It was perhaps more than just a little arrogant to think that you could do a roadie ride marketed as "South Africa's toughest" if you've only been on your roadie bike once after the Argus tour. But you've been on your mountain bike a few times since the Argus, the Jock was on your to-do list for quite a while already, and you had to go find out if it was really as tough as everybody said it was ... and there was another sucker (the Mummy) who was up for the challenge, so ... what the heck, enter the ride & see what happens. How tough can 150 kays be anyway?
You were about to find out.
Some lessons & observations from the past weekend:
- If you take your bike for its only training ride in months a week before a biggish event, and you discover something like the shifters are not working, don't expect the bicycle shop to be able to fix it for you there and then. Not if you don't have a decent overdraft facility, anyway.
- Have a friend like Mamparra who can change the only gear that you will be able to use on the front chain ring, from the big to the small blade. That's good enough for Jock.
- Knowing that Barberton is somewhere in Mpumalanga is not good enough. Instructions pulled from the Internet telling you to continue for 146.2 kays, and then turn right, somehow would make more sense if you had a roadmap of the area, or at least knew where Barberton fits into the bigger picture. Especially since there was no Dirt Rider at the destination already, whom you could phone for directions.
- There're a lot of roadie bikes to be seen during a roadie-bike-weekend.
- Don't leave your fleece & wind jacket behind in Barberton when you're leaving for Nelspruit at 5 in the morning, if your start is only at 7:30. Even if The Mummy says it won't be so cold. What does the Mummy know about the weather in Nelspruit at 5:30 in the morning, anyway? ;)
- Be nice to other mountain bikers when you share a mountain, a single-track or a Noon to Moon with them, 'cos you don't know when you will bump into them at roadie-events. Was great to see the familiar faces of Big Daddy Rob & girlfriend (fiancée) Lisa on the bus on the way to Nelspruit.
- Sitting in an empty classroom waiting for your bunch to start, isn't any warmer than outside, but at least there's other people to share the cold with.
- Getting a slightly above average Argus Tour time, still doesn't make you an above average cyclist by anyone's books: you will still start in the very last bunch for the Jock.
- Nelspruit is cold 7:30 in the morning.
- The bunches start out very slowly. It's no use to try and get ahead of them, though, they will catch you. They always do. So stay with them. Sittt. Stay.
- Maybe you must take your roadie bike out more. What a pleasure to ride such a responsive bike!
- If you see a notice saying "Dangerous Downhill: Concentrate", get down on your bike, find the nearest slipstream ('cos you mos don't have a big blade) and slingshot yourself from slipstream to slipstream with a huge grin.
- Note to self: definitely take road bike out more.
- Boulders is 7 kays of climbing at Suikerbossie's gradient. The steep part of Suikerbossie, that is. You can't get your heart-rate up, because it's like pushing weights in a gym. It would probably have been more fun with a Granny Gear.
- The bicycle shop and Mamparra and Dirt Rider and everyone else were right: you won't need your big blade for this race.
- If you start in the last bunch, don't lose the bunch, otherwise you solo the rest of the race.
- Note to self: learn to climb, so that you don't lose the bunch on Boulders.
- Boulder's downhill matches the uphill in every respect ... maybe even exceeds the climb. What an exhilarating downhill! WOW! W-O-O-W!!
- Going down the bends on Boulders on a roadie bike trying not to touch the brakes while marshals are trying to flag you down, can be as much fun as a single-track at night. Maybe even more.
- "Dangerous Downhill: Concentrate" is your new favourite road sign.
- If you've done 100 kays and there're still 50 kays to go and you're hungry, eat. Don't think that you'll finish just now and eat then. You'll finish much later than expected and will have to eat at some stage anyway.
- Cycling the last 20 kays into a headwind slightly uphill all by yourself is not fun.
- If you discover a week before the Jock that your roadie bike's odometer's battery is flat, and the bicycle shop can't replace it for you, and you therefore decide to fit your Suunto's bike pod on the roadie bike because it was just lying around in a cupboard somewhere, then calibrate it before the ride.
