Lael’s Rallies - Croatia
Day Five. It was September 17. My lucky number. The day after our rest day. I set out alone at 6:47am on a crisp morning. As I started up the 1800’ climb in and out of Cres towards the ferry, the Frenchies came up behind me. I made an audible sigh in annoyance, but then vowed to give this interaction a second chance. It’s a new day and right now, your nervous system isn’t shot. This time they approach playing soft music, but with a beat that kept our cadence moving. I felt lighter. Content. Happy. We shared those opening miles, floating up this paved climb. I didn’t even recognize myself, but also I haven’t felt more like me in a very long time. The infamous Croatian Bura wind was blowing from the northeast. A head/crosswind was trying to push us backwards. The birds were circling, almost in slow motion, overhead. I asked if they wanted to hear a story about an eagle. My Eagle. Grandpa Gordon.
As an Ojibwe, we believe he came back as a Bald Eagle when he passed. He visits my parents’ house on the Mississippi River, perched on a dead tree in the middle of the dammed area. He flew overhead as my brother and sister-in-law exchanged their vows on the banks of the river. He sent three eagles to Spain to visit me during a race in April and we got to float down a massive descent together. He finds ways to show up, to say “Hi.”
As I cried my way through the story, we all got to experience a visit from Grandpa. He turned those winds and gave us a big push. A tailwind scooped us up and everyone gasped. They felt him too.
I continued onward. With Grandpa boosting me up the climb. They watched me pedal away, in awe. There was an option to stay on the paved road all the way to the ferry, or turn off for an extra gravel arrowhead on the designated route. I knew I couldn’t skip it. The decision was made to turn right. Each and every one of those solo miles was enjoyed, and never taken for granted, with cathartic tears in my eyes, and a big smile plastered on my face.
Reconnecting with the pavement, I turned towards the ferry with 17 minutes until the 9:00am ferry. I put my head down and pedaled the biggest gear I had, into a headwind.
“This is who I am. I can pedal hard, when it matters.”
I came screeching into the ticket booth with 4 minutes to spare. Rolling onto the ferry while everyone was quietly parking their bikes, I proclaimed loudly with my fist in the air and tears in my eyes, “I made the ferry!” and everyone cheered along with me.
On Friday, Sept 12th we gathered for a welcome dinner. 60 women about to ride off into the unknown. With a map and a semblance of a plan, we had 700km to cover over the next eight days. No one could’ve imagined what would unfold, nor what we’d experience out there. These are just a few of the thousands of moments experienced by this fantastic group of women. These are my moments.
Day One started with a gentle gravel path climb and finished cuddling in a hunting shelter with six of my new best friends, avoiding an overnight storm. Those middle miles were filled with sweat, smiles, and sweets. We stopped for a nice “linner” at 3:30pm before heading most of the way up the mountain. This lunch dinner tradition would become our secret weapon, and I’m so thankful that random Croatian eateries serve such delicious food at all hours of the day! (Italians would never). The chef had a big open fire going inside and grilled up some of the best chicken I’ve ever had. Our group picked up Lucie, who had a plan for “indoor” sleeping for the night since it looked like a big storm was rolling in overnight. Six of us had assembled at the last resupply, and decided to tag along with her plan and continue up the mountain, while others stayed in a cemetery, and then a gym that the fire department eventually opened up for folks.
We reached our accommodations for the evening and began doing a little light rearranging. Removing the chair and bench, and tipping the central table into a corner, we made a plan to fit six sleeping mats in an area that would’ve comfortably fit two. We gave Lucie the “bed” and it was nearly lights out, before I noticed it. A big bushy tail on the wall. I screamed and hid behind Tita.
We convinced ourselves it was a squirel, and that it was likely way more scared of us that I was of it. Ear plugs in, eye mask donned, I cuddled with a brick wall or Tita all night long, hoping I wasn’t also cuddling with our new furry friend.
