Not so stoked at Taupo

The omens were never particularly good leading in to the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge.

Several months ago, Captain Kennett asked if I would consider a crack at our 2012 tandem record.  Feeling a bit deprived of Simon's company, and keen to take advantage of some very good road-racing form, I agreed, and Simon set to getting himself in shape.  It seemed a good opportunity to wipe from the slate a somewhat testing time around the lake.

As the main event drew nearer, we made the point of entering a couple of local "fun rides".  Neither was...

The first was the Featherston Fun Ride.  I'd done it the year before and had experienced cross-winds from hell on the leg down the western side of Lake Wairarapa.  The forecast was for the same, and it was going to be very interesting on the long bike.

We were both very late getting there.  I'd been held up by a good samaritan, who'd stopped on a narrow stretch of the Rimutaka Hill Road - about 20m short of a blind corner - to pick up a couple of women who'd chosen to ride over in the gale force winds.  When I finally arrived, I realised the downside of putting my Garmin Vector pedals on the tandem without bringing a pair of MTB shoes too - I couldn't warm up without Simon.  He too had got stuck on the hill due to a problem with his car.  A stoker is not much good without his captain.

We managed a 30 second warm up, which wasn't nearly enough for me.  I'd been dropped by a rampant scratch bunch a month or so earlier with a similarly short leg-loosener, and was kicking myself for being so unorganised.  I hate making the same mistake twice.

We started at the back of the first wave, and when Dave Rowlands began moving towards the front, I urged Simon to go with him.  Worried about getting tangled up with the solos in the wind, he stayed put, and when the hammer went down a few minutes later, the bunch split all to hell, and we quickly lost track of the race leaders.

Being at the back of the bunch was annoying from the perspective of the race, but it was safe, and otherwise entertaining.  At one point, we saw three riders ejected out the side of the bunch by a gust of wind.  They were breifly off the road and riding in long grass, but thankfully none of them went down.

We started picking riders off, and before too long had a group following in our wake.  The wind was insane, and we were constantly leaning into it, to the extent that I felt more like a sailor than a stoker.  My legs felt sore, and by the time we turned onto the East-West Access Road, I was starting to fade.

The bunch took over at that point, and a couple of times we had to chase back on after a gap had inexplicably opened up.

Distance half-done, legs mostly-done.  Photo: Paul Davies, Capital Cycles

We worked far too hard over the rollers towards Martinborough, and basically dropped ourselves.  Having let go physically, my brain promptly followed, and in Martinborough I asked Simon to stop the bike.  We limped back to Featherston.

Finished, literally and figuratively.  Photo:  Paul Davies, Capital Cycles

Despite the first hour feeling horrible, I demolished my power curve - the first time I'd had power data from the tandem.   I figured that the complete absence of down-time in the cross-winds had meant I was constantly on the pedals, unlike my own bike where I must get a bit lazy!

Next up was the Tour de Whitemans - not a particularly tandem-friendly course - with a critical ascent of Blue Mountains on each of four laps, but otherwise a nice racetrack.

We were a lot more organised this time, and made good use of the base of Blue Mountains to get the blood flowing through the legs.  After a short neutralised loop on the flat, we were racing, and straight into the first climb.  We were at the back of a fairly large group, packed with very handy local riders.

About a quarter of the way up, we found ourselves moving quicker than everyone else, and for the middle half of the climb, we had clear road ahead. We'd lost a whole lot of places by the top though, and had to mount quite a chase to join the back of a depleted lead bunch.

We sat at the back for a while, which was a good opportunity to let the legs recharge a bit.  On a nice bit of false flat, we put the hammer down from the back of the bunch, and despite an earnest chase by a couple of riders, we quickly established a good-sized gap.  We rode hard, for much of it into a stiff head-wind, and by the time we looped around to the top of the Wallaceville descent, we had a couple of minutes on the bunch behind, enough that we didn't see them before disappearing down into the Hutt Valley.

We were still clear at the top of Blue Mountains the second time, and kept plugging away down Whiteman's Valley, oblivious to what was going on behind.

Plugging.  Photo:  ATPhoto

We had a bit of a mare at the Silverstream roundabout at the start of the third lap.  The lead-vehicle had given-way to a car which had entered the roundabout on our right, and everyone kind of stopped and stared at one another.  We took the inside line, and made it safely around the corner, but then dropped our chain, and by the time it was back on again, we were in a totally unsuitable gear.