- Road cycling is hard work.
- "Give me my chocolate" - the new national greeting? Who taught these kids to beg? Who gave them sweets, thinking they are doing them a favour, and creating an expectation that who-ever passes by will have sweets to hand out? Where did they learn to try to push cyclists off their bikes and obstruct their way if they don't stop and give them sweets? (This is something that I've seen in the Drakensburg, in the Wild coast, even on the Argus Tour this year.)
- You cannot possibly allow a girl being pushed up the last uphill 400 metres from the finish, to beat you. No matter how tired you are. She's allowed to beat you if she can get up there on her own, but you simply cannot allow her to be pushed faster than what you can cycle ... so you'll have to chase them. Keep some energy in reserve for that.
- Road cycling is not for sissies.
- Road bikes are so clean after an event!
- Some races you'll keep coming back to. Sabie Shenanigans is on my to-do list for next year. The Magalies Monster and the Induna ... I will be back next year for the awesome single track and the exhilarating downhills. The Mnweni marathon, Wartrail, a weekend of Rogaining - great events; I'll keep going back for the views, the vibe, the people, the challenge. Sprint races presented by UGE events - I will keep going back for the fun and the adventure and the speed. The Argus tour - may be expensive for Gauties, but the vibe will keep people returning for more. 94.7's on my doorstep, so I will do it as long as I have a road bike.
The Jock? Been there, done that.
That said, that downhill after Boulders ... I might return for that. I will train a little more if I do the event again. But then again, I often say that about other events too and never do the extra mile of training.
- Roadies are a strange bunch of people. Discussions after the event was about the vets' tour next month, about a particular team's position after this race, about what roadie-thingy they're doing next, about beating a guy from another team ...almost like they're punishing themselves ... there's no discussions about the great piece of single-track of the morning, or cycling through plantations or banana tree tunnels or orange orchards or next to canals or over dodgy bridges or through surreal rock formations, or the near blow-out on a downhill, or about the horrible technical climb that they managed to do without unclipping, or about crossing the river or bunny-hopping an obstacle or pringling a wheel or showing off newly acquired scars or the fun they had that morning ...
- Note to self: appreciate your mountain bike buddies more.
- Another note to self: Take roadie-bike out more. It is excellent training, it's great riding such a responsive bike, and riding it more often will prevent sore shoulders, neck & wing-stubs the morning after a roadie-ride.
Well, and is it South Africa's toughest race? I can't say, really. I haven't done any of the toughest races to have anything to compare it with. It can't be compared to mountain bike-events like Induna or Magalies Monster; it's much harder because of the nature of roadie rides: a much higher intensity for much longer without technical distractions. It's not comparable to adventure events like Wartrail or Mnweni: the attraction of these events (for me), is exactly this: the low intensity and the variety. It's not comparable to the Argus or 94.7; anyone can get on their bicycles and do these distances - and they do.
Distance-wise and climb-wise, even wind-wise, a Double Century may be longer and harder, but it's a team event, so you will never lose the bunch, and you'll never have to take the headwind on all on your own ... and if you pick your team members carefully, you will never be the slowest person in the team, so you will never ride at a high intensity for too long. :)
So: I still don't know if it is South-Africa's toughest road race. But I did learn one thing: road cycling is not for sissies!
And I think I am one. :) A sissie, that is. So I'll stick to mountain biking, for now.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Winter-Wartrail-Wonderland
Lessons, musings & other random thoughts about the Wartrail
Roughly the plan work as follows: enter some ridiculous event, stress about it, and then a week before the event, enter something even more ridiculous so that you forget to stress about the original event. So on the only training-run for the Mnweni-marathon (which was the stress-reliever for Swazi), Sam came up with the idea of doing the Wartrail: a triathlon, kind of. But we would do it the whoosie-way (well, as whoosie as a race like this would allow, at least): Liz would do the 60-odd kays of mountain running, I would attempt the 135 kays of mountainbiking, and she would paddle the 60-odd kays on the Orange River.
