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[WARNING: May take as long to negotiate as the blue
lap]
Time
for action. Bike ready, rider ready (cough), pit crew
ready. The challenge at hand, however, took a slight deviation
as The Competition (Mr McAvoy), who must have got wind of my cunning plan and
impending doom, was instead entered with his RLFactory team-mate in the pairs
division (which they ended up winning – just!). Bugger. Whilst
a little disappointing not to be up against the big cheese, it did take some of
the pressure off as, during the week and a half lead up, i typically surrendered
to sickness, although thankfully a milder version this time. As the spluttering
again ensued only after i had entered my taper period (= slow kms and general
laziness), i'm left concluding that the reason i succumb to flu is the
crescendo of stress that culminates in race day. In part it's why
i've only got one of these things in me a year. On top of getting
physically into shape there is so much to think about and organize.
The
house resembled a bomb site as everything was collated on the friday
morning. Boxes of bottles, electrolyte powder, gels, noddles,
condiments, cooking stuff, utensils, dry-weather clothing, cold weather
clothing, wet weather clothing, below zero clothing. 4 sets of
knicks and gloves. Microwave, stove, kettle, sandwich
toaster. Lights, batteries, chargers, spare batteries, double sets
of day and night goggles. The uber important
contacts. Bike, tools, more tools, spare wheels, spare tires,
sealant, more sealant, spare chain cut-to-length, spare magic links, brake pads,
bottles of lube, rags, pressure-spray kit. Not to mention camping
equipment. Most of it i was hoping i wouldn't
need. However the forecast suggested otherwise. Zero
during the night and rain expected. Terrific.
It
rained all Friday morning as we squashed the above-mentioned into the car and after
attending to a few errands in Sydney traffic (grrr) headed down to chilly Canberra,
stopping at Goulburn en route to marvel at slopes covered in snow which had come
down only hours earlier. By the time we
made Stromlo and our designated pit area the clouds had fortunately blown
through and we basked in pleasant afternoon sunshine. We counted
ourselves lucky that the race was not held any earlier, as in the two days
prior the mountain had received over 50 mm of rain.
As
in 2010, I was sharing a pit area, but this time with Ben, nervously
anticipating his first 24 solo. Ben’s
father Paul was to contribute pit duties.
Anita was going to try to channel the “pit-bitch from hell” mentality,
and keep the stops as short as possible. Sally, who helped handle me in 2010 also very
kindly offered to help out again, and eventually found us despite the fact that
I had somehow left the mbl phone in Sydney.
The pit was cramped, but three dedicated people servicing two riders is
a good combination, and prevents things from getting too boring once the lap
splits start to blow out. Mike and GK
would also pitch in when they could, but they had their own race to deal with.
Anita
and I opted for a hotel room the night before, in part as I was still
struggling to rid myself of flu and figured a good night sleep was
imperative. I didn’t get it, constantly
waking with the urge to cough and dwelling on two months of preparation being
undone by poor health. But I tried to
console myself with a quote along the lines of “many great things having been
done on no sleep”. I was hardly cock-a-hoop
as I shoveled down the largest breakfast I’ve had since 3peaks. We got back to Stromlo in good time, but
those last few hours before race start disappear mighty fast (= stress and
grumpiness), in spite of the pit having been largely sorted the day prior.
It
is always a great relief once the gun fires, as at least there is nothing more
to be done apart from do one job only - ride the damn thing. And those first few laps feel like
magic. Fresh legs, consciously not try
to hammer. But it is easy to overextend
and go out too hard, to which I plead guilty.
