langles confronts technology: Groundhog Hour

Over recent years i’ve considered entering the nationals, run by CORC at easter, but haven’t quite conjured the balls. I entered on the back of good kms in the tank and, if for no other reason, it would serve as a warm-up for worlds scheduled for the same venue in October. Talk is cheap though, as i was to discover...again.

There was less stress involved than with past solos. Maybe this comes with experience. For one, packing the car was a cinch. Junk from the previous weekends Mont24 only required a subtle re-tweak/wash, before being bunged back in the car. Add a few more bottles and all set. Additionally, the forecast was looking favourable – no snow or heavy rain this time.

The mudge and i packed and left Sydney at approx midday on Friday gleefully unaware that heavy easter traffic awaited on the Hume. We eventually got to Stromlo and managed to ride about half the course before darkness conspired. It was good to sample some of the sectors that i hadn’t previously ridden. The “Bluetongue” climb was part rutted gully, part awkward rock garden. The “Little Seymour” descent was accurately described in the race briefing as “sketchy”. I also got to inspect the A-line on the downhill course sector which found me wanting at the Scott24 in October. The unseen climb up the back of Stromlo would have to wait till race day.

Dinner at Edgars. Hotel at Ainsley. Breakfast of Dobinsons. 11 am arrived in no time with the pit area largely sorted and bike prepped as the rest of my pit crew arrived; Anita the foodmeister was joined by Sally the unflappable and Ben – wielder of the noodle. Anita and Sally had both pitted for me before and knew the deal, but it was comforting also having Ben and his mechanical nous in the corner, having actually ridden one of these things before. I should add that it was Ben’s encouragement, backed by his generous offer to handle me that kindled the idea of seriously entering Nats in the first place.

The field totalled 75, with only 14 in the male 40-44 category. Whilst a podium was possible a brief analysis of the form indicated that getting on one of those steps was going to be no mean feat. According to google there were 5 main threats.

Mr Bellchambers (aka Jeebus). The man-mountain with the beard and a dislike for derailleurs was the standout favourite and, unfortunately for us, had recently accumulated sufficient years to be corralled into the 40-44 category. Clearly one of the top 10 solo riders on the planet, a position he maintains albeit using the one cog. Additionally, Stromlo is his backyard.

Mr Handley. Eighth outright at the Scott24 last October (with 26 laps to my 24), although he DNF’d at Solo Nats in 2012, so perhaps with a glass jaw if the course finds it. No idea what he looks like.

Mr Welch. Category runner up at Nat’s last year, followed by category runner up at worlds in Italy, followed by category winner at the Scott with 25 laps. Huge year. I had the wood on him at Worlds in 2010 (and every year at the Convict, strangely enough) but he has been my nemesis in everything else.

Mr Chamberlain. Perhaps a dark horse but bested Mr Welch in the recent Capital Punishment enduro a month ago. Obviously has the engine, but how long can he keep it running.

Mr Gillard. Accumulated the same number of laps as me at 2010 worlds. Otherwise quiet on the solo front , but probably using this as a tilt towards worlds in October. Likely takes these things seriously. You’re a mug if you don’t.

With the race under way i watched as Jeebus and Welch, the only two in my category I recognised, slowly disappeared in a swirl of dust up the opening fire trail. My race plan for the early part was to adhere to Ben’s mantra of going as slow as i could bear for as long as i could bear.

The course. 12 km loop. Sounds easy, except with 400 m altitude a lap. Significantly more gain per spin than for any other solo i’ve done. Best sectors; Willo Link, Partyline, Skyline and arriving at transition. Worst sectors; leaving transition, the before- mentioned rock gardens of Bluetongue and Little Seymour, Blackberry climb, the intensely shuddering corrugations at the bottom section of the Downhill run, and the vicious climb up the back of the mountain – borrowing from what one of my climbing guides might quip, “the mtb equivalent of the shower-scene from psycho”. Probably only 400 m long at 15 % but loose and rubbly so optimal line and staying in the saddle for most of it was imperative. Needless to say the single-speeders weren’t impressed.

