CCC2013 Rest Day
"I write this alone on my bed, I've poisoned every room in the house, The place is quiet and so alone, Pretend there's something worth waiting for. There's nothing nice in my head, The adult world took it all away, Wake up with same spit in my mouth, Cannot tell if it is real or not."
That's the song that was in my head as awake to a problem. A rest day shouldn't start at 2am. My knee was swollen, burning and refusing to let me sleep. It wouldn't bare any weight as I tired to negotiate my way to the toilet. Straight away I think there is no way I will be able to ride the next stages back to Nice. So tired from five very tough days I dearly would love to sleep, but my mind is planning the logistics of getting home if I'm going to bale. A flight out of Geneva and somehow get my bike case home eventually (currently in Nice). A physio is arranged for mid morning and I'd just have to wait on the verdict. Everyone was buoyant and happy at breakfast but I felt sad, I may be leaving them all too soon, but I don't let on.
So to the vital physio visit. Just half an hour with Andres and James and I was reassured that I could carry on. Difficult to describe their methods (must be voodoo) a unique approach and in 25 years of receiving massage and visiting sports clinics I have never been so impressed. I am sure the next five days will be hard for the knee to get through but thanks to these miracle men I won't be going home just yet.
The main thing to do on the rest day is wash - bike and kit, rest may be possible later on but another manic day on the bike is only really a few hours away and you need to be ready. Yesterday farm yard trails had coated our bikes with a lot of nasty cow stuff, so out came the muc off and degreaser.
The directions to the laundrette were a tad out.....2km on the left turned out to be 3km on the right but we were used to things being underestimated, if we really knew the extent of the climbing each day we may not get out of bed. My usual complex OCD ritual of separating dark and whites for washing was put to the test, as everyone was recklessly stuffing all their washing together (even gel bars left in jerseys were washed).
I was stupidly entrusted with finding a lunch venue, and in my best French I asked for the best pizza place in town. Clearly I was misunderstood or I misunderheard as it was not actually what we got. Instead we stumbled into an 'all you can eat self service BBQ'. Never come across one of them before. A bit gimmicky (almost on par with the 'all you can eat pancake resturant from Valberg in 2009'). Many manually prepared sauguges later we attempt too pay but due to a card mix up, I had to remain in the resturant for the next half an hour, as collateral, as Davina scurried off for cash. It was only 17 euros each for all you could consume, including dessert (I mean that was crazy I had at least 17 euros worth of dessert!)
Another chore and a first for me, shaving my legs (well knees only, not able to do my legs fully just now), the tape that was so essential to support my knee stuck better without hairy knees. So frankly looking ridiculous with hairy legs but shaved knees I was ready to continue the return journey back to Nice.