The course consisted of an hour-glass configuration; Red lap (12 km –
climb the mountain, descend the mountain), and Blue lap (14 km – flatter with
countless rock garden technicalities, but with almost the same amount of
cumulative climbing). I thought I knew
the course, but the red lap threw up a surprise. On the trip down the mountain, after the Slyline
and Luge sectors, instead of ploughing into the lower Luge section, a short
climb up a fire road emptied us onto the massively bermed and technical lower
section of the downhill course. Whilst
we were routed round the worst aerial features, there was one significant
A-line B-line decision to be made. Not
having seen it before and with riders up my clacker I took the B-line, which
was technically no problem, but results in stalling before re-entering the main
line, and consequently robs you of 10 seconds every passage. Doing tidy splits in such an event is all
about the combination of countless marginal gains. This one I was determined to sort out later
on. The blue lap in contrast was exactly
as expected, except worse in the sense that multiple sections that were usually
of no consequence were already soft, jelly like, pooled, or trickling rivers,
and within a few laps and several thousand sets of wheels (450 sets of wheels
on track at any one time), turned quickly to almost indescribable bogs. To make matters worse, by mid afternoon the
rain had started and fell consistently for an hour of two. This was going to be one tough grind.
By
mid-late afternoon, with fatigue well and truly setting in things started to go
a little bit wrong in the handling department.
I had already had my first “off “on the red lap, counter intuitively
whilst climbing up the mountain when the front wheel washed out on a
corner. Slight cramp immediately bit as
I got to my feet. Later that lap I was
focused on riding the one A-line that eluded me. On approach I was passed by a young-un with
skate helmet, bulging backpack with tripod strapped on, and “PRESS” emblazoned
across his back. I asked if he was
taking the A-line and would he mind if I followed. Sure, he said, and I followed in
pursuit. I’m guessing he was out to show
off his all-mountain machine and skills, as when we got to the line he hucked
straight over the top of the rampart with aplomb, disappearing down the face. I tried to pick the same line 2 seconds later
but was not prepared for either the steepness or angle of the drop. I mono’d on the front wheel before my angle
relative to the stonework brought me undone.
As I picked myself and the bike up a rider who was following my line did
exactly the same thing. Fortunately
neither of us broke bike nor body. And
PRESS dude was nowhere to be seen. I
skinned my elbow, as well as taking strips off my right side, from the buttock all
the way down to below the knee.
Yowch! This was going to make
things interesting as time marched on. As
I looked back to peruse the drop I realized that the little punk had not
exactly guided me down the easiest part of the line, which I subsequently saw another
rider take. Approaching from the left
would have avoided the rampart altogether and lined you up for a more sane run
down the ragged ramp. Major bugger. My race had almost finished there and
then. I rued not getting to the course
earlier on the Friday and doing one last reccie of the red lap, where all of
this could have been inspected properly, which I had originally planned on
doing with Anita. In any case, it was
B-line only from now on.
Re-runs
of what had just transpired – the stupidity of running previously unsighted
A-lines, and the fact that the same thing happened 3 years ago in my first tilt
at 24solo (apparently I had learnt nothing) – ran through my head as I rolled
bloodied into the pits. However, there
was really nothing to be done but get back out there for the trench warfare
horrors that were unfolding on the blue lap.
I could handle all the technicalities on the blue lap, but the effort
required to navigate the ooze was exhausting, not to mention giving me annoying
chain suck and increasing the likelihood of breaking a chain or ripping off a
derailleur. The early part of the red
lap was also turning to the same quagmire consistency, to the point where by
nightfall the chain was requiring hosing down and re-lubing regardless of the
lap completed. But Anita, Sally and Paul
soon had the process sorted and efficiently got to the task as soon as I rolled
in. One would help me feed whilst the
other two attended the chain. Most of
the early pits were only a few minutes, but by nightfall approx. 5 min a pit
was more the norm. In any case once
fatigue sets in you are grateful for any time off the bike (and next to the
heater) you can get.
It
was late afternoon when I got my first place check. I was a bit crest-fallen to hear I was only
running 5th, after bragging about podium possibilities. This was on top of the fact that I found the
hours between the 2 and 7 hour mark really difficult. I thought I’d been running pretty hot. I was trying to maintain some sort of pace
but realized I was losing the battle. I was already feeling pretty shattered but
was only 6 hours in. Man, this was going
to a tough one to graft out. If this
feeling continued I was going to struggle holding position, let alone climbing
the ladder.
The
inevitable creep of night is where the “race” really starts in my book. I reminded myself that there was a long way
to go, and that if I wanted to survive it I just had to do my own thing, look
after myself, and avoid any more nasty offs.
