Logistics were always going to be a bit tricky,
but in the end panned out quite smoothly, thanks to Anita's organizational
skills, getting all that stressful stuff out of the way months beforehand (one
of my weaker skill sets). The only thing we'd do differently next time is
perhaps opt for a car hire company that didn't require an airport shuttle,
which was just another bike-bag hurdle to deal with. Rain was bucketing
down as we left the terminal, and the tap was still on as we arrive at Rotorua
at 8 pm, and was still going the next morning as I put the bikes together.
We discovered the delights of the Fat Dog cafe, but you can only do so
much cafe gazing before getting itchy feet.
The trailhead turned out to be an easy 3.3 km
trundle from the hotel, which necessitated riding by some of the thermal
hotspots, filling nostrils with pungent sulfurous wonderment. The
Redwoods, as the forest is more colloquially known, goes by the Maori name of Whakarewarewa,
which neither of us could quite get a handle on. When we asked a kiwi
rider out on track if he could pronounce it for us, and he politely replied
"no".
The course was brilliant, although a lot
tougher than many predicted. The opening kms were like a buttery smooth
bermed boulevard. Imagine the most buffed trail in Ozzie you can think
of, then have it carpeted, and you get the general idea. All under
dappled light filtered by fronds of tree-ferns which form the ground story of a
tall temperate rain forest. Very Jurassic Park. I was surprised to
learn that the bulk of the forest is not native, but an assortment of exotic
species including Californian Redwoods, first planted in the area in 1901. The super-buffness wasn’t to last though. Older and more worn sectors such as “Mad if
you Don’t” and “Turkish Delight” exhibited the tell-tail signs of wear with
corrugations more ACT-like. The big
difference remained the almost complete absence of rocks, but there were plenty
of roots to catch the unwary. There were a few well-spaced fire roads
thrown into the mix to allow for feeding. But the last two thirds were
certainly more muscular and stressful. Still smooth in places, but with many
off-camber rooty corners, pinch climbs, pops, snaps, crackles and chutes to deal
with. Nothing too technical, but with so much large swell to surf it was
going to be taxing to be out there for a long period. Marque sectors also
included “Be Rude Not 2”, “Sweet and Sour”, and the wild pumping “Dragons Tail”.
The Mudge and I did one lap of the 17.3 km
course (280 m vert) on the Thursday, sometimes in heavy rain, although the
forest was so thick in places that not much got through, then another two laps
on the Friday, with the weather finally starting to ease. The quickest
Anita and I lapped was about 78 min, so I thought 70 min splits might be the
go. Despite the rain and 150 riders out
doing recces, the trails and volcanic soils (like a huge sponge) seemed to be
holding up well. The same couldn't be said for the paddock at forest entrance,
which was to host the pit area. The organisers did a heroic job to deal
with the 190 ml of rain that fell in the leadup. Pretty much the entire race looked to have
frequented Bunnings to stock up on tarps, shovels and gum boots.
The race for me was one of two halves. I thought before the race that the first half
would be about learning to ride the course, and the second half about surviving
it, which is sort of what transpired, but not exactly for the reasons I
expected.
Here are my splits for the first 6 hrs (nearest
minute)
60
59 60 59
60 61
This mountain biking stuff is too easy…sort of. I crashed inexplicably late in the first lap whilst
chatting with Mr Bridgland, and hoped that would be my crash for the race out
of the way. Then into heavy shadows
(some sectors almost required lights during the day) and the awkward transition
into darkness.
67
63 69 69 67
75 74
Its properly dark, despite a full moon, and
I’ve had my second crash on what turned out to be exactly the same cryptic root
as got me last time, but I now know where it is! I’ve had a few other minor spills and pinch
climb stalls, but nothing major. The tires
are now slick with dew making anything involving roots even dicier. I’ve known for a few laps that I’m running
fourth in category and that third is still some way ahead but that the gap is
falling.
Its now approx. 2 am. The feet, in particular, are really starting
to burn numb, my left hand pads are starting to blister, and I’m feeling
fatigued, but at least the halfway point has been gained. But overall I’m upbeat. This is probably the tidiest 14 hrs I’ve ever
ridden.
