'In the reverse of Christina Aguilera, our hearts were saying yes, but our bodies saying no' - Larry Warbasse reflects on savage racing and scenic safaris in Kigali

I’m cramped up in a plane seat as I write this, on what is now my 25th hour of travel, and I have another fifteen to go before I finally land in Nice. While writing this at the current moment may leave me somewhat jaded in my appraisal of the Worlds in Rwanda due to my unfortunate return travel, I’ll try my best to give it a fair shot.

There was a lot of hype and build-up to this year’s UCI Road World Championships in Kigali, Rwanda, the first time it would be held in Africa. From the moment they announced it a few years ago, there was a mix of excitement and trepidation for the event.

Some riders were excited to explore a new country and culture, far from our habitual European locales. Others were more hesitant, including many teams, concerned about the dangers, what would happen if they crashed, the risk of getting sick, etc. On that front, I think it went better than anyone could have hoped for.

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Personally, I arrived in Rwanda on the Wednesday before the race, leaving me a few days to adjust to the climate and the location before the race. Not having had the time to do a full altitude camp during the run-in, I decided to spend some time in an altitude tent in the lead-up to the race, with the hope of adapting to the altitude the best I could before I arrived.

With Kigali situated at 1500m above sea level, we were pretty sure the altitude would have some effect, but not as pronounced as if the race were at 2000m+. The one thing we weren’t prepared for, however, was the air quality, which was somewhat deteriorated compared to what most of us are accustomed to. While training the days before the race, we could feel it in our lungs, even those who had done time at altitude prior were not prepared for that.

Interestingly enough, the higher altitudes we got to, the easier it seemed to breathe, as we escaped the smog of the city. We joked as the only one of us who seemed to handle the smog just fine was Kevin Vermaerke - a lifetime of training in the LA air prepared him for this moment!

Travelling to the race was funny, as our plane was half full of cyclists, with the other half seemingly people affiliated with the race. I sat next to Eddie Dunbar on the plane, and it felt like we were in the middle of a peloton, based on how many cyclists surrounded us.

Upon arrival, everything was extremely well organised, with even a special customs line for people affiliated with the event. After passing through, I’ve never seen so many bikes come out of a plane as we saw there. Since most of us travelled on our own, we had to bring two bikes each, one race and one spare. It made me question the times in the past I’ve been told there wasn’t enough space on the plane for my bike… I think at least 60 of them came out of the hold.

It was a short drive to the hotel and upon arrival there was some intense security - they did a full search of every car that arrived in the parking lot. Then an extra security check to enter the hotel itself. With the US team we had a really great set up - a full team of mechanics and soigneurs, a chef, director, doctor, as well as all of the organising staff. It was as professional as being with a pro team.

What is cool and different about the worlds experience is that you are there with all of the categories, not just your own. We had the junior men and women, U23s, and the professional girls in addition to us, making for a full table. Getting to chat with the green juniors, watching all of the different ages and categories compete, and getting to root for them was enjoyable.

One unique thing about racing the World Championships is getting to race and spend time with only your countrymen - something that only happens once a year for us. We had a team of five guys at the race, with Quinn Simmons, Kevin Vermaerke, Luke Lamperti, Will Barta, and myself. With all of us being on different trade teams, it makes for a nice ambience to be with guys from home. You stay a little longer at the table than normal each meal, just chatting. It made the days pass by fast.

While we didn’t do a ton of training the days we were there, some guys did more than others. Personally, I did two 3-hour training rides and then 2 hours the day before the race, so I still got to see a little bit of the countryside. And it didn’t take long after leaving Kigali to realize you were in a different part of the world.

Having never been to Sub-Saharan Africa prior, it really felt like the images I had seen, the bustle of the markets, people riding bikes loaded with bananas, potatoes, everything imaginable, women balancing various large objects on their heads, all walking down the side of the road. As we rode through the hills and passed the small villages, the children came out and ran alongside us, cheering us on, asking for bottles, chocolate, or occasionally, money. Sometimes you would be riding and you would just hear the cheers of kids, and they would be hiding in the woods above the road. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much on us to give them, as we all seemed to give one of our bottles away quite early in the ride, and then had to refill our second more than once because we no longer had enough fluids.

Seeing the course the days before, we knew it would be an absurdly hard race. The cobbles on the circuit were no joke - the cobbled climb was like the Kwaremont, it was tough. Then the steep climb just before was sure to hurt the legs. With the number of times we were supposed to go up them, we were sure it would be carnage. That was even before mentioning the Mont Kigali and Mur de Kigali just after, on the singular, bigger loop we would complete.

Mont Kigali was a six-kilometre climb that came a little less than two-thirds of the way through the race, and the last kilometre was a wall of around 15%. It was also at the highest altitude of the race at more than 1700m. Then you plunged down straight into the bottom of the Mur de Kigali a wall of cobbles, just when you were at your absolute limit, having gone as hard as possible over the previous climb.

Our plan was to go for Quinn Simmons, who has shown his strength time and time again this season, and notably was on the podium in Montreal a couple weeks ago, which is probably one of the toughest one day races on the calendar. We wanted to give him the best shot of fighting for the podium, so we needed to put him in position to use his strength. We also believed Kevin Vermaerke would be strong on the day and capable of a good performance, either himself, or in support of Quinn. As for me, it was either try to go in a move on the earlier laps if the important countries moved, and if not, hopefully pass Mont Kigali in a group to help towards the finish, or if needed, help put our two leaders in position for the foot of the climb. Will and Luke would handle the early positioning and riding on the front to keep us in a good position.