Speaking of offs, I had another three in various sections of bog, some
sections of which I gave up riding and was happy to simply walk. The last 2/3rds are a measure of how you
function running on perpetual empty. If
you don’t keep pouring in the food, an implosion is inevitable. There is the discipline of keeping moving and
the discipline of keeping eating.
Surviving the 8 hour mark was a real milestone. One third down. At some stage before midnight (I think) I
caught Ben. He looked pretty shattered
but seemed to really pick up as we rode the top of the mountain together, and
descended back to the pit. He had
promised himself the luxury of a toilet stop at the end of the lap. Its little treats such as these that you
sometimes have to bribe yourself with to get through another lap. I was worried whether he’d actually be able
to keep circulating, and knew he’d be devastated if he packed it in.
Getting
past midnight was another milestone for me.
Halfway! Despite a few more light
evening showers, come midnight it looked like we were at least past the bad
weather as stars started to dominate the sky.
My undershirt, short-sleeve jersey, light arm-warmers and a change of
socks and gloves, addition of gillet, coupled with grazing on slices of warmed pizza
and lots of warm noodle juice had me toasty enough on most of the course,
despite the temp approaching zero. A
dusting of frost was visible on the grass at the top of the mountain as dawn
approached. Just got to keep
moving.
In
these meditative night laps, where rider numbers really thinned out, I found my
mood improved. Somewhere in the early am
I’d moved up to fourth and had my eye on slowly but surely closing on third
place. This was good motivation. I focused some more and felt that I’d subsequently
put down some handy laps in a row. So I was
not surprised at all to hear that I’d hauled in third as dawn approached. I was, however, surprised to hear that I was
suddenly up into second, and maybe even starting to close on first. A few up the road must have metaphorically
fallen into holes big time. In two laps
I closed another 10 minutes on first place.
Whilst my red lap splits were right on the knocker of 60 minutes (almost
to the second), I was being punished on the blue. Some bogs out the back of blue I’d manage to
grind on one lap, then have to walk the next.
During
the last third of the race my brain was coughing as well. I’d struggle to estimate how many laps to go,
forget what lap I was on, what the time was at the last pit etc. All my mental energy was being saved for
staying on the track down the numerous technical runs. I’d try to focus on remembering one or two
requests for the next pit, only to realize half way through the next lap that
I’d forgotten to mention any of them.
Can’t have been too important! All
my physical energy was being dosed out carefully to muscle this rock step,
another section of rough, or to summon just enough punch to float over the next
bog. Despite a spectacular sunrise, psychologically
the arrival of day failed (again) to give me the lift solo riders often mention
(although the birds going bezerk in the pre-dawn WAS exciting). Countless riders now back on the course came flying
past at light speed, accentuating the reality that I was creeping – I just
hadn’t realized how badly!
Ultimately,
Mr Welch, who prevailed in my category, was simply too good. 38 minutes was as close as I got to him with
4 hours remaining. To make matters
worse, in the first of my last 4 laps I started to get some left knee pain. It disappeared when standing, but was giving
me increasingly more grief in the seated position. When I rolled into the pits I explained that
we had a major problem, and wondered whether my buffer over third would be
sufficient; “Patello-femoral” knee pain was immediately diagnosed by Anita –
nothing to worry about. I popped a
Nurafen which I think kicked in a little, but the pain was ever present for the
remainder, such that nearly all of the pedaling I did on the last three laps
had to be done standing up. This
actually didn’t bother me too much as at least my lower back gave me no grief
in this upright position. A can of red
bull and Mikey encouraging me with “Jizz In My Pants!” yelled at maximum volume
brought a smile to my face as I set off on what I knew would be my last tour of
the blue lap, to give me a round total of 24 – in 24. In the end, Mr Welch covered 25 laps,
effectively finishing 1 hr 10 min up the road.
I had a safety net of 2 laps over third place, so all I had to do in
that last lap was stay upright, the importance of which my pit had been
emphasizing for some time. The
checkpoint crew half way round the blue lap, as they’d done just previously on
the red lap, gave the Soggy Bottom Boys jersey, in particular, a huge
cheer. As every rider on course returned
with a colorfully spackled posterior the jersey really resonated with riders,
supporters and officials alike. I should
say that the camaraderie and support out on course, from team and solo riders
alike, was pretty special, as I’ve found before when running solo. That solo tail-plate is gold!