Getting the bike moving took a lot of energy, and the tell-tale signs that we'd gone too hard in the first half of the race started to emerge.

We got a fright when Andy Hagan, who I hadn't noticed approaching us, came alongside. He said he'd wait for us at the top, figuring (a) the wait would be short, and (b) that we'd be a handy ally on the remainder of the loop.  No sooner was he out of sight, than we slowed to a crawl.  Brendan came and went too, looking like he might be able to catch Andy - I wondered if Andy waiting for us might be good for Brendan's chances.

We were passed by a few more, but managed to get up the hill in touch with  them.  Once safely in their company, I told Simon I wasn't prepared to help them chase Brendan and Andy.  So, we sat in until the base of the final ascent of Blue Mountains, and then immediately popped.  It wasn't clear to me that we'd be able to ride the whole climb, but we did manage it, much to my surprise.

The rest of the lap wasn't so bad, and we almost managed to pull back Jordan and Calvin by the end.

Out of focus, pretty much like the world was at that point.  Photo:  ATPhoto

We finished 8th overall, exactly six minutes behind Andy, who Brendan hadn't managed to catch.  I really struggled to put the high placing into perspective, and despite giving a couple of big climbs in the Wairarapa a good nudge the day before, was disappointed with my performance.

By this stage, I had two competing targets - the final two races of the North Island Series, and nestled in between, Taupo.  The 4th series race went well, which at least gave me some confidence that Taupo might too.  A short but intense ride with Simon the Sunday before the main event seemed to go fine, and beyond that there was little we could do.

I drove up to Taupo with Sarah (doing her first 160km Solo), and Khulan (doing the 65km Huka Steamer MTB event) on Friday afternoon.  Simon had taken the tandem, and we met up that evening, after the women had signed in.  It was nice to bump into Danny from Ultimo Clothing, and Dave Weaver, who has scorching form at the moment, and is a lovely guy to boot. I had a brief visit from Yancey, one of my North Island Series team-mates, who was grabbing some Roadworks kit to wear the next morning - hot off the ultimo press.

Despite a very warm evening, I slept well, which was a good thing given the five-something alarm.

We'd failed to secure a late checkout, so among my tasks for the morning was packing up the car, and moving it out of the motel carpark.  I'd brought my roadie, and a wind-trainer, but distracted by the morning's logistics, and getting Sarah ready for her start, had little time to make use of them.

I lost track of Sarah in between the car and the street, and spent a stressful 10 minutes waiting, before deciding I'd better head off to meet Simon.  He too was late, and so it was just as well I'd managed at least a bit of a warm-up on my Colnago.

Ready to rock'n'roll.  Photo:  ultimoclothing.co.nz

We found our tandem bunch a few metres short of the start-line, and to my surprise, and delight, saw Sarah in the group ahead.  I left Simon with the tandem and gave her a quick kiss, before retreating.  Apparently a chap next to her was a bit perturbed I hadn't "wished him well" too!

Sarah started a few minutes later, and then we were moved up to the line. Simon wanted to go for a slash, and despite a marshall indicating he had plenty of time, I still had a nervous wait, wondering if I'd have a captain when they said go.

I did, which was excellent.  We started at the very front, and led the small peloton of large bikes - including two triple tandems, one of them towing a fourth rider on a trailer-bike, and about a dozen tandems - over the Waikato River.  A few metres short of the turn-off to Acacia Bay, I felt the bike move.  I shouted "GO STRAIGHT", but too late, and Simon, confused by a marshall's gesticulations, made the (wrong) turn.

Fortunately, only a few tandems followed us (and none onto the deck), and it was relatively easy to wheel around and rejoin the race.  Mid-pack, of course.

It only took a minute or so to get back to the front, and we had clear road by the time we made the correct left turn.

We had one tandem on our wheel, and we left them there for a while.  We were chasing the record, and so opted to keep the pace high.  After 10 minutes or so, Simon invited them to the front, but they very politely declined, blowing smoke up our arses with the comment "we're not in your league".  Whether they actually believed that or not, is another matter.  Simon was wearing my TT helmet - motivated more by the rainy forecast than its aero benefits - and we were both in skinsuits.  Who knows...

In any case, we left them there, and plugged on.  At that stage we were confident in our ability to shake these guys, and figured we'd start working together eventually, or we'd drop them.

