Jeux Sans Frontieres

Dedicated to the Off Limits Mountain Bike Club, Jean-Pierre Vattalo, and Françoise Illoze.

Amayé-sur-Orne, Normandie. Dimanche le 4 Octobre, 1998. 14.00.

As the drizzle intensifies and the cold seeps into my lightly lycra clad body, along with 800 other cyclists eager to be off and racing I question my sanity in being here. Though divided by nationality and language, the majority of us must be wondering what possessed us to pay ten francs to suffer in this way.

La Francesco Moser féte du VTT is one of the major sporting events in Normandy. It's a mountain bike race celebrating the life and career of the famous cyclist and former World Hour Record holder Francesco Moser; organised by his coach and friend Jean-Pierre Vattalo who now runs the local auberge. Entry to the event is open to everyone from professional riders to have a go heroes. The Off Limits mountain bike club to which I belong are the UK's unofficial representatives, and at this moment we're wishing we weren't. The Norman drizzle intensifies as the anticipation builds to the start; we hear the distant sound of the animateur whipping up the excitement through the PA system and the far away crowd joining in the countdown to the moment when the maroon fires. Then at last the tapes are swept aside and we can be on our way just as an explosive downpour bursts down upon us.

Getting going isn't straightforward though. After so much time waiting around muscles have chilled and it's no easy matter trying to funnel so many competitors through the narrow choke point that leads from the water meadow alongside the river Orne onto the road leading out of the village of Amayé-sur-Orne. As if to prove the point someone in front of me stalls as they try to climb the short but sharp step-up onto the tarmac. I manage to bypass him without being stopped or losing too much momentum; now my race can properly begin.

If the idea of the choke point and climb was to split up the peleton and so make the event more managable, it has failed. As soon as my tyres hit the road I launch myself at full speed joining the closely packed crowd of flailing riders trying to get ahead. It's nerve wracking riding so cheek by jowl, but I must if I want to keep up with my team mates and avoid being caught amid the combative mêlée. The ground I am able to make now will to a large extent decide how my race will go later.

There are twenty of us here covering a wide range of fitness. We've split ourselves into mini-teams of roughly equal ability who will compete together, providing essential group support. I'm with Bob, 'Dangerous' Dave, Rob, and Barry. They're ripping up the hill at high speed so I'd better catch up with them or my race will be a long, lonely slog.

I close the gap and rejoin them but already I'm suffering. All those long forgetten school biology lessons are brought back into painful focus from the silty depths of memory. I'm acutely aware of every part of my body, and it's potential to hurt. I'm drawing deep, ragged breaths and my heart is trying to batter its way through my ribs. Yet this is only the hors d'oeuvre, we'll need to keep our wits about us just to survive this stage. With so many competitors packed so close together on this steady hill leading out of the village from the Orne valley an inevitable clash of spinning cranks or interweaving handlebars is bound to happen, and it does so near to us.

There's the clattering of tangling bikes, and a knot of riders tumble bringing those behind to a halt. "CHUTE!" the shouted warning is passed back. Fortunately we avoid the crash, and reachingbthe top of the long climb are directed left on to a narrow path that after a while leads into a wood before joining a downhill forestry track. This could be a tricky moment for me.

You see I'm visually impaired, with about half a 'normal' eye's worth of vision in total. This might make what I'm about to do seem foolhardy, but I was taught to cope with my disability and deal with the world as sightcentricly as possible. For me that involves engaging in my lifetime hobby of cycling. So throwing common sense and caution to the wind I follow my team mates swooping back down towards the valley.