A resident of Puerto Calero, Aleddín Delacroix, has contacted La Voz to denounce the problems he suffered this Saturday due to the celebration of the Ironman on the island. The man has described the road closures for the event as an "organizational disaster" and has explained the delay he had to suffer to get to work, in his case, as well as the inconveniences that other residents in the area also had. This is his story:
Saturday, May 20, 8:30 in the morning.
I leave home early, an hour before my work shift starts. Normally, living in Puerto Calero, it takes me about 25-30 minutes to get to El Charco, with slight variations depending on traffic. But today, of course, because of the Ironman, that routine journey, with hardly any setbacks, will be severely altered. As soon as I leave the urbanization, when I head towards the first roundabout, I already find a fence that prevents me from passing. "Well, I tell myself, I'll go the other way...", but when I'm going to turn left in front of the hotel to take the road that borders the coast to Puerto del Carmen, surprise, another fence blocks my access.
As my indignation is in crescendo (they have blocked all the exits from the town), I decide to park nearby and ask one of the volunteers of the organization who, dressed in a reflective vest and a STOP sign, is dedicated to prohibiting the circulation of vehicles. When I explain the situation, that I am trapped in Puerto Calero because they have fenced off all the exits and I am going to be late for work, she simply tells me that these are the rules of the event, imposed from the presidency of the Cabildo, and that if I have any problem I should go and complain there. "How, if I can't get out of here? And besides, precisely on a Saturday," I think ironically, "they must be fully operational in the Cabildo...". Faced with the lack of solutions from the volunteer, I decide to call the Civil Guard. I explain the same thing to them, and they very politely reply that it is not their problem, that I should call the Local Police, that they are handling the issue. I dial two different numbers (from Tías and Pto. del Carmen), but no one answers, at the first or second ring a beep sounds, and it is not the fax number. Others who are not operational.
I call the civil guard again and after indicating where several immobilized drivers are, he reassures me by saying that he will send a patrol. Apart from me, there is a car full of foreigners who want to go to the airport because otherwise they will miss their flight and, above all, a transporter who must take a boat in Playa Blanca bound for Fuerteventura to deliver his cargo of pigeons. He is parked on a road next to the roundabout, with his van full of birds. He is the one I am most worried about and who has the toughest time getting to his destination, since the general road (LZ-2) south of the island is closed in all sections. When, after a few minutes of waiting, the agent arrives on a motorcycle, we all believe that he will offer us a solution, but it is not so. He does not listen to pleas or supplications. He informs us that "you can't pass, it's the law", and that we will have to wait until the indicated time. I propose that he escort us at low speed along the lane, which is empty (the other, obviously, is enabled for the passage of cyclists in the race) and separated by a line of cones, that there is no danger since the safety distance of one and a half meters is more than respected, but he does not respond to this argument either. He sticks to the law and that's it. And I ask myself: is it legal to cut off traffic for a period of three hours, from 7:30 to 10:30, without leaving any escape route for the inhabitants of a municipality? Should we applaud as mere spectators watching the cyclists parade while we are late for our jobs or, what is much more serious, miss a plane or a boat? Who is going to assume those expenses, the Ironman organization, the Cabildo? Will someone be responsible for reimbursing those affected for the money and time lost? I wonder what would have happened in the face of a greater emergency, such as a woman in labor or a seriously injured person, would the authorities have let the ambulance pass or would she have bled to death on the asphalt? What a spectacle.
After much discussion and not achieving anything, it is a countryman who offers us an alternative. He indicates the existence of an exit through a dirt road, turning left and right a little further up. Following various bifurcations, we can reach the IES Yaiza, and from there join the endless queue of the LZ-2 coming from Playa Blanca. I know the dirt road, although I have never taken the car there, but lacking another place to leave, I decide not to waste any more time. I tell the transporter to follow me, since he is not from the island. At this point the foreigners have already turned around, tired of the endless wait. I hope they haven't missed their flight in the end.
Luckily, the dirt road is not cut off (there is a fence set aside allowing passage), so, after a few turns, we leave the institute to the left, go up a small slope, and say goodbye, since the transporter continues his route along the dirt path towards the south (has he even reached the roundabout of Playa Quemada or Yaiza? It is likely that he missed the boat and we better not talk about his cargo of pigeons) and I take the opposite direction. A truck driver lets me pass, I have barely managed to get to the general road, now I just have to suck up a kilometer-long traffic jam until I reach the point where they allow vehicles to circulate.
While I wait, I have time to chat with some indignant drivers and to witness how a runner gets off his bicycle to pee on the opposite shoulder. I look at the clock on my mobile: it reads 9:20. I have 10 minutes to get to work and I'm still stuck. I'm about to call a colleague who lives in Arrecife to tell him to go to work in my place, that when I manage to get out of there I'll replace him on his shift. With my finger on the call button, I see that the queue is starting to move slowly, at the roundabout they are letting cars pass when there are no cyclists nearby. Hallelujah! Another five minutes of slow agony and it's my turn to leave. I accelerate cursing the incompetence of the Cabildo in complicity with the organizers of the race, and in 25 minutes I arrive at the Charco de San Ginés.
At 9:45 on Saturday, May 20, 2017, after this incredible race worthy of the best triathlete, I finally reach the finish line, entering work fifteen minutes late and with a flat tire on the right rear wheel.
I only hope that this organizational disaster is not repeated next year, the citizens who pay for the roads with our taxes deserve to be taken into account, and even a competition of the magnitude and international prestige such as the Ironman should improve its image for future editions of the race. That not everything consists of filling your pockets.
