gate was opened. Two minutes later the hounds were released, and the game was on!
Everyone trotted the first few miles along roadways around Cilaos leading to the trail in a big heap. But once we reached the beginning of the trail its narrowness enforced a single file line going up, up, up. The only annoying thing was the fairly frequent occurrence of being passed. Everyone was briskly striding (except for the rare straightway where we could open it up), but the “passers” were expending great effort, endangering themselves and fellow runners, by darting to the side of the trail (which usually had a steep drop-off) and awkwardly scooting past one more runner. Since there were hundreds more right in front of that one, it made little sense to me to take the risk.
Several aspects were quite amusing during the initial ascent, and please bear in mind this was a ¾ mile elevation gain. First was the almost constant ringing of cell phones. I guess reception was better than I imagined. Another thing was how so many dudes would just stand off to the side of the trail and pee. They weren’t particularly bashful (if I had to guess, probably 15% of the runners were female) and at times you’d think you were running past the Trevi Fountain!
Running from Cilaos...we're off!
Running from Cilaos...higher, higher...
Running from Cilaos...up there now!
Running from Cilaos...on top of the world
The climb from 4,000 feet to 8,500 feet took several hours and I pulled over several times when a convenient spot presented itself to drink water, tap the Continuous Glucose Monitor, snack if necessary, and snap a picture as we left Cilaos behind. My CGM consistently indicated blood sugars were in the 90’s but falling rapidly, so I would pull a snack out and eat as I continued uphill. My intake was huge, I had never needed to consume so many calories for the distance covered, but I felt strong and continued with confidence.
Oddly enough, the trail was not closed to the public for today’s event and once I crossed three backpackers standing aside as they attempted to trek down the mountain. This must have been a huge disappointment, running smack into a line of 1,600 runners, but they were politely wishing each and every runner bon jour as we filtered past. The most hilarious moment of the entire run was just beyond this, when a guy running in a group of five people rattled off something in French (which I presumed went something like “they’re in for a long morning”), followed by a rapid fire repetition of “bon jour, bon jour, bon jour” for about a minute!
Just shy of three hours I made it to Cavern Dufour, the initial checkpoint and conclusion of the biggest single elevation gain for the run. There is a pretty lodge perched here that is accessible solely by helicopter or on foot. Most folks do the stretch we just completed and then bivouac here for the night before completing the ascent of Piton des Neiges the following day…but it was onward for our troops.
Heading towards the big plunge to Hell-Bourg from Cavern Dufour
Things were proceeding quite well. I was making good time and the weather was brilliant. Even though it was chilly up here at 8,500 feet, my biggest fear was that conditions would resemble our two failed attempts to hike the volcano. With no rain or bone chilling conditions I continued after refilling my water bottles and taking a picture. From the pictures you can see we are above the clouds.
Now for the big downhill. Next task was to make Hell Bourg by losing a mile in elevation from Piton des Neiges. Immediately before the big plunge began, just beyond Cavern Dufour, was a small group of folks cheering everybody on. Folks had lined the roads out of Cilaos, including a group of girls cheering us on with pom-poms, an inspiring turnout for 6:30 in the morning. But it was exceptionally motivating to receive accolades at such a tremendously remote location (they must have stayed at Cavern Dufour last night). The group called out the name of each runner as they passed (our names were printed on the bibs), so I hurriedly tugged mine out from my strap and held it up so it could be read. What I found touching was how they pronounced “Vance” as a question, uncertain of the pronunciation. For once the shoe was on the other foot and I gleefully called out “Vance, oui” as I began the decline.
The way down was a rocky trail and I was content to walk quickly, surprised at how many folks were passing me at a fairly rapid trot down the perilous path. Several fell and emitted agonizing screams within earshot. It was strenuous going and my CGM continued to indicate falling blood sugars on the cusp of hypoglycemia, so more calorie consumption.
Awhile later the trail entered a forest and the trail became mud blanketed with roots and rocks. Clouds also rolled in and then the problems began. Please note the grade had been a continuous free fall and I began to lose foot coordination. Foot placement is an ability which departs when my blood sugar goes low, but my CGM still informed me I was okay. Perhaps I am kidding myself, but my conclusion was that the constant falling of blood sugar levels induced the symptom, though it may have just been that muscles I hadn’t trained became exhausted.
