May....back on the road again.....

[Bierzo Baggie]

The second or third Sunday of May is normally the day of my annual pilgrimage to the Truchillas-Vizcodillo fell race. Pedro the lumberjack rang on Saturday night to see if I’d be joining the Ponferrada contingent but this year it was not to be. It’s worth commenting on though as it’s a pretty special event.

It’s a straightforward, no-nonsense 16km up-and-down mountain race which I’ve taken part in for the last 3 years (it would have been 4 but one year an overnight snowfall blocked the mountain pass and we didn’t make it through). And you won’t find this race in Runner’s World. You probably won’t even find it in the Spanish edition of said magazine but it’s as spectacular as any race I know. It has the same subversive air of a semi-secret gathering and the first time we went it felt like looking for a late-80s warehouse party. Early hours at some vague location between the mountains of El Bierzo and the mountains of northern Portugal searching for any sign of a race, passing through one isolated village to the next even more isolated, semi-abandoned village, not a soul in sight and suddenly….

The odyssey usually begins a couple of hours before the race starts. We take the mountain road from Ponferrada over the Morredero pass (they say name comes from the Galician language, Morredero, “a place to die”...a taste of what’s to come?). The road passes a sign which reads 1950m …and it continues climbing. Then it hairpins steeply downwards to Corporales, the first village of the Cabrera region on the other side of the Aquilianos range. This is followed by Baillo and then Truchas (trout) and finally Truchillas (little trout) which is supposedly the village of the race. You’d never guess though as the tiny, dismally ramshackle little place has the air of being totally abandoned. Another 500m along the road, however, and you’ll see the first indications that something strange is about to happen. Gnarled, scrawny and olive-skinned mountain-men with quads and calf muscles seemingly sculpted from the very mountainside are mulling about, stretching or applying smelly substances from tubes. To get a sense of the atmosphere you must read a book mentioned by Andy on another thread “Feet in the Clouds, a tale of fell running and obsession”. Substitute Lakeland fells for Cantabrian Cornisa and you’ll get the idea. Familiar faces of those who repeat year after year mingle with new faces most of which will later vow never to come back. It’s not everybody’s cup of tea. One of the “never-agains” is a friend of mine who describes the race as “something for people who don’t like running” and it’s true. Any normal running in the sense of regular rhythm, regular gradient and regular stride pattern is for 90% of the time impossible. Maybe a bit of rephrasing would leave a more satisfactory definition on the lines of “something for people who quite like running but who love mountains”.

Took a few photos last year and they turned out like this.
http://es.geocities.com/leonatletismo/truchillas.htm
Of the Ponferrada crew you can see Carlos the copper (number 248), Pedro the lumberjack (number 250), the mighty Basurko (number 272) amongst other head-bangers. I’m the one taking a breather at the top (Pico Vizcodillo, 2100m). The lake is half way up and more than one runner is known to have taken a dip, usually on the way down. As you’ll see the race in a merry succession of mountain paths and rock hopping.

No entry fee, no showers (most cool off in the icy waters of the local river) and it all finishes with the traditional fraternal barbecue and prize-giving. Pedro the lumberjack won the prize for over 40s last year which was a large piece of ham. This time round it was not to be but like West Brom, I’ll be back again next year.