Neither happened, and so we threw in a couple of big efforts to try to break loose.  One in particular was comical, and though well conceived, was very poorly executed.  We dropped behind them, let a gap open up, and then attacked in a massive gear.  Alas, we never really had the bike moving fast enough and they had no trouble closing us down.

Simon was royally pissed off by this stage.  He'd tried to encourage them to work with us, pointing out that we were aiming for the record, that they were at least as strong as us, and that we could make a real race of it.  They'd asked about the existing record, and we'd admitted we held it.  It was brought up again, and tensions only increased from there.  I'm a pretty non-confrontational guy, and it all made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.  I'm more of a "let your legs do the talking" kind of guy.

We'd also recently passed Sarah who'd been left behind by her start group.  That added to my emotional burden. 

Eventually, we realised that they weren't going to contribute at all, and that if we continued as we were, we ran the risk of towing them to a record time.  So, we slowed down.  It seemed like a smart thing to do, though in hindsight it reminds me of children fighting over a toy, and when one realises he can't have it, breaks it so that no-one can...

Despite dropping our pace considerably, they remained on our wheel.

We gave Kuratau a good nudge, and had a decent gap once the main climb had finished.  It didn't stick though, and despite us giving it everything, they pulled us back well before we began the plunge down to Tokaanu.

When the catch was imminent, we got stuck in a shitty gear, and I bellowed at the world.  They were surely in earshot, and when they slowed to slot in behind us, I called out "good chase fellas".  Their response was friendly, so maybe they were keen to race after all.

A little too much hooning for my liking

I didn't enjoy the descent  one bit.  The roads were wet, and Simon wasn't in a great mood, and was riding pretty aggressively.  But, he did an excellent job of getting us safely down the hill.  We had even opened up a small gap, but couldn't capitalise on it.

Things got really, really, really ridiculous over the next 30km to the base of Hatepe Hill, when not once did the other tandem leave our wheel.  On a couple of occasions, we stopped pedalling, and despite our bike losing most of its speed as we coasted, I could hear the sound of the disk-brakes behind being heavily applied lest they actually pass us.  RIDICULOUS.  I wondered what they thought would happen if they were in front.  They were certainly going to great lengths to avoid it.

We caught up to a bunch of solo riders, a rotated with them a bit.  I lost track of the other tandem for a while, and thought they might have sat at the back of the bunch without contributing at all.  Either that or they'd swung behind us when we pulled through...

Hatepe was our last chance to make something happen.  We hit the base of the climb at the back of the bunch (well, not quite the very back!), and started slogging away.

Hatepe

About half way up, I sensed a gap has opened up behind us, and asked Simon to change gear.  He misinterpreted my request, and for a moment things got easier, before a second request gave an opportunity to make the hilltop come quicker, and our advantage to grow.  I urged Simon to pedal harder, which he did, and we had a great gap at the top.

We passed a few solo riders, but about a kilometre from the start of the descent, I could see behind us an ominous sight.  I willed the figure to be that of the solo we'd most recently passed, but in the end was sure.  "THEY'RE COMING MATE"...

Drilling it.  Photo:  Bob's Bikes

By the time we got to the far end of Waitahanui, they were glued to our back wheel again.

At that point I actually felt really sad that they hadn't gone straight past us. They were quite clearly stronger, and it was disappointing that they weren't prepared to take the race to us for a change.

So we rode...

... and rode ...

... and rode ...

The stretch along the lake foreshore was into a nasty headwind, and I had no idea what Simon and I had left in the tanks for the finishing straight.  I also have no idea why I thought it would come to that, because of course they attacked well before the final corner.  I guess I should have been watching them, as on one of the very rare occasions when we'd been behind them about half way through the race, their stoker had been constantly doing to us.

They made great use of the width of the road, and the relative freshness of their legs.  And the race was done.  We chased for 15 seconds or so, but knew we weren't getting them back.

The finishing straight summed up the race perfectly.  It was no competition, just as the rest of the "race" had been.  I couldn't help thinking of the event three years prior which had been a race right from the get-go, and had been in the balance right 'til the end.

Done, like a dinner

We were a good 12 minutes slower than the record, which leaves me in no doubt that we could have beaten it, had the other tandem worked with us.  Which one of us would have taken it is much less clear to me, but it would surely have been fun finding out.

