Eighth time a Convict

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That sandstone stalwart of the NSW enduro season has played out for another year.  The Convict100 is the only 1-day race that makes me nervous, courtesy of numerous solid sections of rugga-bugga (too many to commit to memory) which are sure to stretch ones handling skills as fatigue sets in.  Although I can ride nearly all of it (there’s one rock step I can’t clear) riding the stepped downs at speed requires a certain bravado I lack.  This year, my 8^th participation, I’d be having a crack on the 29er hard-tail, something I would have never contemplated till recently (the hard-tail part, that is).  Coupled with having acquired fewer kms in the tank compared to last year, this also provided the excuse to go softly-softly and just nurse myself round the course one rock step at a time.  That was the no-pressure plan.  Reality; it’s hard not to get carried away when the flag drops and the legs feel super.  And that’s exactly what happened.

The alarm chimes at 5:15 and immediately the pitta patta of rain reminds us of the dour forecast.  Fortunately, the rain ceases after 20 min.  This slight dabble of precipitation substitutes for the choking fog that usually sits in the valley.  The temperature is actually mild.  Lined up with hundreds of others in the starting chute, and feeling overdressed, Mr Welch kindly holds my bike whist I strip off my base layer and squish it into my pack.  Otherwise the backpack contains two liters of potion, with another two bottles on the frame.  Phil opts for the alternative strategy of a bottle on the frame (29er dually), one in the back pocket, and a pit stop en route.  We were both lucky to make the tail of the first non-elite wave.  Soon we are under way, and even on the opening dirt roads the big wheels feel decidedly faster.  I work my way through the field and settle in the top quarter as the bunch motors along, 4-5 abreast, at 40 km/hr.  

The opening pace doesn’t seem as quick as last year, but this isn't a bad thing.  Soon we make the left turn onto the paddock trails.  The first major climb of the day looms. Predictably, a few riders choke on the rubble when it steepens, forcing a conga-line of equivalent dismounts.  Phil was one of the few to buck the trend, muscling past the first choke-point, only to be uncoupled 5 meters later.  I succumb to running the bike, although manage to re-mount, maybe 50 meters on.  I sneak past Phil and by keeping the effort controlled am able to ride the rest of the climb.

The top gained, I find a rhythm – firm but not crazy. Pinch-climb followed by speedy run, over and over.  Piano over numerous water bars.  Soon the 28 km point arrives where the split occurs.  Well warmed up now and ready for the gnarl that is coming.   I tractor through a corrugated rock garden, then the next, then another, and so it goes for this arduous 10 km stretch, before finally we get a solid run down to the 50 km checkpoint.  My clock is at 2:16.  Three minutes slower than last year but not too far off the pace.  The legs still feel good.

Forced guzzling ensues over the next 5 km of gentle climbing before the next 10 km section of 3D sandstone.  Tiny twinges of cramp, but nothing too concerning at this stage.  Just measuring the effort to avoid wasting matches unnecessarily.  That's the key, for me at least.  Finally the first big descent arrives.  I motion another rider I've just passed by. Perhaps he'll show me the better line.  Soon he is out of sight.  Riders flash by on the side of the track dealing with punctures.  Well into baby-head-alley now, the tamest I've seen it.  Out of the jungle and onto a km of road before the canoe- bridge crossing.  This year I really nail it.  

Post-crossing I regain the tarmac with the clock at 3:10.  Exactly the same as last year!  Five km road sector.  Group of 3, then two.  My passenger gives me one brief pull but the rest is mine.  Cramp now a little closer to the surface. Finally I claw onto the switchbacks of the second big climb and feel like easing up a little.  Until I spy Phil, just a few ramps below me.  Even as I watch he dumps his companions of the road sector and is looking strong.  I’m sure he has my jersey on the radar.  It will only be a matter of time. 

Thirty km from home is too far to simply empty the legs. Kilometers tick by but I dare not look back.  I catch a few riders and we share the pace on the flat bits when not engaged in the numerous pinches.  The track has been freshly graded.  Hence, smoother than usual, but very soft in places.  We pass the marshal at the critical RHT signifying the top of the course and the end of the climbing.  Amazingly, I don’t think Phil has bridged yet.  Maybe he is tanking?  I hang on through the off camber-looseness that delivers one to the mega plunge back to the valley road.

Relieved to have the last technicality behind me I drill the road sector with a few hangers-on.  We all get bogged in sand before the final crossing of the Macdonald River, which is waded to keep drivetrains dry.  Two Ks to go.  On the last pinch my passengers get finish-line fever and punch for home. I’m empty and can’t quite bridge, limping home a hundred meters behind to stop the clock at 4:36:06, bettering my time of 2 years ago by 3 minutes (46th outright and 15th in the 40-49 bracket).  Phil rolls in just 90 sec back.  Apparently he hadn’t caught sight of me after all!

Anita rolls home just a few minutes later, finishing her first attempt at the 50 km course.  Unknown at the time she jagged 3^rd in category.  Super effort!  She’s making a habit of picking up podiums at the first attempt.

The outright winner of the hundred was Canadian Cory Wallace, finishing just 7 seconds shy of the course record with a 3:47 and change.  Wow!  Only 8 riders (of 524) went under 4 hours, the last of which was the winner of my category  (mutton dressed as rabbit!), finishing 8^th outright with an astonishing 3:59:43.  Congrats Mr Barnard!  Such is the quality of the field these days I would have needed to dump another 23min just to find the bottom step of the podium!  Still, I’m pretty happy with my effort, and seemed to pull up better than ever before.  Perhaps counter-intuitively, the back was fine and neither posterior nor even the palms of the hands seemed to have come through with any soreness or semblance of blistering.  Love that hard-tail!

Mikey, fresh off walking the Kokoda Track, was the last Soggy home (6:31) proving that hiking fitness doesn’t necessarily translate to an easy Convict experience.  Not having touched a bike for 2 months he always knew it was going to be a toughy!   Although no helicopters had yet been summoned we were getting a little anxious, and it was nice to see him home, and smiling…just…at least with beer, steak sandwich and chips at the ready. 

Word is the organisers are contemplating a course change for next year, however I’m hoping that the Jeckle and Hyde mix of smooth and rough remains as a unique yet standard testing ground for future editions.