The Gemenc Grand Prix is an excellently organized race with exemplary safety measures and strong competitors. This year, the MBH Bank Cycling Team arrived with the junior team, which meant we were part of the mix, but most of the participants were from professional squads.
The distance was 152 km, starting from Szekszárd, and we had to complete four laps through the surrounding towns before returning to the start.
It was a strong ride, averaging between 45 and 50 km/h. I felt good, riding well with the group, and everyone was nicely bunched together. The team managed to stay together effectively.
In the third lap, I pulled back in the field to take a drink and adjust my shoes. As I reached for my water bottle on what was otherwise good asphalt, I hit the only pothole, which instantly changed my fate. The impact yanked my handlebars, pulling me down with such force that I nearly fell onto my handlebars. I felt like I was about to crash my own bike. Thankfully, the pedal binding held me on, but the rear wheel also hit the pothole hard, and I was launched from the right side of the road, flying across the oncoming lane and straight into a 2-meter deep ditch on the other side.
A huge thanks to the organizers for conducting the race with full road closures, ensuring the entire width of the road was available—this decision could have saved my life.
Later I checked my Garmin and saw I fell at a speed of 51 km/h. The paramedics thought I had been hit by a vehicle because of the way I went down, but I got off relatively lightly. Although I scraped skin everywhere, nothing was broken, and my wounds should heal quickly. I did hit my head on the asphalt, but thankfully, my helmet protected me. I fell in such a way that I slid and rolled into the ditch without any impact to my spine.
As I climbed out of the ditch, the paramedics were already there, ready to examine me. They were surprised at how intact I was. Zoli and Tamás got out of the team car and immediately grabbed my bike.
‘Are you going to continue?’
I said yes, of course.
I hopped back on and took off. I might have been a bit disoriented, though, because I told the team car to wait—I needed to grab my glasses, which I was using for the first time that day and had just received—they were still somewhere in the ditch. Understandably, they firmly told me to forget about it. (We went back for them later and found them thanks to the Garmin GPS signals. It really wouldn’t have made sense to search for them then; they were completely ruined.)
My KASK helmet was pretty battered, but it did an excellent job protecting my head. Wear a well-fitted, high-quality helmet because your life could depend on it. Naturally, my helmet has now been retired after this race—it’ll serve as a relic, but I won’t be going to the grocery store with it. Remember, one helmet equals one crash—that’s a basic rule.
My saddle looked like it had been bitten by a horse. When I finally made it to the bunch, Filu (Viktor Filutás) started talking to me in Italian. He thought the Italian MBH team was here and was used to riding in a peloton with them. We laughed and clarified that I was Hungarian. He then mentioned in Hungarian that my saddle looked pretty bad—specifically, the saddle rail was broken and didn’t hold anything.
And indeed, it was so crooked that it was a miracle I didn’t fall off the bike. Clearly, the adrenaline was still pumping, so I didn’t notice it until it became increasingly difficult to ride.
My leg also got strained during the fall, and the effort to catch up took a lot out of me. I crashed at the 60 km mark but managed to keep going for another 25-30 km while trying to catch up with the group that was riding at around 45-50 km/h.
In the end, I fell behind and decided to pull out of the race.
My family members were cheering for me by the side of the road. When I finally reached them after the crash, I got out of the bike. They already knew about my situation—the Green Riders’ car had called out that I had crashed.
They could see I was generally okay, but according to my dad, I looked like a warthog that had been attacked. My dad always carries a first aid kit with him since I started racing, so he treated the wounds that could be cleaned in public without embarrassment on a park bench. Then I settled into the back seat of the car, took off my ripped jersey and shorts, and he cleaned and disinfected my injuries.
My backside looked like I had been sliding down a sandpaper slide for a week. There wasn’t much skin left, but none of the wounds were deep. Octenisept is an excellent disinfectant, and I highly recommend it to everyone. We used it to treat all my wounds. In the end, after being wrapped up in sterile gauze, I sat there in just a blanket on the car’s back seat as we slowly made our way to the finish line.
Tamás, the team manager, had already called to say they were waiting by the team bus for the paramedics to take a closer look. They brought my clothes from the bus so I wouldn’t have to get out of the car wrapped in a blanket.
The paramedic lady was surprised again that I really had no other issues apart from what was visibly apparent, and she praised my dad for the excellent bandaging. She mentioned that the ambulance had the same disinfectant that he used. She also added that based on my helmet and the trajectory of my fall, it wasn’t impossible that I might have a concussion, so if any symptoms appeared, I should head straight to the doctor.
I had planned to help the team during the Saturday race since I was out, but the team decided it was best for me to go home, rest, and focus on the next competition.
I didn’t get much sleep from Friday to Saturday night; no matter how I turned, I was always lying on one of my wounds. Then, on Saturday at 6 PM, I collapsed like a sack of potatoes and didn’t wake up until 8 AM on Sunday.
At 8, I saw a message from Koloszár Peti, who was formerly my teammate at BTS. He asked if I wanted to join them for a training session in Pilis. I thought I had rested enough, so let’s see how it goes.
It went well. And with that, it was decided that no matter what happened, I’d pull myself together for the race next Thursday—four days in Italy.
Crashes are always a possibility in cycling. I’m glad I got off with so little this time, and now I’m focusing on the next race.