I was glad not to run into the other tandem after the finish.  Had I, I think I would have told them that they had really sold themselves short.  I hoped that at the very least, they were pleased with their performance, and the outcome.  At least that would be something.

I did see the Hagans, who had had mixed fortunes in their races, not that I was in any state to ask about that at the time.  Instead, I blurted out a 30-second summary of our event, before being moved on. 

Sarah finished soon after in a mighty fine cherry-popper lap, clocking in at 5:01. Very respectable indeed, though I reckon if she'd started 15 minutes back she would have been 15 minutes quicker!

It was a while before Khulie finished (mostly by virtue of her very civilised 9am start), during which time we were able to get changed and catch up briefly with Brendan, who'd enjoyed cruising around on his commuter/training bike.  He was fascinated by the tandem result, and was very surprised we were unable to get away from the other team.  He's seen plenty of me racing my own bike, and knows better than most how strong I am at the moment.

We hit the road pretty much as soon as we were reunited with Khulan - a hot shower was waiting for us in Carterton! 

* * * * *

As usual, this blog is a useful way for me to process an event, and it goes a long way towards getting it out of my system. But, particularly when being critical, it's hard to find the right words.

Chatting to Brendan just now, I admitted I was having trouble finishing this, and he reminded me of what Dan Waluszewski had told me after my Club Nationals TT: "There's either winning or learning", admitting it had resonated with him as it had me.

And there are plenty of lessons in that ride.  There are all sorts of things we might complain about, but really they were all things we could have managed better.  In short, tandem racing is a team sport, and a good team is much greater than the sum of its parts.

I admit that I'd focussed my attention on getting myself in the best shape I could, and assumed Simon was off doing the same thing.  To really do this tandem racing lark justice in the future, we need to optimise our performance on the tandem, which is plainly not as simple as jumping on your pre-determined seat, and pedalling as hard as you can.

* * * * *

As frustrated as I was about how the morning had panned out, the sight of the Kennett Brothers' triple tandem in the back of a trailer at the Shell station in Waiouru put the whole race into perspective for me.

While the race Simon and I had disappointed us, the three triathletes who'd been on the triple when the fork had collapsed had a much worse day.  At 60km/h they were very lucky indeed to get away with one broken collar-bone and some road rash between them.  (It still makes me a bit sick to my stomach thinking about it.)

There's a lesson there too, I'm sure of it...

Holy Whaka 100!

Despite wondering about it for the last few days, I have absolutely no recollection of the circumstances surrounding my entry in the 2015 Whaka 100.

Jack Compton famously said a couple of years ago: "you're pretty much a roadie these days" - and he was dead right.  I last raced a mountainbike at Karapoti back in March, and did OK, all things considered.  Since, I've done a handful of family rides, only firing my legs in anger in a vain attempt to keep up with Khulio on one descent or another.

The Motu 160 was on the radar this spring for a little while, but things got a bit hectic in between the first and second rounds of the 2015 North Island Series, and it was sensibly erased from the calendar.  But it was not like I was scouring the country for a mountain bike race to replace it. 

In any case, the idea to race the Whaka must have got in somehow, and before long it had grown into a plan.  I'd done the event once before - back in 2010 - and had had a miserable time.  My depression was bad then, and the long ride somewhat out of my comfort zone terrain-wise had been tough.  In good spirits at the moment, it promised to be a nice opportunity to replace bad memories with good.   for better or worse, reading the blog was the extent of my specific training for the event!

Keen to make her own memories, Khulan was also registered for the event.  It had taken Sarah and I some time to convince her that the 100km was not a good idea, and she'd begrudgingly agreed to do the 50km event.  She's got plenty of years of riding ahead of her - hopefully step-dad riding faster than ever at age 42 is evidence in support of that - and at 15, needs to let her body strengthen slowly over time! 

This year's event was scheduled for the Saturday of Labour Weekend, so far from deserting my family to go racing, it was an opportunity for all of us to get up to Rotorua with our MTBs.  Sarah and Kaitlyn were disinclined to do the event themselves, but were looking forward to getting into the forest all the same.  

Being somewhat averse to the long drive, and knowing what carnage would descend upon SH1 south of Levin on the Friday evening, we wrote the kids a "sick" note, and were rolling out shortly after 8am on the Friday morning.

