When I heard that this years Cloudride Prologue comprised a northerly route out of Canberra, passing through Taralga and some of the country I’ve enjoyed touring in the past, I mentally committed to having a crack. I’ve never seriously been tempted by the full blown Cloudride1000 or the Hunt1000, both with reputations for an overly generous helping of rough trails and hike-a-bike, requiring the best part of a week to complete - after which my hands might be damaged for months. I’m just not tough enough for that stuff. When distilled, for me the joy of riding and touring is to have the country sliding past at a meditatively satisfying pace, with achilles intact and hands that still work afterwards.
The Prologue, by contrast is half the distance and fashioned to be more user friendly. However, 500 km on mostly dirt tracks is still a bloody long way, so the bike will be loaded, and heavy, and a sleep might be required. Services on this year’s route comprised three main towns - Crookwell at 160 km, Taralga at 210, and Marulan at 342. Whilst most of the route looked to be farm tracks, the exception was the section between 200 and 300 km, which snaked through some dark wrinkly terrain on the toppo. Confoundingly, even though I thought I had a grasp of the Taralga area, the route navigated back-roads to the back-roads, some barely identifiable on googlemaps.
Anita was relieved to have me doing something relatively close to home that would only take a weekend, and was also keen to do some longer gravel rides as well as an overnighter at the Taralga pub to check out the northern loop. The crux of the course turned out to be the rutted loose descent of the Guineacor Fire Trail, which drops 350 m in only a few km, before an equally steep and technical push up the other side. Anita and I walked extended sections, down as well as up. Loose and rutted for the best part of 10 km!
The race dawned amid perfect conditions - dry with min of 8, max of 22 C. I’m rubbish in heat and humidity, so this suited me perfectly. It was nice catching a few friendly faces at the start - Paul Lester, Mike Israel and Meredith Quinlan, then at 6 am we were off. I struggled keeping pace early on in the single track dust, with my new K-lite lights intermittently switching from full blast to a faint showing (wtf?). I trouble-shot this later in the day (phew!) and had nothing but brilliant lights once the skies darkened again. [The trick with the ‘pass-through’ bar switch (USB always on, regardless of lights on/off) is to disengage the cache battery at night if this is being drawn down by the navigation devices, prompting the cache battery to periodically steal power from the lights to top itself up]
With the sun finally up I was on my own, getting comfortable along Mulligans Flat, and starting to see the odd rider in the distance. I guessed there were probably 10-15 (of 60) up the road, including, no doubt, a 7-time 24 hr world champion (Jason English), and a bunch of NRS-caliber young-guns. I picked up a few riders then, after more chasing, closed on a bunch of about 5 including Mr English in Pivot kit, so I figured I must now be near the pointy end. According to Jason there were another two up the road. Half the group got the memo about this being a no-drafting event. The other half drafted shamelessly! In any case I figured if I was riding in the company of JE I was probably running a bit hot so deliberately let these guys ride away. Back by my lonesome. But not for long. Gradually a rider would once again become visible, perhaps sit on for a bit, then get dumped on a pinch. I passed another stopped by the track in fluorescent kit I’d not seen before - presumably one of the front-runners. After about 130 km, incredibly, I figured there might only be Jason out in front given evidence writ into the track before me, which now started to climb, and continued doing so for the best part of 10 km up quite a spectacular ridge. I gave it some gas to consolidate whatever position I had. Topping out onto a section of sealed road I got a great surprise to be greeted by another rider holding up two fingers (indicating second); former Tour Divide alumni Heath Wade, who’d come out from his home town of Yass to give myself and Paul Lester a shout. We had a nice catch-up on a short bit of tarmac linking to the next gravel sector. Fears that I’d been pushing a bit too hard were realized a few Ks later, 15 km shy of Crookwell, where I noticed the first twinges of cramp. I was going to have to be very careful and measured from this point onwards. Once cramp gets you properly you’re on the back seat for the rest of the day.
Crookwell to the rescue (160 km, 25 km/hr average thus far). I kept my stop brief, refilling bottles, going to the loo, oiling the chain, and trying to wolf down a sandwich before rolling off approx 15 min later (~1:03 pm). A few km up the road another rider came into view. Surely not JE? Nope, it was one of the other riders I’d passed earlier on, aboard a 29er hard tail, who evidently pitted way faster, only picking up a coffee milk and a sausage roll. This guy turned out to be Jonny Harrison, who, as one of JE’s antagonists of recent years, is well acquainted with being at the pointy end of affairs, and measuring effort. We had a nice chat as we wound our way through lovely quiet country backroads on a stunning day. Jonny’s intent was to pit at Taralga (210 km). I was hopeful I had sufficient on board (fingers crossed) to get me all the way to from Crookwell to Marulan (a 180 km stretch). I knew I didn't have the horsepower of JE or JH (at least on paper), so for me “just-keep-moving” was the order of the day. At least I’d seen what was in store, which makes negotiation of tough stretches much more bearable.
A minute of two after 3 pm we hit Taralga (23.3 km/hr average to this point). I turned left, Jonny turned right. There was now the slightest of possibilities, if JE had also pitted, that I might actually be leading a race! This was confirmed once bitumen transitioned back to gravel - a surface lacking tracks appeared before me. So this is what it feels like! With the rest of the field chasing it certainly motivates you to keep moving. According to Jonny, Jason asked how far David was up the track. “Five minutes”, he replied, and bang, Jason switched gear and was off!