So I started to train in all urgency for this event: I rode as many D&D-rides as I could fit in, with the odd Induna or Magalies Monster thrown in for good measure. I was, after all, part of a team, and I had to be able to go the distance to not let them down. There were three all-girl-teams entered, and we were looking forward to a weekend of fun.
A week before the event, though, a dark cloud appeared on the horizon: Lisa circulated an email suggesting that her team (Lisa, Lobby & Daleen) would make mincemeat of the other 2 all-girl-teams. The war race was on!
This was not good news for team AR Chix, as our whole game-plan was focused around just one thing: to make the cut-offs and get an official finish. The team was in trouble and we had to change our game strategy somewhat. Each one did her bit: I took my bike in for a service to see if Mike could make it any faster, Samantha decided that a K2 was faster than a K1 and that I would paddle with her, and Liz Google-earthed the area to get as much knowledge of the routes as possible.
I even attempted to do some paddling-training with Weazul one Saturday morning before an orienteering-event (I had to learn to read a map as well), but that ended up being a sightseeing-tour in search of the island-crocodile (but that's a story for another time.)
Then it snowed in the Eastern Cape (and in Joburg) and WeatherSA's website didn't predict good things for the weekend. We tried other weather-sites for a friendlier prediction, but all of them were very specific about icy weather in the Eastern Cape.
The mountains surrounding Lady Grey were white with snow – snow lying on the lawns - when we joined the Big-bakkies-loaded-with-bicycles-and-boats influx into the small town late on Friday afternoon.
The hikers would leave at 4:30 on Saturday morning. We were planning to see them off, and then be back in bed by 4:40-ish. Tweet had some marshal-duties at the first checkpoint, however, and it didn't take much to convince us to go with … so within 5 minutes of the invite we were on our way to the runners' first checkpoint – with bakkie until it could go no further, and then a little over 2 kays on foot through thick snow and with a full moon to light up the way. Our checkpoint-duties included attacking the camera-crew and all the incoming hikers with snowballs (which disintegrated as soon as you threw them). Later, on our way down, we could see the silhouettes of the last two groups on a snow-laden ridge with the sun rising behind them.
Life was good.
Camping that night in Balloch – the snow glistened in the still-full moon while we waited for the hikers to come in. Huge campfires & a lamb-potjie brewing in the cave.
The next morning we had to outcycle a developing snowstorm :)
By the time we reached the top of Lundean's nek, it was snowing in Balloch where we camped the previous night. The temperature was dropping very quickly - it was already way below zero, if the frozen bladder-mouthpieces & frozen chocolates was anything to go by. From there it's a 14 kays downhill to the first checkpoint with the icy wind in your back - the bicycle just wanted to GO - WOW!
Having a very bad reputation with navigation, I was determined to not get lost this time. The instructions were very clear: Every time the road splits, keep right. So, there was this split in the road. The right one was closed for road works. The map clearly indicated that I must go right – so I did. And I saw bicycle tracks – well, at least 2 bicycles' tracks. Climbed up a very steep hill, and then some more. Kids asking me "Waar gaan jy?"
"To Majuba's Neck, can I go this way?"
"Ja, net om die draai," came the reply.
So I went around the corner, higher and higher. To a T-junction that wasn't indicated on my map. Stay right, were the instructions, so I turned right and climbed some more. No bicycle tracks any more. At last saw someone, asking for directions.
"Lesotho"
"What, am I in Lesotho?"
"Yes"
"Where's South Africa?"
"that way"
Around a few corners I could see the other cyclists far below – what an exhilarating feeling to
(a) know where I am and
(b) have to go go downhill to where I'm supposed to be!
Life was good.
The stretch between 80 and 120 kays was straight into an icy headwind, it was not fun. Sometimes the wind would be from the side; it would blow me from the left side of the road where I was cycling, to the other side of the road. Peddle back to the left side, just to be blown back to the other side again. I could see 2 cyclists ahead of me, but just couldn't catch them. Waited a few minutes for someone from behind to catch up with me while I raided my backpack for chocolates, but then gave up and fought the wind on my own again.