We've recently invested in a roof box for our trusty Corolla, so for the first time, there was room to burn inside the car - though not quite as much as our Queen's Birthday road-trip to the Timber Trail, where we'd decided to take two rather than cram in!  The girls had borrowed a talking book from the library, and that helped pass the time as we made our way north, mostly unimpeded by traffic.  

We stopped briefly at Otaki to visit the Icebreaker outlet, and then in Taihape for lunch at Subway.  Our drive time was about 3.5 hours to there (including about 15 minutes in Otaki).  We had a brief stop in Taupo, before popping in to Huka Falls to photograph the girls, extending my favourite time series by another observation.

7 January 2007

8 January 2010

22 January 2012

27 April 2014

23 October 2015

Just short of Rotorua, we stopped at the Waipa Mill carpark to pick up the two registration packs.  Not long after, we were unpacking the car at the New Castle Motor Lodge - our second stay here - and once we'd divvied up the beds, it was time for a ride.  

Just as we were leaving, I got a txt from Brendan, who was only just leaving his home in Lower Hutt.  He asked if I'd grab him a road tyre and a couple of tubes, so I went back in to grab a bag, and we all turned right at the gate instead of left.  

A small gouging later, we mountain biking! First on the gravel path adjacent to the road out to the airport, and then through the forest taking us through to Long Mile Road.  It was tempting to stop to buy a map, but it was more tempting to do some proper riding, and we headed straight up Nursery Road.  

We were on both the 100km and 50km courses, and we decided to follow them through to the end, hooking in to Rock Drop and then Rosebank before emerging back at the carpark.  A few Wellingtonians later, we shot into Tahi, then half of Creek before deciding that was enough and taking Nursery Road and the new Exit Trail back down to home.  

We all had a Pork Roast for dinner, and aside from a very lame Yorkshire Pudding - at the other end of the quality spectrum from Grandmother Randal's - the meal was excellent (and hopefully sufficiently calorie-laden).  We had time to do the grocery shopping and to drop the girls back at the motel before shooting out to pick up Brendan's wife, Jenny, from the airport.  

By this stage, Brendan had made it to Otaki - the road north out of Wellington was well and truly snarled up, and his progress was very slow indeed.  At least we were able to get his groceries sorted too. 

My race briefing was at 7:30, so after setting a 6am alarm, it was time for sleep.  In the wee hours, I heard Brendan arriving in the adjoining room, and I resisted the urge to glance at my watch (almost 2am for the record - not the best preparation for a 3-day road stage race, poor bugger).

I didn't much like the look of the motel's microwave, and besides, the girls were sleeping next door, so I decided to have muesli for breakfast instead of my usual porridge.  I chased that down with some toast, and a quick coffee.  

I was disappointed to see the ground outside was wet, and that there was light rain.  With rooms above us, there was no tin roof for the rain to rattle on, so it came as a bit a surprise.  I decided to go sans knee-warmers, but did don arm-warmers, and a merino vest under my Castelli Gabba (expensive, but worth every cent).  I'd stashed a tube and multitool in a small saddle bag, but while in fine weather, I'd have gone with a pump and some bars in my jersey pockets, opted to wear a bag.  In it were a jacket and waterproof 3/4 pants, as well as another spare tube.  If something went wrong, at least I'd be a bit more comfortable.

I stopped at the BP for a takeaway coffee, and then drove to the event HQ.  I checked in a drop-bag which would be waiting for me at the 50km mark - in it were four more bars (one square meals and a bumper bar), a second bottle, and a dry jersey - just in case the sun came out.  

The briefing was at 7:30, during which they mentioned that heavy rain was forecast.  Upon hearing that, I had absolutely no qualms about carrying my extra gear.

After a short warm up on the road, and a can of creamed rice (Watties, which I didn't enjoy), I went to the start line, only to find about half the field already there!  Rather than try to push in, I simply joined the back of the queue, figuring I had plenty of distance to make up ground if I was able.  

I found myself next to Charlotte, Kiwi Brevet veteran, and previous owner of Kaitlyn's cute little Yeti AS-R.  We chatted for a bit, and I ignored her advice to move up a bit!  Dave Sharpe cruised past looking resplendent in his Roadworks blue.  

Not exactly pole position!

We were soon underway, slowly!  We did a big loop of the large grassy area, and after a minute or so there was a bit of width and I opened the legs up momentarily.  Then, we were onto Tahi.  There was little point in worrying about the pace, and I actually did a very good job of coping with what might otherwise have been an incredibly frustrating predicament.  