Then something happens which changes the
complexion of my race. After a grease
and lube change (i.e., a few minutes slower than a normal stop), I leave the
pits and file in behind another rider with my age category rear plate. He is being yelled at by his crew – all
English accents, to dig deep as though urgency is required. I interpreted this to mean that he was
cracking, and that I might have actually caught third place. In passing I put the hammer down to try and
crush his resolve to chase.
The old adage that sport can be 90% mental, and
the other half physical, rings very true for this type of event. Presenting an opponent with hopelessness can
be enough to trigger capitulation.
This is racing.
My next split drops from 74 min to 68 (which doesn’t appear so
significant but included the pit dead time as the pit was after the timing
mat). Unfortunately, despite my best
efforts, Mr Glassey was having none of it, keeps the pressure on, and re-passed
me just before the last few rooty km of descent. I cruised into the pits and quipped that just
for a moment I’d held third place but that he was too good. Anita gave me a very puzzled look and sent me
back on course.
68 76
79 80 81
86 82
What I’d inadvertently done, of course, was try
to dump the category leader, who’d just lapped me in the pits, rather than the
other Brit running third. In doing so
I’d drained my batteries to a level from which I never recovered. A few laps later I wanted it all to end and
was only kept running courtesy of Anita’s enthusiasm. I was perpetually bonking, becoming
temporarily revived, before bonking again.
I don't think I’ve ever been so drained in a race before. It was terrible. With the coming of dawn (cool birds, BTW) I
just couldn't imagine running more laps, let alone making midday. Even the concept of holding onto fourth
became something I couldn’t have cared less about. Riders I’d cruised by earlier in the race
started filtering past me. I was walking
pinch climbs. I was done. I decide 20 laps was a respectable number,
and pulled in at 11:17 hoping to at least witness history in the making – would
it be Jason with #7, or Cory finally breaking through (for the last X-hours
they were seconds apart). Unfortunately
I was prostate at the end and unable to even get myself up to see JE win #7 (26
laps!).
They say it’s all easy in hindsight. How true it is for events such as this. On
reflection, as well as my tactical blunder of overextension and hubris, Anita
and I figure the other main issue was lack of fuel. I started off well enough, but had a few gut
issues eating anything vaguely oily. The
hummus roll, pizza and hot chips which I normally woof down all resulted in
stomach problems shortly after, prompting me to keep it simply in the form of
vegemite sandwiches – well, a bite at a time, which simply wasn’t enough when
you are close to empty. There are a lot
of calories in Staminade and coffee milk, but sourcing all calories that way
results in multiple trackside pees, also draining time and momentum. Once again, I had loads of gels on hand but
simply lacked the discipline to keep shoving them down. The rice pudding I woofed down at 8 am should
have perhaps happened 8 hours earlier.
But you can only play your cards once, which is all part of the game. Congrats to the three poms (all 22 laps) and
the Kiwi (21 laps) – they were simply too good.
In the end I dropped to fifth in category, and 29th outright
in what I think was a pretty solid field (of 150). I gave it a shot, and in part fulfilled my
part of the bargain by finishing in one piece.
No regrets.
Thanks to everyone for their support; whether
it was shared training rides, café-side chats, advice about salt, best wishes,
or communication around and during the event – I’ve been tardy with txts, many
of which I didn’t receive till back in Sydney.
As is often the case in life, the journey can be more important (and in
this case certainly less painful) than the destination.
Having crewed before I’m not immune to what a
difficult job being the sole handler must have been for Anita. She did a brilliant job and was on hand for
every stop, despite a couple of trips to town and catching just 10 min of kip
(its hard to sleep with a generator and a PA in your ear – and with no sleeping
bag – it was bloody cold at night). I
know she very much appreciated the communication she got during the event, so
thanks everyone for that. And thanks to GK
and Jo for hugs, beer and bike cleaning at the end. Hope you enjoyed “Dragon’s Tail”!
We both very much enjoyed our time in Rotorua, and
will definitely return to consume more plum smoothies and sample more amazing
trails in circumstances which don't involve going round and round in circles to
the beat of a clock!
