She must have nerves of steel. It's 7:19 pm at an altitude of 2,400 metres. It's about to get dark. It's raining. It's cold. Everything is just a struggle. But Jorid Thomsen from Kappeln pushes past four minibuses that are supposed to offer shelter to the desperate on the last few kilometres up to the Timmelsjoch. Thomsen, born in 1960, has the kind of smile on her face that only comes after overcoming pain. Behind her, a white van crawls the last few metres up to the pass as a personal broom wagon, accompanying her at walking pace. It can be exasperating. But she perseveres. Signal lights everywhere, men and women in high-visibility waistcoats, radio messages. The cyclist makes it over the crest - and now there is a whole column of broom wagons behind her. They remain empty.
At the very back of the Ötztal Cycle Marathon, one of the most prestigious events for amateur road cyclists. At the very back on 238 kilometres over 5,500 metres in altitude. That is this story. While the sporty high-flyers chase over Brenner, Jaufen and Timmelsjoch for the 33rd time at the front, there is a thousand-fold battle at the back all day long. Against the clock. Against the waiting time. Against the exclusion. Against Joachim Kuen's word of authority.
The work of Joachim Kuen, normally a sports shop owner from Längenfeld in Ötztal, begins before six in the morning on this Sunday. With a headset on his ear, a neon yellow jacket to protect him from the pelting rain and a mobile phone in his hand, he stands at the passenger door of a black BMW X3. The racing clock is running on the roof. "Rennleiter 3" is written on the rear windscreen, as well as on Kuen's jacket. Whilst other directors at the front and in the middle of the field oversee the sporting action, Kuen is responsible for the end of the competition. For the participants, the tall man with tanned skin and baseball cap is the final authority. He decides who drops out of the race because they don't make it to the finish.
However, the first 700 or so participants have already given up without Kuen's intervention. They didn't even turn up. The rain that had been pouring down into gloomy Sölden since the previous evening was too heavy. There are still 3,354 at the start at 6.45 a.m. - Kuen, his driver and two young ladies on the back seat are already on their way to Kühtai, to the first steep climb. The two women have clipboards with empty lists with them. Over the course of the day, when their car reaches the end of the race, they will make a note of which riders they overtake - and observe which of these starters pass them again at their checkpoints. "We don't want anyone to get lost," explains Kuen.
Grey weather, golden blankets
They already have a lot to do on the first mountain. At the Mareil bus stop, in a dark, rainy stretch of forest, the participants pass by. The first sign of failure: a German participant pushes his bike uphill. A spoke is broken on the rear wheel. When a service van passes by shortly afterwards, Kuen stops it - but the crew can't do anything. A few minutes later, a second service van pulls up. The mechanics try to help the young man. But they have no solution either. For this participant, the race ends long before the first summit.
Kuen orders a minibus for the drop-off, the driver of a van takes the bike on board. An image that makes many participants think. It's seven degrees here at the centre of the mountain, everything is wet - so a bus back to Sölden suddenly develops its appeal. Within a few minutes, a whole group has gathered at the side of the road next to Kuen's service vehicle. Paramedics hand the athletes golden insulating blankets - an image that will be seen frequently in the hours that follow. One driver shakes his head in disappointment, but most of them seem relieved, some cheerful. Kuen has just reported on how emotional the disqualification arguments often turn out to be. But now he is surprised by the willingness of many to give up: "No discussion is necessary here," he says.
The fact that Kuen finds the participants so compliant is probably due to the extreme weather conditions this year. It is not unusual for it to snow on the highest points of the Ötztaler. But the fact that the world is threatening to drown after weeks of summer weather really takes its toll on morale and physical fitness. The day before it was still warm in late summer, but on Sunday the temperatures didn't come out of the cellar. The organisers have only experienced something like this once before: in 2003, when the morale of the cyclists was tested in a similar way to this year and 1,096 participants gave up ...
Find out what happens next in Tim Farin's report in the current issue of TOUR, which you can conveniently order online here