Regardless, when you are heading down steep pitches of roots, rocks and mud without being nimble it means you fall. And fall I did. Time and time again. Words fail me to express how totally frustrating it was that I could not will my feet to go where I wanted them to go, and I would round a switchback to glimpse yet another massive downhill slathered in mud and think “here I go falling again”.
I was only walking steadily now with huge pauses to collect myself after each tumble (also stopped several times to each another snack despite my CGM suggesting I wasn’t low), and it seemed the entire field passed by me during these last few miles. Everyone would ask whether I was okay, at least they paused and uttered words which sounded inquiring and sympathetic. I would just express “Okay” (which seems to be readily acknowledged), pick myself back up and begrudgingly press on. But always there would be yet another rocky, muddy downhill after yet another switchback.
At one point the trail finally leveled out, but the path consisted exclusively of muddy tree roots and I continued falling. It was here that a tumble took out my CGM. Crap! Not only did this mean the race was over as soon as I reached the next checkpoint, it also meant the run had become quite costly. The sole good thing about this stretch was one of the folks passing me by could speak English and informed that Hell-Bourg was only twenty five minutes away. Although I thanked him, my thoughts went something like “yeah, twenty five minutes for you”.
It was almost an hour later that I finally reached some concrete steps leading into Hell-Bourg. Thank heavens! I cannot tell you how relieved I was to see poor Jeff standing there – he had been waiting for me since 10AM and it was now 1PM.
Jeff had checked on my status with the officials and they claimed there was no record of my having been scanned at Cavern Dufour. He was just about ready to sound the alarm when this muddy, bloody mess called Vance showed up. I sincerely believe I was still physically in good shape, but materially damaged with no option but to throw in the towel.
I suppose the upside of my early exit was more time to explore the island, but we were lacking both plans and motivation. Jeff steered back towards Saint Denis through Cirque du Salazie and it was a veritable waterfall farm – they were everywhere! This definitely helped my spirits to rebound, reminding me that I had finally realized a dream to experience this unique destination.
After arriving at the Best Western in Saint Denis, we unloaded luggage and Jeff went to park the car while I sat with the pile. Got a few stares and no doubt I was a miserable sight --- my legs were caked with dried, bloody scrapes and everything else was mud drenched. Once we checked in I hit the showers and actually had to go back a second time to scour all the mud off!
The cleansing revealed injuries a bit better and my elbow continued to ooze, so I wiped everything with an alcohol swab and had Jeff apply a band aid. Wi-fi was available in the rooms and Jeff Skyped Kim so I could relay the race was over for me, but I had survived intact. After patching myself up a bit more it was time to check out the newest neighborhood.
The Saint Denis Best Western sits right by the ocean and abuts La Barachois, the city’s wonderful waterfront promenade. Featuring plenty of picnic areas and walkways, La Barachois includes cannons lining the shore, a food court, a carousel, fountains and much more. There are also pétanque courts, a game resembling bocce ball, and we enjoyed watching folks competing while sucking down Dodo’s.
Playing pétanque in La Barachois
We had already hoofed through town a bit and the offerings of restaurants we had peeked into were nowhere near as enticing as the simple fare in the food court. The atmosphere held such a strong sense of community and the prices were much more favorable too. So, we parked at a trailer diner for some sandwiches – a cheese and pork roll for me. For once I ate the entire sandwich…I usually discard most of the bread because the calories overwhelm my blood sugar. The next morning my levels were right on target, reinforcing how much energy I had burned during the race.
The sorry part of our evening out was my band aid solution for the elbow. It was drenched quickly and dripping blood everywhere. Wasn’t a terrible concern when we were on the move, but sitting at a table for dinner got a bit, um, messy. When we got back to the room I got my waterproof tape out again and this time it was useful as I secured a handy wipe over the wound. Securely bound, we hit the sack at 8:30PM. Despite retiring early it had been a long, long day…
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