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So,
how did it come to this? Short
memory. Unfinished business. Vestiges of youthful enthusiasm. Romantic nostalgia. Pure romance?
Probably a mishmash of everything and more. It’s fair to say that without Mikey’s
enthusiasm I wouldn't be there, but solely blaming him is dumb logic (much like
the concept of racing for 24hrs itself).
An ulterior motive, assuming I survive and recover; at least I’d be fit
for the last round of the Choc Foot 7hr series two weekends following.
In
any case, here Mikey, Anita (doing the 6+6 event) and I were on the start line
with a motley crew of other dreamers, accompanied by experienced support in the
form of Ben, with Anita to pitch in during the night shift.
Strategy. I’d taken a somewhat different mental
approach to this one. The decision to
run was made late (2 months out), so that I didn’t have time to sweat on mega
training and associated stress. My plan
was to keep things light on expectation and actually try to enjoy chunks of it. Having witnessed one from the pits last year,
and, more recently, following the Worlds the weekend before on-line, these
experiences brought home the realisation that the speed and stress of the first
6 hrs is wasted energy given the duration of the event. Hence, if I could muster the discipline (and
that’s a big IF – how can one not be carried away), my plan was to literally
chill for the opening daylight stanza, and really only get down to business
once the lights go on. This was also
important as far as not taking unnecessary risks on descents. Focus on smooth, be kind to the body. I’d be starting on the 29er hardtail, but this
time also had the luxury of the 26er dually as an option if the 29er became too
much, but I was hoping to run the hardtail all the way through.
The competition. Having turned 45 earlier
in the year, this shifted me from the midlife crisis bracket, one of the
toughest pools (containing over 20 entrants), to the slightly less tough and
populated 45-49 bracket. The only name I recognised in the field of 10
was Ash Turner, defending champion from last year, who won in diabolically
oppressive conditions. I was there to witness it. In the 7 hr races
we've competed in together i usually have the wood on Ash, but only by a
handful of minutes. And 24s are another beast all together. Also on the radar were a couple of
single-speeders, one with some solid results against Bellchambers. And
this was a perfect course for a single-speeder with ooze. Climb the
mountain, bomb the descent, repeat. With the climb being of even tempo
and the descents being so flowing, even I'd probably use only 2-3 of my
sprockets for much of the race.
The course. Climb the mountain, descend the
mountain. Add another 2 ks of
undulations, and after a mere 12km you’ll be back through transition. Although described by Jason English at the end
as "brutal", it was still on the kinder side of what has been dished
up at Stromlo in the past. Whilst the main descent is littered with rough
segments, the marquee sectors, Skyline and Luge, are generally well groomed and
bring a smile to your face, at least when you're fresh. But get bucked
off Skyline, and you're in hospital. Likewise, at Willo Junction the course
hits Breakout, another section with lots of fast and rough crammed together,
and the only other sector requiring particular attention before heading home.
The race almost started without me. As we
assembled on the line I reach back to ratchet up my helmet strap when the whole
thing goes limp. The ratchet on my olde faithful catlike had finally had
enough. Ben did the sprint back to the pit to grab my night helmet, a far
more recent vintage Kask. The gun fired - a rarity these days, and we
were off. Ash and I had a bit of a chat on the opening fire road before I
slotted just ahead of him for the Bobbypin switchbacks. He took the
sneaky A-line switchback on the Echidna Gap climb (which I've never managed to
clean), and was back in front of me for the descent, where he
gradually pulled away. I passed him in the pits for the next outing, and
got to work on the climb.
On my third time down Skyline, a few hundred
meters from the tunnel, the track turns hard left then scythes across some
short sharp ridges littered with protruding black rocks. I was into my
descending groove a little too much (eyes high!) and slammed the rear wheel
through one of said projections any smart person would avoid. I
immediately knew I'd punctured. As I ripped through the rocky tube of
trees that follow I could hear the sealant trying to do its job. Not this
time though! I limped to the entrance of the tunnel and went about the
challenge of dealing with the first flat I'd had in 5 years since going
tubeless. I went through 2 cylinders, one of which I bungled, trying to
gas the wheel, hoping that remaining sealant would plug the hole. No
luck. I put a tube in and was relieved to see the wheel ripen using my
last canister. The wheel was swapped out for the spare at the pit.