Life was not so great then.
At the next checkpoint I realised that I lost my map, so I waited for the next cyclists to come along. We cycled together for a while, with Adrian urging me to go faster - did I look, by any chance, like i was ABLE to go any faster, i wondered. But he kept insisting that I "race" the girls - as far as going at 10 kays an hour could be considered "racing" ... with the icy wind now from behind, I succumbed, but the break-away didn't last long - Dalene and Lobby outsprinted me on the last hill - there just wasn't anything in my legs left!
So now the AR girls (Dalene, Lobby & Lisa) and the AR Chix (Sam, Liz and myself) were tied … with Liz coming in a few seconds before Lisa, and then Dalene & Lobby coming in a few seconds before me. The whole race came down to the paddling leg.
My Suunto recorded a temperature of –3 degrees inside the tent on Monday morning. There was ice all over Sam's sleeping bag … frost gathered your jacket as you do morning-camping-things. Adrian shortened the paddle-leg because of the cold, so we could start an hour later.
To the amusement of those around us, we almost tipped the boat before the start. The water that comes from your paddle on the up-stroke, froze on our life jackets...Sam had a collection of icicles on her peak - very pretty. We had to get out of the boat a few times to get off rocks & sandbanks, & the thought of tipping the boat in that water was quite scary. For the first 2 hours in the boat we couldn't drink anything, because the bladder-mouthpieces were frozen again
The gorge was beautiful, and we paddled with Ugene, Lobby & Dalene & Vicky & a few other boats, solving the world's problems until someone would get stuck on a sandbank … then it's your turn to get stuck on a sandbank, & the others would catch up again. A few rapids & bubblies to test your balance.
By the time we could see the finish a kilometer away, my arms felt like they would break off. The boat was getting tippier as we got more tired, and we were in real danger of tipping the boat. The water levels were very low, so we zig-zagged across the river to avoid sandbanks, paddling much further than intended – the end just didn't come any closer! Then Ugene's boat tipped for no apparent reason, we got stuck on a sandbank one last time, and then finally Alex sprinted us to the finish … where he spectacularly tipped his boat just as he crossed the line.
The paddle very sensibly finished at a hot spring, so we jumped into the warm pool to thaw the frozen toes & hands before prize giving & the long drive back.
The slogan on a coke light can say: "Here's to living life light". There was only one can on coke light left in the cooler box, so we shared it, toasting the event and life in general: "Here's to living life."
Roughly the plan work as follows: enter some ridiculous event, stress about it, and then a week before the event, enter something even more ridiculous so that you forget to stress about the original event. So on the only training-run for the Mnweni-marathon (which was the stress-reliever for Swazi), Sam came up with the idea of doing the Wartrail: a triathlon, kind of. But we would do it the whoosie-way (well, as whoosie as a race like this would allow, at least): Liz would do the 60-odd kays of mountain running, I would attempt the 135 kays of mountainbiking, and she would paddle the 60-odd kays on the Orange River.
So I started to train in all urgency for this event: I rode as many D&D-rides as I could fit in, with the odd Induna or Magalies Monster thrown in for good measure. I was, after all, part of a team, and I had to be able to go the distance to not let them down. There were three all-girl-teams entered, and we were looking forward to a weekend of fun.
A week before the event, though, a dark cloud appeared on the horizon: Lisa circulated an email suggesting that her team (Lisa, Lobby & Daleen) would make mincemeat of the other 2 all-girl-teams. The war race was on!
This was not good news for team AR Chix, as our whole game-plan was focused around just one thing: to make the cut-offs and get an official finish. The team was in trouble and we had to change our game strategy somewhat. Each one did her bit: I took my bike in for a service to see if Mike could make it any faster, Samantha decided that a K2 was faster than a K1 and that I would paddle with her, and Liz Google-earthed the area to get as much knowledge of the routes as possible.