I was near Mike Hunn, yet another who'd made the trip up from Wellington, and we exchanged a few pleasantries before getting separated.

Fairly clean, with Mike Hunn on my six

There was a little bit of a commotion a couple of bikes ahead, and I saw a woman riding with a saddle that, far from being horizontal, was pointing up towards the heavens.  Rather than stop immediately, she made the mistake of continuing, and a mere kilometre or two into a 100km race, her day was done. The loose bolts made their way slowly but surely out, and soon her saddle was on the ground too.  I gave her no chance of finding all the bits she needed to get underway again, but maybe she did...

The track was surprisingly wet, not a good omen!  After the fiddle-faddle of the second half of Creek, we had 30 seconds or so on a bit of double track.  Off the riding-line wasn't particularly smooth, but it was a golden opportunity to get past a few folk.  By the time we ducked back on to singletrack, I had clear space ahead, and set to reeling the next bunch of riders in.  

Visions of that taking ages were soon dashed, and within a minute I was at the back of another queue!

Five minutes or so later, we spewed on to Nursery Road, and that was another opportunity to make up ten or so places.  The course then doubled back on itself, albeit on the opposite side of Nursery Road, before hooking across into Genesis for a spell, and then up past the start of Grinder and in to Soakhole. There it was just a matter of following the arrows, and/or the rider ahead.  I didn't recognise Jeff Lyall when I passed him, but it takes two to tango, and once he called out, my ears filled in what my eyes had missed.  

We emerged on the far side of the block, and climbed up to the top of Tokorangi.  I passed a woman who was climbing in the bottom half of her cassette.  I felt like a bit of a dick after asking "have you lost some gears?" only to be told that everything was fine.  I didn't say that I'd last about a quarter of the race if I tried climbing like she was.  By that stage I was happy to keep my mouth shut.

The course was two-way for a brief moment, and I saw Edwin Crossling hurtling past in the opposite direction.  We hadn't been going that long, but it took me bloody ages to get back to that point!!  

There were a couple of sections of track put there only to make the course longer, and when I jokingly complained to one of the marshalls, I was told I didn't have much climbing left.  It wasn't the climbing I was worried about, and it required all my concentration, a fair bit of tripod action, and a small amount of walking to get through the next sections of super greasy singletrack in one piece.  

I very nearly axed myself of a slick off-camber section on the Tickler, which I felt sure I wasn't going to make it across, and soon after had a refusal at a bit of track that I probably would have managed OK had it not been for the recent fright.  I stopped and let a few riders past, only to get stuck behind them for the next 5 minutes as the trail tipped up.  

It was then into a long climb around and up to Frontal Lobotomy.  We didn't use Lentil Link, and instead went hooning in to a somewhat unexpected right turn.  I added to the multitude of skid marks through the corner, and heard the person behind me do the same.

I thought of Khulan and wondered how she'd be getting on in an hour or so's time.  At Frontal Lobotomy, our courses diverged, for 50km or so, at least.  It was nice to be climbing on singletrack again, and I actually felt like a capable mountain biker momentarily.  The slippy-slidey descent had been gross, and not the most confidence inspiring riding with plenty more of that to come.

Billy T was a mixed bag, and I let a couple of riders through, including Ian Paintin.  He wasn't looking that flash midway up the climb, but while I distanced him momentarily, by the top his legs had come back, and he was storming by the time we got to the top of Kung Fu Walrus.

Thomas Reynolds had asked the evening before if I'd ridden this track, and I knew from his reaction that it would be a handful today.  True to form, I had an absolute mare down it, being passed soon after Ian by Wade Jennings, who'd asked me "what are you doing back here?!"  "Mountainbiking like a roadie" would have been a good response.  

One stupid spill later, I was finally at the bottom, and actually riding again.  I pushed fairly hard along the gravel roads along the Blue Lake-front, but I'd haemorrhaged too much time in the mud to get anywhere Ian and Wade again.