If the kms kept ticking by there was a good chance I might be able to negotiate the Guineacor horror show in the light - definitely something to keep pressing for. But I was starting to feel the fatigue in the legs, and wasn’t handling the uphill pinches anywhere near as well as when Anita and I did a practice loop of this sector a few weeks prior. I was expecting JE to pass at any time, but it wasn’t until some 60 km after Taralga (after 2.5 hours in the sun), that JE finally corrected the balance of the universe and caught me, slamming his poor bike with skinny tyres past me down a chute of tennis balls and baby heads. “Lucky these wheels are loaners” he quipped. In a minute he was gone, accentuating the chasm of talent that separates the elite guys from the rest. Whilst I walked the bottom half of the descent, Jason later confirmed he rode the entire thing, “but probably shouldn’t have”.
I filled a bidon at the river, popped in some tablets, sloshed across, then began the very slow plod out. There was still enough heat in the air to generate some sweat, but at least the sun was largely out of play. Once the steepness eased I was still having trouble cleaning the rubble-loaded pinches (walking many of them) before eventually hitting good dirt with the sun now officially down. I hit the Banaby road at 8:15 (~290 km) and did a wardrobe change, donning thermal top, beanie, gloves and knee warmers for the long night ahead.
I’d been drinking heavily from the treated water I’d taken at the creek, so checked the tank water status at the Banaby church (= empty), so took more water at the bottom of Swallow Tail, just to be safe. The main challenge now was to keep eating even though that time of the race had come where forcing anything down was a chore. I was surprised not to have been caught by Jonny by now and was enjoying moving again at speed, and those new lights are just superb! Spotted five wombats and two echidnas, dozens of rabbits and hares, and even chased a kangaroo at full tilt doing about 30 km/hr for the best part of a minute - it just didn't seem interested in leaving the road. It was something leaping out from the side I was always on the lookout for.
Jonny had given me a tipoff about a good quality toilet block just at the entrance of Marulan (340 km), and sure enough, there it was. I tried to shed some weight, but sometimes the body is just not ready. As I was exiting Jonny finally arrived. Like Jason he’d also ridden the entire Guineacor descent, but paid for it by coming off - not a pleasant thought. I crossed the Hume Hwy to the southbound servo at about 11:20 - a palace of lights, and interesting smells! The kitchen was still open. I ordered a burger and chips, even though I was unsure whether I'd be able to consume much. I just wanted to taste something different, and experience some normality by sitting on something that wasn't a saddle. Jonny came in a few minutes later, purchased some lollies, two drinks and a coffee and was keen to keep pushing. I was impressed he was fresh enough to want to move on so quickly, wished him luck, and that I’d see him at the end. I knew I’d pay for it if I didn't give my body just a little break.
The burger and chips seemed to be taking their sweet time. Sitting there doing nothing, the approaching names on MAProgress were starting to make me nervous, particularly when positions updated and two names were bearing down - fast. If they were as similarly inclined as Jonny, I was in trouble. What if they arrived with me still there, and sniffed weakness… Not worth the risk. I’d prepared well and worked hard to be in this position, so didn’t want to squander it. The burger and chips finally arrived. I ate half the chips (which in itself was a chore), squashed the rest into my feedbag, took one half-committed bite of the burger, and reluctantly dumped the rest. I’m not a fan of wasting food, but the race got the better of me. Out the door and moving again at about 11:55. On paper this was a long stop (about 35-40 min), but in the moment, when the body is super sore and just moving around the store in a haze takes effort and concentration, it was all too brief. That's the thing about races where the clock never stops.
As far as standings in the race were concerned I was now running blind again. I knew I was in third, with 160 km to go, but not a comfortable third by any measure. Most important was to keep the wheels turning, only stop to pee if I really had to (despite frequent urgings from the 50 year old bladder), and maintain the drip feed of soggy chips, sugary water and coffee milk. I’d tick the kms off in blocks of 5, and rejoice at every step, be workmanlike on the ups, and enjoy a rest on the downs. Just keep moving, and avoid the marsupials. If I got caught, well, whomever it turned out to be was simply too good. That I could accept.
Negotiating the Covan Creek paddock was interesting in the pitch black, to say the least, and towns I might have resupplied at - Collector and Gundaroo - were in a deep slumber. The 24 hr mark ticked by at Gundaroo with 40 odd km to go. A heavy fog blanketed some of the fields; accentuating that at 6 C maybe I should add another layer. Come on sun! The sky finally lightened revealing patches of fog. Finally the suburbia of Bonner and Gungahlin, and an obstacle course of curving bike paths and connections, accentuating squirm in my rear tyre, which was dangerously lacking pressure. Worried that I might not even have time to put some air into it, or check the tracker, I pushed for the end, finally confident that third was in the bag with only Northbourne Avenue to complete. I passed Anita who gave me a wave and cheer outside our hotel 2 km from the finish. And so at approx. 7:35, an hour and 24 behind Jason (who only just missed going under 24 hrs!), and 33 minutes behind Jonny, it was done (~19.3 km/hr elapsed average).
Anita and I could barely believe it, not just coming third in such an iconic event, from what many viewed as a solid field, but having the lead for some of it. I acknowledge I was only there because of pitting strategy, and Jason was always going to reel me in, but it was a thrill nonetheless. Once caught, the puff went out of my sails to some extent, but I can’t blame this all on Jason; the Guineacor sector was similarly responsible. Jonny also clearly had my measure, and deserved his second step. In the end my chasers were just as knackered as I was, so I could have eased off a little, but I wasn't to know. We chatted to Steve Watson, the organizer for a bit then joined him, Jason and Jonny at the adjacent café for a burger I wasn't going to be throwing in the trash. Thanks Steve, for a course that combined some great fast tracks, open fields, beautiful forests, stunning views, and mixed bag of challenges as well. Big thanks to Anita, training partner extraordinaire, always up for an adventure, and responsible for giving me the thrashing on the bike I needed the weekend before, and for doing all the driving going home. If she decides she wants to strap on a tracker, watch out!
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