I even attempted to do some paddling-training with Weazul one Saturday morning before an orienteering-event (I had to learn to read a map as well), but that ended up being a sightseeing-tour in search of the island-crocodile (but that's a story for another time.)
Then it snowed in the Eastern Cape (and in Joburg) and WeatherSA's website didn't predict good things for the weekend. We tried other weather-sites for a friendlier prediction, but all of them were very specific about icy weather in the Eastern Cape.
The mountains surrounding Lady Grey were white with snow – snow lying on the lawns - when we joined the Big-bakkies-loaded-with-bicycles-and-boats influx into the small town late on Friday afternoon.
The hikers would leave at 4:30 on Saturday morning. We were planning to see them off, and then be back in bed by 4:40-ish. Tweet had some marshal-duties at the first checkpoint, however, and it didn't take much to convince us to go with … so within 5 minutes of the invite we were on our way to the runners' first checkpoint – with bakkie until it could go no further, and then a little over 2 kays on foot through thick snow and with a full moon to light up the way. Our checkpoint-duties included attacking the camera-crew and all the incoming hikers with snowballs (which disintegrated as soon as you threw them). Later, on our way down, we could see the silhouettes of the last two groups on a snow-laden ridge with the sun rising behind them.
Life was good.
Camping that night in Balloch – the snow glistened in the still-full moon while we waited for the hikers to come in. Huge campfires & a lamb-potjie brewing in the cave.
The next morning we had to outcycle a developing snowstorm :)
By the time we reached the top of Lundean's nek, it was snowing in Balloch where we camped the previous night. The temperature was dropping very quickly - it was already way below zero, if the frozen bladder-mouthpieces & frozen chocolates was anything to go by. From there it's a 14 kays downhill to the first checkpoint with the icy wind in your back - the bicycle just wanted to GO - WOW!
Having a very bad reputation with navigation, I was determined to not get lost this time. The instructions were very clear: Every time the road splits, keep right. So, there was this split in the road. The right one was closed for road works. The map clearly indicated that I must go right – so I did. And I saw bicycle tracks – well, at least 2 bicycles' tracks. Climbed up a very steep hill, and then some more. Kids asking me "Waar gaan jy?"
"To Majuba's Neck, can I go this way?"
"Ja, net om die draai," came the reply.
So I went around the corner, higher and higher. To a T-junction that wasn't indicated on my map. Stay right, were the instructions, so I turned right and climbed some more. No bicycle tracks any more. At last saw someone, asking for directions.
"Lesotho"
"What, am I in Lesotho?"
"Yes"
"Where's South Africa?"
"that way"
Around a few corners I could see the other cyclists far below – what an exhilarating feeling to
(a) know where I am and
(b) have to go go downhill to where I'm supposed to be!
Life was good.
The stretch between 80 and 120 kays was straight into an icy headwind, it was not fun. Sometimes the wind would be from the side; it would blow me from the left side of the road where I was cycling, to the other side of the road. Peddle back to the left side, just to be blown back to the other side again. I could see 2 cyclists ahead of me, but just couldn't catch them. Waited a few minutes for someone from behind to catch up with me while I raided my backpack for chocolates, but then gave up and fought the wind on my own again.
Life was not so great then.
At the next checkpoint I realised that I lost my map, so I waited for the next cyclists to come along. We cycled together for a while, with Adrian urging me to go faster - did I look, by any chance, like i was ABLE to go any faster, i wondered. But he kept insisting that I "race" the girls - as far as going at 10 kays an hour could be considered "racing" ... with the icy wind now from behind, I succumbed, but the break-away didn't last long - Dalene and Lobby outsprinted me on the last hill - there just wasn't anything in my legs left!
So now the AR girls (Dalene, Lobby & Lisa) and the AR Chix (Sam, Liz and myself) were tied … with Liz coming in a few seconds before Lisa, and then Dalene & Lobby coming in a few seconds before me. The whole race came down to the paddling leg.
