Driedorf24-Without Finale
Two weeks after the Gravelevent in den Niederlanden, I’m already back here—this time as a permanent camper on the A5. It’s Friday afternoon, and we’re heading towards Frankfurt, battling through traffic with motivation. Our destination is Driedorf, where we’ll be competing for positions in the 24-hour race from Saturday to Sunday. It’s just before 6 p.m., and in a daring maneuver, Pamela navigates around the last remaining cars to make it to the entrance of the rest area.
The kick-off for Germany vs. Spain is just about to start, and we interrupt our journey for a pasta party and to watch the football match in the camper. At the rest stop, a surprising group dynamic emerges: today, we are all the same. Today, we are one unit. Murat in the Kanackendreier, Trucker Tony in the livestock transporter, or Helmut in his Toyota Prius with a Germany jersey and color-coordinated socks in his sandals. Everyone gets out to watch the football match on their tablet or phone.
We use the halftime break to cover the final kilometers to Driedorf and set up our paddock. It’s quiet here. We receive a warm welcome from the organizing team and watch the last minutes of our national team’s valiant but unsuccessful fight in the refreshment tent.
Tomorrow at 1 p.m., my survival challenge begins on the 5-kilometer course with 130 meters of elevation gain. I too will not reach the final.
Saturday, 12:50 p.m.
Sabine from the organizing team gives a brief instruction to the small group of participants just before the start. Driedorf24 takes place on a biennial basis. Unfortunately, today the Stöffelrace is also being held just a few kilometers away, and it’s drawing away some of the participants. I really like the atmosphere here; the event is organized by the local club on a volunteer basis, and everyone is deeply involved. The mood is familial, and the entry fee helps support local cycling.
The starting gun fires, and as always, I find my rhythm, aiming to place myself in the top 10 in the early hours and then work my way forward.
In the first four hours, I manage to climb to third place. The leader has already lapped me several times, and now the second-place rider and former winner is catching up to do the same. While he manages to close the gap, he isn’t any faster now, and so we ride together, taking turns. “Either he’s riding tactically with me now, or he overpaced at the start,” I think to myself. If it’s the latter, I don’t want to give him a chance to recover and push the pace here and there.
My three girls are also in top form. This is the first 24-hour race that daughter Mayla and Soe May are supporting, led by my wife Pamela. It’s their first time staying up all night, their first experience with the buzz of Paulaner Spezi and energy drinks. They’re practically caught up in the exhilaration of being support crew.
It gets stormy, dark clouds gather over Driedorf. The anticipated rain begins. As temperatures drop, the water has little effect on the asphalt and gravel sections of the course. Only the cream trail with berms and the pump track, which is the highlight of the circuit, suffers significantly from the rain.
Already on the first descent, I get so caked with mud that you’d think I belong in Tony’s livestock transporter. Pamela intuitively knows what to do; with a PET bottle full of water, she cleans my cassette during the climb to the start/finish line, but in her enthusiasm, she accidentally gets my feet too. So now, in addition to the mud pack, I get a mobile Kneipp treatment. Considering the €70 entry fee, wellness can be more expensive! Soe May and Mayla have put on their green raincoats, and I’m now being tended to by my very own team of “anesthetists.”
It’s wet and cold. At least the rain has stopped, and the trail is slowly drying out. I want to make the most of this first stint until the light requirement kicks in at 8:30 PM, and then switch to dry clothes and a fresh bike. I’m still in 3rd place, but the pit stop has cost me the gap to the 2nd place rider, who now has a full lap advantage.
Four hours left until halftime. Monotony and boredom set in. Aside from the fun flow trail, the course doesn’t offer much. It’s just long straights up and down, not even a handful of turns. At the highest point, there’s some lively rock music playing, but the atmosphere is non-existent. No spectators, no pit area along the course, hardly any fellow riders, as everyone has spread out on the track by now. I lose myself in the solitude, staring at the speedometer and counting the minutes.
I’m feeling a bit knocked around, with the first cramps setting in. I missed the crucial training block on the bike due to a wisdom tooth surgery four weeks ago. Instead of getting accustomed to the bike, I had a swollen face and mushy flakes. But I’ll get myself back together; halftime is approaching.
I’m a bit shocked by the data so far. After nearly 11 hours, I’ve already accumulated 5,000 meters of elevation gain. With my elephantine build, this amount isn’t something my body can handle quickly, and the anticipation of further climbs is seriously dampened. In the dip towards the start/finish area, it’s always been cooler than on the rest of the course, but now it’s getting extremely cold. The Garmin shows a chilly 5°C at three in the morning. I’m now bundled up in thermal clothing, a wind jacket, and a buff. It’s unbelievable – it’s July, and I’m riding through the night in winter gear.
We sent Mayla to bed hours ago, and Soe May, too, has started to babble from the cold and exhaustion, just like I used to at my best disco nights. She’s off to sleep now as well, while Pamela, dressed like an Eskimo (oh, sorry, an indigenous person from the Polar regions) keeps watch. I’m ready for emergency slaughter at this point.
I understand that suffering is part of it, that there are difficult phases that one must endure. Usually, these phases are occasionally interrupted by small boosts, courtesy of Red Bull, a warm tea, or an energy gel.
But this time, it’s different. I keep stopping briefly to eat, drink, and dress warmer, but I’m getting colder, weaker, and thus slower.
Second place has already dropped out, so I now hold that position. I drag myself for another 2 hours towards sunrise, but even the invigorating feeling of the morning sun doesn’t come.
There may be multiple reasons why I’m not performing as I usually do today—poor preparation, the missing training block on the bike, the cold, or the many elevation gains. It could also be simply excuses.
I approached the race strategically to aim for the podium, and after 16 hours of racing, I find myself standing there. However, I’m currently lacking everything needed to bring this podium to the finish: strength, endurance, courage, and willpower.
Around 5 a.m., I wrap up the Driedorf24 adventure. We pack up and head home while the race continues for another 6 hours. On our way back to the Black Forest, we check the results to see how the riders are trying to close the gap to me. Only 3 riders manage to catch up in the remaining hours, so I finish the race in 5th place.
Happy ride,
Daniel