Day Two, we woke to screams at 6:45am when our friend walked along the faces of the middle row. We were being evicted and we didn’t have a problem with that. Packed up and headed out into the moody mountain clouds, up and up. We ended at a mountain lodge / ski resort for second breakfast, hot coffee and to share stores among our newly coined “SQRL.PCK” - this trauma bonding on night one would shape the rest of our journey around Croatia. These women, my Squirrels, went on to teach me so much about perseverance, gratitude, collaboration, and fun over the next seven days. We worked well together as a group, and in our little offshoots of time one on one.
A fun descent led us back down to the sea, over a massive bridge to Krk Island and we bumped and hooted along the rocky singletrack trails until detouring to a small town for a resupply, and more importantly, our first dip in the sea. Beers and watermelon were the perfect companion, and a seaside 50 cent shower was very welcomed. We had a few kms left to pedal in search of a seaside sleep spot. Beaux and I located the perfect one - A 1300s era church ruins along the rocky shores. Just enough of a flat patch for our 6 tents, and lined us up for a morning sunrise.
Day Three had a bit of a slow start, hoping the sun would come faster to dry the dew from our tents, but alas, with a lot of faf, we were off again for second breakfast. By the time we actually were back on track the sun was high and the roads were steep and chunky. This was to be the day defined by hike-a-bike.
I struggle immensely with grades over 5%. I have all the gears, and I can ride very slow, up very steep rocky terrain, but that can only last so long before my heart rate skyrockets in the hot baking sun, and I must dismount. My little leggies and swimmer ankles don’t handle the walking bit very well. I find myself out of breath and off the back. In these times I try to have quick resupplies and get ahead of the group because they’ll inevitably repass me on the steep ups. As the terrain flattens a bit, we are riding across the ridgeline and mostly reconvene for the craziest hiking path descent I’ve ever done. Much exposure. Many hikers. Steep downhill switchbacks, with the chunkiest, sharpest, imbedded rock narrow trail. I get in my drops and let it rip. I’m hooting and hollering and thanking and saying sorry to all the walkers as we come careening down this mountain. The exposure is wild, and the views when I can take a moment are epic. The sea unfolds right below us. And I stop at a bench, to remember to take it all in and savor these fleeting moment and insane views. And then I look behind me and see Rue, perched on the hillside above taking one of her infamous postcard shots. I had a good cackle, Sam came up to me, we shared a hug and a “omg this is amazing!” moment and we continued onward. The sea was calling.
A quick jump, float, ballet leg synchro move, and I was up and out in search of a shower before the next most insane hike-a-bike out of this town, up and over the mountain to the west side of Krk. Resupplied, and headed out alone. Solo walk up this cliffside hiking trail, heave/ho’ing my bike. I heard a emergency helicopter and ambulence and prayed it wasn’t for one of us. Saw it land in an open soccer field and take off again. As I was reaching the last switchback, Beaux approached and the rest of the gang trailing behind. I was thankful for the headstart, as we got to navigate the poorly “marked” “trail” to the final insanity descent.
The steep loose fold in the mountains led us back down to the sea. It was the most sketchy thing I’ve ever done on a bike, and I was so on the limit. Enough so that I actually “crashed,” going over my handlebars but managed to stick the landing, feet first. I dusted myself off, and my bike, remounted and finished the remaining bit, before being spit out into the road. Fellow Badlands rally participant Paulina and I shared this ski hill slide together, equally glee-filled and terrified. It was a moment I won’t soon forget.
The remaining 30km road (climb from hell) to the ferry was the longest slog of the entire rally. It was hot, exposed, steep and just relentless. I made it to a seaside town and downed a Fanta and gelato and got back on the road with Jess to try and make this 6:15pm ferry. We hammered together, not speaking much, just trading pulls and suffering together in silence.