My Suunto recorded a temperature of –3 degrees inside the tent on Monday morning. There was ice all over Sam's sleeping bag … frost gathered your jacket as you do morning-camping-things. Adrian shortened the paddle-leg because of the cold, so we could start an hour later.
To the amusement of those around us, we almost tipped the boat before the start. The water that comes from your paddle on the up-stroke, froze on our life jackets...Sam had a collection of icicles on her peak - very pretty. We had to get out of the boat a few times to get off rocks & sandbanks, & the thought of tipping the boat in that water was quite scary. For the first 2 hours in the boat we couldn't drink anything, because the bladder-mouthpieces were frozen again
The gorge was beautiful, and we paddled with Ugene, Lobby & Dalene & Vicky & a few other boats, solving the world's problems until someone would get stuck on a sandbank … then it's your turn to get stuck on a sandbank, & the others would catch up again. A few rapids & bubblies to test your balance.
By the time we could see the finish a kilometer away, my arms felt like they would break off. The boat was getting tippier as we got more tired, and we were in real danger of tipping the boat. The water levels were very low, so we zig-zagged across the river to avoid sandbanks, paddling much further than intended – the end just didn't come any closer! Then Ugene's boat tipped for no apparent reason, we got stuck on a sandbank one last time, and then finally Alex sprinted us to the finish … where he spectacularly tipped his boat just as he crossed the line.
The paddle very sensibly finished at a hot spring, so we jumped into the warm pool to thaw the frozen toes & hands before prize giving & the long drive back.
The slogan on a coke light can say: "Here's to living life light". There was only one can on coke light left in the cooler box, so we shared it, toasting the event and life in general: "Here's to living life."
Monday, June 11, 2007
Sabie Shenanignas
When i was a kid, i had a storybook about a boy with a huge red suitcase that he lugged with him everywhere he went. The story starts where someone asked him if he really needs everything in the suitcase. He then unpacks every item, remembering where & when he used it, and decides that it is a useful item to carry along. The book ends with the final item that he never used, but just as he wants to chuck it out, something happens and he packs that back into his huge red suitcase and carry on with his journey.
Jan Ever-ready FrequentFlyer is almost like that - i remember one cold night after a D&D ride he pulled out a blanket out of his magic hat that he shared with MichH & i (the blanket, not the hat) ... but i digress.
Between Jan & I we had 2 sets of goldlinks, a multitool, 2 handfuls of cableties, a huge roll of plaster, a few spokes & spanner, cable, spare tubes, lube, and some other odds & ends. (ok, ok, i'll admit: "between Jan & I" actually means that Jan had all these tools.)
We thought we were ready for any eventuality - that is, until the bolt holding my saddle to the seatpost, broke off about a kilometer from the top of a monster-climb up to one of Sabie's mountain peaks.
We arrived in Sabie latish the friday night - it was probably already saturday morning, to be more precise. Since
Jacques didn't go along, we had to pitch our own tent. My toes were freezing inside the ice nino down sleeping bag - pack warm bags & clothes for the Induna next weekend!
Registration was at 9 on saturday morning (now why can't all race organisers have such civilised starting times?). We crawled out of the tents at about quarter to nine, brewed some coffee, and received our starting times. The novice teams would start at 11, with the more experienced teams starting later.
Plenty of time to get the bikes ready and brew some more coffee. Half an hour before our start time we collected the race instructions. The glowworms (undercover in black & gray) were ready for the adventure. We started almost right in front and were leading the race for a few moments ... that's until we took a wrong turn, and Daleen's team (the WYSIWYGs) passed us.
The race format is brilliant. You never have to digest "54 km to go". The distance (and fortunately the hills too) are broken up into doable chunks: climb for 420 metres, pass over the crossing, continue up for 1.4 kays, turn left, continue up the hill for 760 metres, then turn right and cycle up the track. continue for 130 metres, turn left up the hill.