From the gun, the race was hard. And luckily, I was prepared for it, hearing from a friend of mine on the French team they wanted to open up the race from the start. A move went quickly, but the French continued to attack relentlessly, until they realized it may not have been the most sustainable strategy on the course… Then it was all about positioning on the laps after that, but the efforts we had made on the first few laps took ages to recover from. Everyone I spoke to seemed to be dying.

It was going to be a really hard day. Already after a short few laps the peloton began to whittle, and when we headed onto the big lap, we were by no means a full group anymore. For a moment, the pace calmed slightly as we exited the short loop and onto a bigger road climb that would take us in the direction of Mont Kigali. As we plunged down the descent after, we dropped down into one of the biggest groups of fans I have ever experienced in my life. The noise was deafening, the crowds were twenty deep. There were people on every terrace, every balcony, filling every available void that seemed to exist next to the road. I got goosebumps, chills. It was incredible.

Having lost two of our guys before the big loop, it was my job to do the positioning into the long climb, to make sure we were on the front and out of trouble. We took the climb first and to my surprise, the favorite’s teams didn’t accelerate at the bottom. At least I wasn’t the only one who had been suffering! I set the tempo for the first couple of kilometers, trying to keep the pace under control to give Quinn the best chance to pass with the big guns. When they started to accelerate around halfway up, the group began to disintegrate, me along with it.

As predicted, Tadej and the favorites made a huge acceleration over the top, disappearing into the distance. That was the last time I saw the front of the race and after a lap of the finishing circuit my group was pulled from the race. Unfortunately Quinn didn’t have his best day and also lost touch with the best guys over the top of the climb, leaving Kevin as our only guy in the race. We rolled into the team tent next to the feed zone to watch the rest of the race unfold. It felt a bit like watching Sunday night football with the boys, wearing our jerseys in support of our favorite teams, with each team having their own big screen in their tents. Each time Kevin passed on the road we shouted his name, still planted in our chairs.

As time went by, it looked like we were watching more of a mountain bike race than a road race, guys rolling through in groups of ones and twos. You could see the agony in their faces. The time gaps were astronomical.

It was the World Championships, however, and we can be one-hundred percent sure the strongest man won on the day. Tadej was far and away the strongest of us all and showed that he was definitely a deserving champion. Kevin rolled in as our only finisher in 23rd, which considering only thirty guys finished the race, is quite the accomplishment.

Speaking with some friends after the line, you could see not one guy had an ounce of life left in his eyes. They were spent. Some people may argue that the course was too hard and maybe it was. But as long as it isn’t like that every single year, I think it was a unique parcours, and still made for exciting racing. I can say I probably enjoyed the watching part - with a chimichurri steak sandwich in hand, thanks to a clutch delivery by our chef Owen - more than the racing part on the day, but I’m glad I had the chance to participate in the race. I’m proud of the way we executed the plan and the way we committed, and even though there wasn’t a result in the end, we were where we needed to be at every important moment. But in the reverse of Christina Aguilera, our hearts were saying yes, but our bodies saying no.

To my surprise, while having a post race team dinner, we received a message from the staff wondering if anyone wanted to go on a safari the day after. With my flight departing at night, I thought it could be an awesome finish to the trip. I was unaware that was even something that existed in Rwanda, but sure enough the next morning we had a 5 am departure from the hotel to head to Akagera National Park on the border with Tanzania.

The drive through the countryside was nearly as incredible as the park itself. At 5 am the roads were packed with people heading to the market to sell their bananas and vegetables, even their goats and chickens. The roads were lined the entire drive, our guide telling us that many of them start the journey as 3 am, walking or riding their bikes numerous hours to reach their local markets. We passed villages where the only source of water was the singular pump on the side of the road, people filling their jugs to bring to their homes. And when we finally made it to the park, we saw all sorts of wild life, from Rhinos to Zebras, Giraffes to Elephants, it was quite the experience. After a long drive back where I slept half the journey, we were back at the hotel to pack our things and leave.

Part of the reason I enjoyed riding my bike so much as a child was the freedom it gave me. It took me to places I couldn’t see by foot. First, it was to the other side of the neighbourhood, when I was older, to the other side of the county, and once I started racing, the other side of the state. For me, the bike was an adventure - it opened the door to so many places I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to see. When I became more serious it took me across the ocean to Europe for the first time - something that seemed unbelievable just a few short years before. That adventure was one of the reasons I fell in love with the sport.

Yet somehow, when we get stuck in the race season, going from race to race, training camp to training camp, it’s too easy to forget why we started riding in the first place. We get this sort of tunnel vision that can be hard to escape from. Every once in a while we need another adventure to remind us of why we started pedalling down this road in the first place.

So while I only spent five days in Rwanda, it felt like so much more than that. Getting to race there was an experience I will not be quick to forget. From the hospitality of the people and the pride they had in showing us their country, to the children cheering us on on the side of the road, the gorgeous countryside to the clean and safe city, I look forward to one day going back. And even if I leave the country without a number on the result sheet next to my name, I don’t leave Kigali empty by any means: it was a rich experience and adventure with memories I will keep for life.