The day laps were pretty cruisy although as the sun tiptoed behind the mountain the accumulated fatigue in my legs and hands (in particular – i still have tingling fingers and toes two days post) was starting to make itself known. Coming through the pits i’d ditch a bottle and pinch another on the fly, and on one flyby confusion had me simultaneously grasping a different food item in each hand as i rolled past Anita. The neighbouring crew was impressed that it didn’t end in disaster. The perfect place to do a collarbone really and would have saved me from what was to come. With laps building a more sensible pause of 5-15 sec a stop allowed for the bottle swap and a paper cup of crumbs to be removed from my rear pocket and be exchanged with one containing any manner of treats to be explored back on course. Cocktail-sized sandwiches (vegemite, jam, or hommos), slices of fruit (apple, mandarin, grapefruit), hot chips, a slice of pizza, even noodles drained of liquid, which i’d get on another lap in an insulated bottle. I’ve learnt that variety is key. Chain and nether regions would be lubed every 5-6 laps. With lights on batteries were changed every 3 hours – to be on the safe side. Fears of my left crank arm detaching, as had occurred the week before, had us re-tighten the thing twice, but i carried the big #8 in my jersey pocket as insurance.

Under lights the course tends to ride differently. Your perspective changes – the powerful beams flatten features and wash out detail, which in some cases actually has you picking better lines – but also trips you up in the often super-loose over hard surface. Loads of kangaroos and three foxes spotted. Best entertainment on course was reeling in a rider and trying to figure out who it was going to be. Most humbling parts were being passed by the Ferraris of the mtb world – English and McDonald, going blow for blow at 1 am, or even big Jeebus motoring by, and always with a kind word or a “how’re you doing” before performing their vanishing acts.

With the approach of evening i learnt i was running 4^th, with 5^th breathing down my neck, although at this stage i had no idea who the riders were, except that The Beard had already lapped me and i had yet to see Welch and his distinctive Jersey. Come midnight, same deal; third some way ahead and 5^th just behind. Stalemate. The allure of a mattress, or simply some hard dusty surface beside the track becomes almost irresistible. Why was i doing this patently stupid thing? How much did i really want it? What were other riders thinking? Who would come to their senses first? Who would crack? Would it be me? Hard to justify given that Anita and two friends had donated their weekends to help me out. With that possibility impossible, nothing doing except to keep plodding and stay upright. The Little Seymour sector had already tripped me up once during the day and again at night. Main focus was not to do it on part of the course (Skyline and Downhill track) where an ambulance would be required.

Suddenly, about 3 am, after hearing nothing for ages about position Ben lets me know that 3^rd is just three minutes up the road. Finally, tectonically, the dynamics are changing. At last some motivation to get me out of my funk and hour-plus splits. I scull coffee’d milk then do my snail-pace version of putting the hammer down and catch a rare glimpse of the #46 numberplate on a returning switchback halfway through the next lap. Mr Gillard was too easily caught and is not travelling well. My mood lifts again. Due to advances in course design and technology Ben is able to see me in the pit then catch me later on the outgoing trail to relay the split difference that comes up on the web link in his hand. Over the course of what seems an eternity and no-time-at-all i’ve gone from a 20 minute deficit, to holding 3^rd by 6, then 11, then 25 min, as the laps ensued. I needed to capitalise on whatever implosion my competitor was experiencing to protect against a resurgence or mechanical mishap. Suddenly, after hours of delirium, the thrill of racing had returned. Every line nailed was art and a victory of sorts.