As we approached the top of the final climb we intersected routes with Paulina and Lucie, who was in trouble. Her leg was giving out and so we pushed her along, reaching the ferry just in time. Seeing her go from such a high earlier in the day, feeling so strong, to watching the pain take over and descending into such a low was a transformation no one wants to witness. But one that as a friend, you will help that friend get through in any way you can. For me, that was keeping calm, assisting her onto the ferry though a major panic attack, and finding help (Bea and crew). The crossing was quick and filled with much buzzing energy as it felt like half the rally was onboard (some made the earlier ferry and some stayed back for the evening). My nervous system was totally shot. The never ending day still had one final climb on Cres to get to my accommodations for the next two nights. As a Washington State ferry pro, I knew the disembarking procedure and hurried off the boat and started up the climb solo, as I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle the energy and stress of riding with others up the climb.
By the time I’d nearly reached the top the Frenchies caught me, blasting Queen. They were singing along the lyrics and yet here I was, barely able to pedal with a heart rate of 188, there was no way I was gonna be able to sing. I vowed to try and embrace it and let them help me up the climb, but I felt myself getting annoyed and sad at how slow I am and after a bit I was popped off the back. We stopped at the top so I could use my electric pump to help Sophie fill her tire, and then I went ahead and bombed the downhill all the way to town. I was done.
I checked into Mia’s bnb that we had booked ahead of time for two nights. The initial plan was to do the southern Cres loop without bags on Day Four. The weather (and our SQRL.PCK pace) had other plans and we turned lemons into limonata and took an off day. A lazy morning, late brunch, beach time with the local nonnas, laundry (planning this in advance was so clutch), and a romantic (lol) dinner out with Molly where we had the best homemade pasta with truffles I’ve ever had. I went to bed feeling ready for whatever day five was going to unfold. It was Sept 17th after all. My lucky day.
After my Eagle flight down to the ferry, I got to fly up the climb from the mainland and managed to knock out a bunch of kms with Mia, finally! We had a blast descending and then cruising along the river path and through the farm fields. We enjoyed a lovely lunch before heading back to the sea, where I met up with Lucie again, and helped her through more hard times. As we were descending a fun yet sketchy descent, I went ahead, and came face to face with a side by side quad atv around a blind corner. They were going so fast up the hill, all I could do was feather my brakes, scream very loudly, and pick a side to choose. All within the blink of an eye. Luckily we chose opposite directions and narrowly avoided each other by millimeters. I was still screaming as it was safely past me. Mia and then Lucie came upon me as I was hunched over my handlebars in utter shock that I was standing, and alive, unscathed. Grandpa. I knew he was there. Watching over as he always does.
Mia went onward to her bnb for the evening and Lucie and I meandered to the sea where we were yet again on the hunt for the optimal camp spot, and we located it. On the leeward side, tucked into a bay with calm waters, a flat grassy patch appeared, perfect for the many tents who ended up camping with us for one perfect night. I swam in the sea twice and we shared whatever random food (leftover lunch pizza was clutch) and conversation from the day. I got to re-tell my eagle story to the folks who made the 10:30am ferry and yet again I found happy tears welling up in my eyes.
“Crawling into my bivy, I didn’t want the day to end. Looking up at the stars, one shooting star burned across my eyes. What a magical and perfect day.”
Day Six with my bivy facing the sea and sun, I got to witness the most perfect sunrise. Lucie brought a cup of coffee to me (such service!) and a slow wakeup, with yet another birthday suit dip into the sea before packing up again. And after yesterday’s emotional release, I of course got my period today. (A rally tradition for me.) A quick ride to town for second breakfast and we were off to the southern most point on the Istrian peninsula. A funky road climb led us to an offroad bumpy section along the coast. Claire and I rampaged this section, and stopped for an NA beer and a photo on the big chairs, which brought us right back to the refugio lightening storm that kicked us off the mountain in the Dolomites this summer. (More on that later). Beaux caught up after an untimely flat and we kept rolling north.
Through the busy streets of Pula and then many slow miles ahead, we finally caught up to Lucie who had skipped some miles to rest her leg, and had already picked out the perfect swim spot, with showers, right next to our dinner reservation for the evening. Delicious food, wonderful conversation, and a bunch of ragamuffins treating ourselves on tour. One thing led to the next and a bottle of wine and a couple spritz’ later, we stumbled upon our next wild camping spot, just up the hill and hidden in the brush behind the public toilets. Not our most glamorous accommodations, but not having to ride at night or put on my chamois again was the luxurious bit.