It
was a great emotional release to finish – teary eyed as seems to be my manner
in these things. It was lovely to be
able to hug Anita and not have to go out for another lap! It was also nice to realize that after 6
years of racing mountain bikes I’d finally get to stand on a podium, even if it
was only an age category one. But before
that we got to see Ben come home.
Although he’d gifted himself a few longer transitions in the night, get
back on track he did to the point where he clawed his way to 6th in
the same group category with 20 laps. A
fantastic effort. I think it’s an
achievement Ben can be immensely proud about.
Both of us will acknowledge that doing one of these things is absolutely
dependent on good pit support, so a huge thank you and hats off to Anita, Sally
and Paul, who so selflessly gave up their weekend (and Saturday night),
provided emotional support, enthusiasm, great food variety, proffering just the
right amount and type of information (including intelligence gathered on
rivals), and who didn’t miss a beat with either of us or our filthy machines. You made it impossible for me not to keep getting
out on track, and it would have been simply impossible without you. Anita gets special mention as well, for
putting up with what has become a bit of an obsession over the last few
months/years. Thanks also to cameo
support in the form of Felix, and Mikey and GK, who as a pair also did a great job of
knocking off 19 laps whilst lending the odd hand.
For
the record, the winner, in what was a stacked field was the three-time world
champ and 24hr freak Mr English (Merida/Flight Center), with 31 laps. We think that was about his 15th
consecutive 24 hr race win. He was
pushed all the way this time by the current European and English champ, Mr Page
(Wiggle), just 20 minutes down, also on 31 laps (an insanely small margin for
such an event). Mr Page reckons it's the
hardest race he’s ever done. He was in
some distress at the presentation and had to be supported by two people to even
walk or mount the podium. Rounding out third
was another Aussie, Mr Hall (Radical Lights Factory Team), with 30 laps. The Canadian champ, Mr Wallace (Kona), runner
up to Mr English in 2010 and my pre-race favorite, was a solid 4th
with 29 laps. Of the 100 odd solo
starters I’m pretty stoked to have finished 13th outright, and to
have survived a course hailed as particularly difficult by credentialed company. Actually this placing is a little flattering
as there were half a dozen riders easily of higher caliber who DNF’d or DNS’d. That said I reckon I was probably the only
top 20 rider running the one machine, which added significantly to pit
dead-time given the conditions (my pits totaled 1 hr 28 min). This also means that my bike probably
travelled further than any other bike on course for the weekend! Physically I’m probably the least beaten up
I’ve been, in what is my 3rd solo outing, so that’s encouraging.
My
strategy of flying under the radar worked.
A chat post podium with Messer’s Welch (1st) and Selkrig (3rd)
confirmed that they had no idea who I was or where I’d come from, although,
both being Canberran’s, they knew most of the other contenders. The final result was a true reflection of Mr
Welch’s current superiority, as he bested me in the Kowalski (90 km), just a
few weeks ago, by 13 minutes. Interestingly,
at solo worlds in 2010 I had the wood on him, posting 19 laps to his 18, so he
has really improved over the last couple of years, to the point where he picked
up silver in his age group category at 2012 worlds in Italy earlier this
year! One to keep an eye on in the
future.
Having
packed up the camp we bid the others farewell as Anita, Sally and I headed for
a comfy hotel in Canberra where a fancy meal was rounded out, finally, by a
solid sleep for all of us. Anita and I
discussed all sorts of aspects of the race whilst driving home on Monday,
without actually committing to having a crack at worlds next year, but we’d
both have to acknowledge that such an eventuality is now a possibility, despite
my midnight assurance, whilst in the middle of purgatory, that I was cured.
I was easily the slowest starter of the early top 5. Redman and Thompson, in particular, were laying down hot splits only to DNF. Selkrig had a bad patch in the early hours which coincided with me setting some consistent splits. The problem was that my rhythm never picked up a gear in the morning. Pit components of each lap (bottom trace) show that running 2 bikes might have made a difference.
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