The second round of the Choc Foot 7 hr season
beckoned, but after my lackluster 5th in round 1, and given the chilly forecast
(0-12), it was one I was entirely ready to swap for staying under the doona.
But the Salmon collective were keen, and I do like the Wingello trails, so I found
myself on the road at 5 am en route to a Campbelltown rendezvous with Ben and
Mikey.
And in any case, once the gun goes I tend to
perform better in the cold. According to the inter web it was -3
overnight, but had warmed to a balmy 1 C for the 8 am start amidst a fog that
wasn't destined to lift till after midday.
Although opinions about courses vary as much as
courses themselves, in my view this is the most pleasant of all the tracks I've
squiggled. That's an understatement. I love this course:
predominantly sandy loam in ancient tall forest. Flowing, forgiving,
buttery smooth (generally), with understorey peacefulness punctuated by
lyrebirds strutting their stuff. Nothing too rough, and perfect for the
hard tail. A scale model could be constructed by starting with an ice
rink the size of a tennis court. Dump on a thick slab of sorbet of
various hues and varieties, infiltrated with lumps of chocolate and assorted
nuts. Use a bobcat and shovels to contour (this would be messy), then
grab an ice cream scoop and carve the sinuous track over its surface.
Delicious.
Some days the engine just feels good, and today
was one of them, although maybe we just perform better on tracks we like.
Not expecting too much I didn't go bezerk at the off and spent a few laps
settling in, learning the course, and earmarking lines which might be explored
later. A couple of guns were entered in the masters field and were
presumably up ahead. My immediate concern was Mr Locke, betrayed by
impressive calves astride his trademark titanium steed. We spent the
first three hours shadowing each other. I'd lose Clayton through the
downs, then gain him on the ups. After sitting rooted to his wheel for a
lap I sensed I had his measure so on one of the fire-road pinch climbs upped
the tempo to see if he'd let me go. This seemed to work, so I kept the
pressure on to incrementally consolidate a gap I could cash in later.
The temperature was perfect. A generous
helping of smooth fire road made feeding a breeze. In contrast to all the
other 7 hrs I've done this felt easy. Splitting consistently just under
30 min I had a real sense this would be the first 7 where I'd clock a magical
15th lap, and perhaps more significantly, actually relish going out one last
time. I read of others anticipating a final swing, but never quite
understood how such desires are possible.
Of course it wasn't going to last.
Somewhere through the event, hidden amidst bottles of staminade, coffee milk or
half a dozen gels, I ingested something that didn't agree with me. Five
and a half hours in I popped a gel and about 10 min later an avalanche of
internal rumbling ensued, but not the benign type pleasantly relieved by the
venting of gas. Greg Lemond's “bad peach” episode immediately sprang to
mind. This was starting to get really uncomfortable with no simple
solution.
I wasn't sure where I was running but on-course
chats with Wendy and Cory suggested I might be in contention. What was
clear, however, was that the increasingly frequent and painful stomach cramps
were going to force a change of strategy (hello survival!), not to mention
dashing thoughts of 15th-lap bravado.
The cramps came in waves, endured through an
anguished face and gritted teeth...then they'd ease and I’d momentarily forget
what all the fuss was about… until the immense pressure returned, with episode frequency
increasing. In short, the last two laps were agonizing. I almost crawled off the track and into the
bushes half a dozen times, but that would have taken the whole Soggy Bottom
thing a touch too far. Somehow I completed my 14th lap with the clock at
6hr55min, did a U-turn and bee-lined it to the row of portaloos, where I
remained cocooned for about 10 min, listening to Joe on the p.a. welcome riders
home and count the clock down to the 7 hr finish.
Fortunately for me, Clayton missed the cutoff
for a 15th lap to gift me a most unexpected win in masters, with Cory rounding
out the podium. One of the guns, Mr Morgan, was actually present but
changed categories and raced the 4 hr instead, and the other, Mr Speering was a
no-show. That's just the way it goes sometimes.
Ben and Mikey had good days out as well, even
though Ben was way underdone in the miles department and Mikey was nursing a
cold. It was nice to see them every now and then out on track and
exchange a few words. And I was most grateful for the company on the way
home. On top of three trips to the can prior to leaving, another two pit
stops were required just to make Campbelltown. Despite it all it was
still a grand day out, and I suppose also means that doing the third and final round
in Nowra is in order.