I vaguely recalled that the 50km aid-station was near.  There were a couple of things I was really looking forward to.  First, I was going to ditch my wallet.  I'd discovered it on the Tickler when I'd put an OSM wrapper in my right rear pocket.  I'd obviously forgotten to transfer it to the glove box after I'd paid for my coffee at the servo.  I'd fixated on the various receipts that would surely be dissolving in the wet conditions.  Secondly, I was REALLY looking forward to a clean bottle.  The one on my bike was so covered in filth, it was both unpleasant to drink from and to handle.  Strangely, the mouth full of grit I got when I took a swig annoyed me less than the mud on my hand and glove.  My thigh was also very dirty, so the cleaning process was somewhat compromised too.

Mike's wife Karen was manning the aid-station.  I'd put my stuff in a yellow pak'n'save shopping bag, and sure enough, it had been a good choice.  Karen quickly identified it in amongst 150 other bags, and I was soon loading my pockets up with fresh bars. 

I gave her the filthy, and still half-full bottle, and also my wallet, which she promised to safeguard.  I helped myself a small handful of pretzels, which complemented the hunk of bumper bar in already in my mouth surprisingly well!

Kane McCollum had arrived at the aid station a little after me, but we left together, and chatted briefly, bemoaning our MTB abilities mostly.  The lake-side gravel road was virtually a road though, and probably my only comparative advantage.   As I pressed on, his legs must have sent him a wee warning, and he eased off, wishing me well. 

It was a shame Mossy Trail wasn't a bit more mossy, and a little less muddy.  I floundered around on it too, catching, and almost immediately losing again, a couple of riders.  I rode alone alongside SH5 for a little bit before turning back into the forest on Waipa Mill South Rd.  The course marking had been awesome up to this point, but the next intersection was a bit underdone (although still very well marked on the usual scale of things).  

I rode apprehensively along a bit of double track, scanning the ground for tell-tale signs of wear.  After 5 nervous minutes, I caught back up to the two I'd seen on Mossy Trail, and soon after the next onslaught of course markings began.  

I rode strongly up to the top of No Brains, and then like a novice down it.  Whatever advantage I was getting on the climbs was being demolished on the descents.  I wasn't the only one struggling - as I was picking myself up from a fairly heavy crash after clipping my right pedal on a tree stump, a fellow competitor flew by reporting three crashes of his own further up the trail.  Well, at least he was crashing  quickly...!

When I finally got off No Brains, I felt like the worst was over.  Though, things didn't actually get much better.  It was a long climb to hook into the top section of Split Enz, only to find the track was inundated with water, and what confidence I had left after Kung Fu Walrus was lying on a steaming heap somewhere on No Brains.  

I tried to make the best of a bad situation, and at least managed to keep the bike moving.  I felt lucky to get away with an odd manoeuvre, riding off the side of the ladder on Pondy DH.  The timber had looked slippery, and I had time to ponder my line choice with "what the hell are you doing?!", though no harm, no foul. 

The tracks started to blur one into another, and the course markings came and went.  I hadn't seen any arrows for quite a while, and I started worrying I'd missed a turn somewhere.  I kept moving forward, on Roller Coaster by this stage, and was somewhat thrilled to turn a corner into one of the most heavily marked intersections I've ever seen.  Top marks, and thanks.

I passed a chap somewhat forlornly standing at the side of the track.  I asked him if he was OK.  He said something about "hand pump".  Well, at least I didn't have that I suppose.

I think Old Chevy came next.  The were a couple of arrows pointing right, and then one on the ground came into view pointing left.  I went left, and ten seconds or so later saw some tape.  Then there was a rider, on the other side of the tape.  Damn.

I wasn't sure how much of the track I'd skipped.  Knowing the way these trails are designed, it could have been anything from 50 metres to 1000!  I slowed right down, and let the guy get away from me.  

The course ducked and dived, and there were plenty of "HEY - I was here 5 minutes ago!" moments.  I vaguely recall Ball and Chain, and Mad if U Don't.  Eventually though, it settled down and I was on somewhat familiar territory, and fairly clear about what remained.

Sweet and Sour lead on to Dragon's Tail, followed by Direct Road up to the top of Hot X Buns.  I passed a young chap, who had clearly run out of steam.  He was barely turning his gear over, and he made a whimpering sound as I rode by.  I couldn't remember how long the climb was, but was surprised that it wasn't so bad.  

Hot X Buns was bad, and I had one foot on the ground for far too much of it.  The young guy blasted past while I was washing my bottle at the bottom, and I grabbed some jet planes from the aid station before following him onto Be Rude Not To.  