A bit of a bummer. Not only did I lose 15 min,
but I dealt with the repair in the full sun, which was now pretty high and
pretty hot. With no air-flow to cool me I was sweating buckets and my
eyes were stinging. Additionally, with contacts in, my close-range vision
is a blur, making anything involving hands tricksy. I couldn't properly
make out the "open-close" printing on the CO2 regulator, and almost
blew my fingers off with the first canister.
The heat was to become the defining factor of
the first day. Forecast at only 27, it felt considerably hotter, and
although the tree cover improves yearly at Stromlo, it's nothing like riding in
a pine forest. At the three hour mark I started cramping in my hands and
toes. Way too early! Only 4 hrs in
and I was feeling cooked. 6 hours in i was roasted, and Ash, who passed
me during my puncture, was nowhere to be seen.
Most worrying, that strain in the chest I
sometimes get when suffering in the heat was back. The last time I
experienced this was at 3peaks in 2013 when I was so charred I thought a heart
attack was on the cards. By the time I got half way up the climb the pain
would build so I'd hold back, and it would disappear on the descent. Even
though as evening came the heat was replaced by lovely cool air, I still had
this issue of not being able to ride the climb hard. I was seriously
considering pulling the plug when, at about 8 pm, Ben hands me a vegemite
sandwich. I washed it down with mineral water, which I'd been guzzling at
each pit. I noticed on the next lap that the chest pain wasn't nearly as
bad. Next pit I took a spoonful of vegemite, washed down with more
mineral water - the pain was nearly gone. Repeat, gone altogether, and I
was now riding the hill at speed. Over the course of about 3 hours I
reckon I went through about a dessert spoon of vegemite to supplement the
electrolytes my sports drinks were simply unable to replace. I took a
teaspoon every pit for the rest of the race.
At approx 10 pm I finally caught Ash, who was
likely having issues of his own, par for this type of racing. I was
finally feeling normal again and enjoying working the climb at my desired pace.
At this stage I knew I had the category lead. The plan then became
one of getting a lap on Ash before winding back the throttle and just surviving
to the end. Depending on the gap from Ash to third, Ash might even pull
up stumps early, in which case I'd be more than willing to do the same.
Sounds simple.
I almost undid the plan immediately whilst
swooping down the top of the Skyline descent, wiping out against an embankment
on the left hand side, just shy of where consequences would have been really
ugly. A fraction of inattention was all it took. Gave myself a
nasty contusion on my left leg, but the bike was OK, and I was fantastically
lucky to have gotten off so lightly. Back to business.
And so the night progressed. The colder
it got, the happier I was. After the stress of the heat I was actually enjoying
the discipline of navigating good lines under a beautiful star filled night
over the glittering city lights. The late afternoon storms we could see building
over the Brindabella Ranges somehow missed us. No need for addition of an
undershirt or warmers or gillet.
Nutrition.
Having consumed just the one vile gel during the race thus far, I aimed
to consume no more but carried one as emergency, sticking with handfuls of oversized
grapes, wedges of juicy grapefruit, and the odd mouthful of pizza, mostly consumed
on the asphalt before getting back on the singletrack. All caffeine was taken in the form of coffee
milk, and salt in the form of staminade/endura and gobs of vegemite. Fizzy mineral water was guzzled in the pits, with
the added satisfaction of some pleasant burping (settling the stomach) to kick
off each lap. Two packets of figs, which
I planned on demolishing, barely got a look in (the others were predicting a
doomsday outcome), and my one attempt at salt in the form of popcorn resulted
in me vomiting it all up minutes later.
The vagaries of diet under stress.
Distractions. Out back at Willo Junction the
organisers had rigged a pretty amazing sound system, samples of which could be
picked up even before gaining the top of the mountain. Tunes and
commentary from the event radio blared out all through the night, decorated by strobes,
mirror balls, and corridors of flashing string lighting. Coming through
this sector never failed to lift me, not to mention breaking the lap up a
little. No chance of getting lonesome out on track.
Progress. Despite the wee hours going well the
process of gaining a lap on Ash proved to be a lot harder than I expected.