Day Seven - our last big day. We got packed up and found breakfast, and took a bit of time to eat, wash our bibs in the bathroom and get everything dialed for the day ahead. I’m not sure why we are getting worse / slower as the days go on with this packing bit, but whatever. Less climbing again today, so hopefully more swim spots. Beaux and I ended up riding most of the day together, opting to head off route for a tiny bit to birthday suit swim and pull out our tent and bivy to dry stuff while we tried to enjoy the water. This side of the peninsula has areas where there are non stinging tiny jellyfish that remind me of silicone bandaids. I just can’t deal with how creepy they feel touching me. Yesterday a man swimming with us creeped me out, telling us “they aren’t jellies, they are worms” and that didn’t help. None the less, bringing the body temps down a bit with the swim and getting our stuff aired out helped. We ventured onward and met up with others slowly making our way up this super nice old railway climb and following descent. It was magical. Old train bridges and tunnels, the path winded upwards at a mostly steady grade. I started off solo as I usually do with a quicker rest stop, and eventually Beaux and Molly caught me. We had another magical bit of miles on "the trail of health and friendship” or so says the sign. We couldn’t agree more.
Descending back to the sea, we reached the final rally organized campsite for the evening. Set up quick, in a swarm of mosquitoes and jumped in the sea joining the others who had made their way. A farewell dinner (with the restaurant under estimating how hungry 50 women who’ve been riding for the last 7 days could be!) was a nice way to celebrate all we’ve accomplished over this week.
Day Eight and our final little stroll back to Trieste, crossing the border back into Italy. Home. We celebrated with one morning birthday suit dip at the halfway point and made it back to the square for celebrations, and hugs goodbye. The worst part.
These Rallies are more than just the miles and elevation. The are about the community, the connection, and the coming together to challenge ourselves, to give ourselves grace, and to work together towards a common goal. To share these miles and moments with other women, sharing our talents and showing our vulnerabilities. To cry, to cheer, to hoot and holler like little kids on bikes. Because at the end of the day (rally) we are all just humans, needing connection.
So much of riding a bike to me is a solo endeavor. Self sufficiency and self consciousness, a language barrier and living in the land where “women don’t ride bikes” has led to many solo miles. But it’s in these times where I face my fears, show my strengths, help others, and through mentorship I find a real purpose. I give so much, but in return get so much more. More than most of these women can even know. I push myself harder, and sometimes push others when they need a little boost too. These rallies are a great physical journey, but they become just as big of an emotional one, too.
Grateful. Thankful. Heart-full.
To my SQRL.PCK - Lucie, Beaux, Molly, Sam, Mara, and Tita. We got it done. Y’all are my ride or die pals for life. Every small moment matters on tour, and sharing so many with each of you was a real treat.
I’d be remiss to not thank the organizers Bea and Luca and to Lael and Rue for putting these events on for us to experience and enjoy. For inspiring us to choose our own adventure. And to the sponsors who keep the barrier to entry even lower, with it being a no entry fee event. (Wahoo, Komoot, Roka, Rapha). To my team, and all of our sponsors for setting me up with the best gear and setup. I feel so much more confident heading into the unknown with the bike and gear dialed. 3T Extrema Italia with my favorite 50c Schwalbe G-One Pro RS tires, Hunt Dynamo wheelset, Wahoo Roam v3, Velocio kit (The Luxe Merino jersey and I have a love affair), SRAM drivetrain with #allthegears, and Apidura for holding all my essentials and luxury items (swim cap and goggles on this trip!)
And the biggest thanks to my husband, Kyle. Who stayed home though a grueling Chief season, pinning, missed Khaki Ball, and the best kitty cat dad ever. Thank you for supporting me doing these events. I’m a better person because of them and because of you.