I enjoyed the width and the illusion of speed on the top section - it was good while it lasted.  I saw the young chap on Lion's Trail.  He was really blown, and the whimper was replaced by guttural sounds that was slightly alarming!

I guess it was wishful thinking, but I lost track of the lap of Grinder and some of the Challenge network.  Dammit.  Yet another 10 minutes of humbling riding!  

Maybe one of the few preferring the uphills at this late stage

Then finally onto Exit Trail.  

Rockdrop and Rosebank were not at all pretty, but I emerged out the other end unscathed, on the outside at least.  The night before the bog at the end of Rosebank had looked imminently rideable.  It was looking very different this afternoon, and my brain didn't latch onto that until after I'd dropped my front wheel into a deep hole.  I guess I was going slowly, and managed to stop short of pitching over the bars into the mud.  Thank heaven for small mercies! 

I got a lovely reception at the finish line.  After being presented with a stunning medallion that any 80s rapper would have been proud to wear, I immediately had both daughters on hand, and then Sarah.

My race had lasted just a few minutes short of 7 hours.  While my bike hadn't skipped a beat mechanically, my body had been less capable.  My legs had gone the distance, but my upper body was shattered, and as I'd got more and more tired, my fair-weather MTB skills had all but deserted me.  

It was great to learn that Khulan had completed her event successfully, winning her category in a fine time of 5 hours 22.  She also acknowledged her parents had counselled wisely, and that she was rather glad not to have done the hundy in hindsight!

What a fighter!

Despite the conditions, Kaitlyn and Sarah had been out riding too, covering much of the 50km course themselves.  They'd even caught the eye of the event photographers, which was a surprise saved for later...!

I'd missed Khulan's prizegiving, but had over an hour until my own, so was able to go back to the motel for a shower.  Jenny had dropped my lovely ladies out, so packing the car was straightforward.

Cleaned up, and phone relocated from the bottom of the car - in my pooped state I was apparently unable to keep track of anything - we drove back to the event HQ.  At one point I feared I would have to stop clapping for the various prize winners - my arms were struggling to keep pace.  A highlight was seeing Jack and reminding him ow accurate his observation on my riding preferences had been.

The next day, Khulan's energy levels had plummeted and she was feeling quite unwell.  The sun was out though, and after a marathon bike-cleaning effort, the rest of us decided to head into the forest for a spin.

My legs took quite some time to warm up, and as we climbed out of Rotorua on SH5 (on that ridiculously mild grade), I was beginning to wonder if I should have stayed home with Khulie. 

They perked up a bit though, and I was astonished to find the tracks were virtually dry, quite in contrast to the unpredictable mire of a day ago.

We rode Tahi and Creek before heading along the gravel roads to the top of Dragon's Tail.  Sarah pulled out the classic "I'm going to smash myself up here" before disappearing up the hill and around the corner.  

Dragon's Tail was followed by a glorious run of Be Rude Not Too, and then Lion's Trail, Turkish Delight and Exit Trail for the third and final time of the trip.

There was no need to wash the bikes again - they were spotless - but nor were we inclined to ride again.  Instead, we hit the road early on Monday morning, wishing the McGraths a good final day of their holiday, and took the long way back to Wellington - first through Reporoa and the Taupo-Napier Road before having lunch at the Angkor Wat in Waipukurau.  I can confirm it still has the best custard squares (yes, plural) I've ever had.  I became somewhat incensed as we drove at 70km/h between Woodville and Pahiatua all on account of someone's unwillingness to pause for a minute to let the 50-odd cars behind pass.  

But, like removing a splinter, once it was gone it was gone.  We stopped at our new home in Carterton, did a bit of Briscoes shopping back in Masterton, left a note for the grandparents for when they next dropped in, and fired up the BBQ for burgers.  The drive back to Wellington was completely uneventful, and if anything, the traffic seemed lighter than usual.

After some reflection, I'm pretty pleased with how I got on in the race.  Not hurting myself was always the main priority, and despite the pretty foul conditions, I managed to "enjoy" most of it.   I was never cold, and while I started to really struggle with the unpredictable nature of riding in the wet, I didn't fall into the trap of wishing it would end prematurely.

Last time, I promised myself that next time I'd enjoy myself.  This time, my promise is to practice riding my mountainbike a bit!!!  In any case, it was good to get out, and lovely to spend a long-weekend away. 

The end