According to my pit I'd gain a few minutes here, and then bleed some time
there, but consistent splits and a solid 6 hour chase eventually allowed me to
catch him at about 4 in the morning. I caught him coming out of the pits
and we a bit of a chat before the trail kicked up. He too had suffered a
puncture and been knocked about by the heat of the previous day. I picked
it up a bit to gain a bit more breathing space.
Dawn. Traumatized wrens started chirping, the
sky lightened, and the sun eventually winked over the horizon. Bloody
brilliant sunrise! This lift was fleeting. The good news; hard evidence
that there was only 6 hours to go. The harsh reality; still 6 hrs to
endure.
Damage. By
this stage I was physically and emotionally struggling to hold it together.
I'd lost feeling in my toes most of the night, and my hands were now
extremely blistered and sore, making descending or anything involving
corrugations painful. This forces one to ride seated more than usual,
which means that the posterior and lower back takes additional hammering.
I had no appetite for food or drink and I just wanted the whole bloody
thing to be over.
Below, Ash looking very clean
According to Bellchambers, who’s ridden over 20
of these things, if you want to have a cry, do it out the back of the course so
as not to freak out your pit crew. Sound advice, but I couldn't help but
have a bit of a whimper about 5 pits running. In stark contrast to having
to maintain focus, just to get down the mountain, lap after lap after lap,
having a bit of a blubber in the pits was such an emotional release. Ben
displayed great bedside manner, and just put an arm round my shoulders,
indicating it was fine to pause, but I should really get rolling again. I
must say I felt I also had collective arms around my shoulders from everyone
who communicated well wishes during the event, or whom I knew were watching
on-line, in no particular order; Ham, BT, GK, Sally, Andy, Ansha, Sara, Giles,
and Kev, not to mention encouragement out on course from riders, solo and team
alike. Thanks all! To the Asian
lady I lapped countless times doing it with one leg and unbridled good spirit,
you were inspirational!
Endgame.
I'd been crunching the math and after my 26th lap decided I was getting
off the bike and collapsing into the camp chair for 10 min. Bliss! Ben and I discussed options. I headed out for what I hoped would be my
last lap, rolling back to the pit at approx 10:30 am. I had sufficient
time to tap out another 2 if required, but this all depended on what Ash had in
mind. I sat in the chair and kept eating on the chance I'd have to roll
again as we counted down both the clock and Ash's arrival. Just after 11
Ash rolled past and crossed the line to register his 26th lap. Ben raced
to the other side of pit lane to see what he was going to do.
Mathematically, with a Red Bull boost he could still roll another two and
force my hand. Fortunately for both of us, he pulled up stumps. I
wandered over to his pit and we had a hug and a good chat for 10 min.
Such a nice guy, as seem to be all the people who indulge in this sort of
silliness. I returned to the pit, gingerly mounted my bike and crossed
the line to belatedly register my 27th. It was over.
Whilst all this had been going on, Mikey and
Anita were still out lapping. Even though Anita had been racing for 12
hrs I only ever saw her in the pits. I knew she was in a tussle for a
podium step in female masters. I only hoped she got through her last laps
without binning it. As is the case for
all of us, tiredness can produce bad lines, and bad lines tend to bad outcomes.
Mudgey battled through cramps on her last lap to take second in
category. Brilliant stuff! And just quietly, having been fearful of
Stromlo for all these years, she now thinks its actually not bad at all!
I'd passed Mikey a handful of times on course
and he always seemed chipper, although Ben later informed me he was having back
issues on the first day. He soldiered
on. Unfortunately, on his very last lap he got brought down unnecessarily by an
over-zealous teams rider – finishing with a banged-up knee. But he finished it with a smile – a pretty
impressive first 24solo, and a very respectable placing in a hot Masters field. Well done Mikey! As orrible as it might have been at times, I
can assure you that they do get easier…just.
Thanks.
Not mentioning any names Ben, but none of us could have achieved what we
did without you. You gave just the right
amount of beta, encouragement and coercion to help get me though this. I don’t
quite know how to show my gratitude, but I’ll get you back somehow. To Mikey, thanks for being the impetus that
made it happen. And to Mudgey, thanks for
not telling me it was a terrible idea in the first place, for supporting me in
the lead up, for pitching in on top of your own race, and for doing the lion’s
share of getting it all back in the car, and taking it all out again at the
other end, given my busted state. Sounds
like I owe you one, yet again!