No more monkeying around and into the Red Bull i dove as the sun struggled to break through. My lap splits dropped 7 min immediately, back to low 50s. The problem, however, is that despite having a pair of shockers, Gillard had somehow also rekindled his mojo, and whatever elixir he was guzzling proved more effective than mine. Unbelievably, like a see-saw allowed to return to rest, that comfortable lead i once held bled inexorably back to 11 min, to 7 min, then to about a 1 minute, in spite of my well-improved splits. My splits were good, but Gillard was putting down his quickest laps of the entire race. It was slipping though my fingers but there was nothing i could do to prevent it. With the increased intensity cramp was finally biting and i had to walk sections on the back climb for the first time in the entire race. My goose was cooked. I congratulated Gillard as he passed me early on my last lap – his poker face offered no reply as he put on a surge – then I stopped to empty my bladder which was bursting courtesy of whatever a pair of Red Bulls is made of. Ben was kind enough to keep me company for the rest of the lap as i fare-welled all those ob-stackles that I never thought i’d see the end of.

Due to the increased pace I actually had a few minutes in which to start a 27^th lap of the course but by this stage was well happy to call it a day, although i had effectively forced Gillard into another one to protect his position – he put in another blinder! I had a lap buffer to 5^th, so could afford the luxury of the pre-finish bludge. A bunch of riders assembled a few 100 meters before the finish line, where i exchanged hugs with my smiling pit crew. I think we were all happy it was over. We waited for the clock to reach noon before officially crossing the line.

Hence, I finished 4^th in Masters on 26 laps (310 km and approx 10000m, and 13^th outright), to Gillard and Welch on 27, and The Bearded One on 28 (who finished 5^th outright and could have rolled a 29^th if required). Welch showed his class and consistency again, with an only-just comfortable second to a rampaging Gillard, who was too good for me and deserved his podium step. Chamberlain turned out not to be a factor, whilst my other pre-race favourite, Handley, rode a very strong first half, before bailing inexplicably at the ½ way point; a victim of implosion, glass jaw, mechanical, pilot error, or simply pilot sensibility in the form of having a shower and a snooze to escape the undeniable silliness.

At the even pointier end Ed McDonald (the heir apparent) really gave English a ding-dong battle all through the night, being only minutes apart with laps remaining, before one final surge gave English the win, both notching an amazing 33 laps. Seeing snapshots of the blitzkrieg unfold on different parts of the course was almost embarrassing. These guys are that fast and in a league of their own.

In summary, i can’t shy away from the fact that the last half was interminably painful, torturous, tedious, sprinkled with large chunks of purgatory. More mentally than physically. It’s been horrible before but there was always a disbelieving fascination, which somehow had to be satiated. Funnily enough physically i have emerged from this, my 4^th outing, in best condition yet. Apart from soreness in every part of my being, the usual blistered pads on my palms and a bit of skin off the knee are all i’ve got to show for it. It is without doubt the most “complete” 24 i’ve completed. Consistent splits. Probably only 20 min in the pits. No melt downs or blow ups. Never-before experienced return of pace in the morning. No serious neck, knee or back issues, no weather-induced “one-bike” handicap. No mechanicals and only two crashes. I can only be satisfied.

The physical side of these things no longer scares me, but the question will be whether the mind is willing to not only drive the extensive preparation required to participate, but still be capable of dealing with the guaranteed mental torment that surfaces as the body protests and tries to shut everything down. I think that’s what caught me out this time. You’ve got to expect that a good dose of hell is what you’ve signed up for...stupid. Somehow this took me by surprise.

It is a cliché of race reports to say it, but take a bow Anita, Sally and Ben. Knowing I could rely on you was a major factor in having me contemplate running in the first place, then actually being capable of finishing, and in doing so providing the platform from which i had no excuse but to squeeze the best out of myself. It’s hard to express what that means to me, but thank you. You might all just put on a good facade but you gave me the impression that you gained some satisfaction from the experience as well. You’ve again inspired me to want to have a dig at one day passing the bottles, calling the splits, wrenching the steed, fetching pizza, eyeing the field, and wielding the noodle if required, should anyone one else out there want to experience the full mtb-catastrophe that is 24solo racing.