(Notice the repetitive use of the word "up".)
the day-stage was about 55 kays (without scenic detours) and there was a cut-off at 5 o'clock that evening, if you
wanted to continue with the night-stage of 45 kays back from mac-mac to sabie.
We caught up with Daleen & Pieter on a long steep hill on the way to the top of the mountain. we cycled with them for a while - not much chatting going on, though, because you need breath for that, and there wasn't much spare oxygen on that mountain that day!
about a kay from the top, i heard "clonk" - a seatless bicycle doesn't make for a very comfy ride :(
Jan fixed the saddle with cableties while the stronger teams (who started way after us) passed us - what a pleasure to see them power up that hill! About half an hour later my saddle was ready, and we were on our way again. But, as I discovered on saturday, a saddle takes a little abuse on a hill, and it wasn't long before I broke some of the cable-ties, then some more, and we had to stop again. Jan made another plan, this time involving lots more cable-ties, a whole roll of plaster, and another half an hour. Just after we reached the top of the climb, the saddle was wobbly and unreliable again. We had 20-something kays to go, but we realised that we were in real danger to miss the 5 o'clock cutt-off. Jan's seatpost was too thick for my frame, so we had to continue.
An hour (and some more minor climbs) later I realised that I won't have the energy to finish this race without a saddle, even though Jan pushed me up most hills, and waited patiently for me when i couldn't go further. We stopped again to re-think my saddle-less situation. A few minutes later another team came past us, and (like tobias from my childhood-storybook) had an extra seat-bolt in his bag ... we fixed the saddle, but by then we had about 17 kays to go, with just under an hour to cover that distance ... we knew we were out of the race, but chased time anyway ... what a pleasure to ride with a stable saddle!
There was an AWESOME downhill of 6 kays, it just went down and down and down - faster and faster and faster and slightly out of control - i'm still walking around with a grin on my face!
We arrived at dusk (and 40 minutes after the cut-off) in Macmac with mixed feelings - disappointed about not being able to continue, but grinning from ear to ear about the stunning cycling experience that day. The total ascent for the daystage was a cool round 1800 metres...with a matching 1500 metres of descent. The extra 300 metres of altitude would be for the nightstage.
With about an hour and a half to go until the night stage would start, we tried to convince one of the organisers to
allow us to continue - in the mean time we had to get the bikes ready for the nightstage, find warm clothes and
nightgear for ourselves, boiling water for hot chocolate, and restock on water, junglebars and snacks. We soon realised that the darksone wasn't going to happen for us. So i didn't get to test my new toecaps that was suppose to keep my toes from freezing. (will have to do that on thursday, then)
We did see 2 specialised bikes with lights that looked like they would light up Loftus, though. Would love to see them on a D&D ride once :)
and we did get to cheer Daleen & Pieter on their way out when they started the nightstage. We missed them at the finish though, mainly because we were trying out the local beer in a local pub ... sorry D1 :( !
As consolation for the missed nightride, Jan showed me some of Sabie's singletracks & downhills the sunday morning after the prize-giving-breakfast.
wow what a place!! wow what a ride, what a weekend! And we'll just have to go back next year to do the nightstage too ...
And we'll take a spare seat-bolt with.
***
the only question that remains is:
if (hypothetically speaking, of course) i am contemplating a dual suspension for some of the singletrack that i saw this weekend (and particularly on sunday morning), what should i look at / spend / buy?
only out of theoretical interest, of course :)
Jan Ever-ready FrequentFlyer is almost like that - i remember one cold night after a D&D ride he pulled out a blanket out of his magic hat that he shared with MichH & i (the blanket, not the hat) ... but i digress.
Between Jan & I we had 2 sets of goldlinks, a multitool, 2 handfuls of cableties, a huge roll of plaster, a few spokes & spanner, cable, spare tubes, lube, and some other odds & ends. (ok, ok, i'll admit: "between Jan & I" actually means that Jan had all these tools.)
We thought we were ready for any eventuality - that is, until the bolt holding my saddle to the seatpost, broke off about a kilometer from the top of a monster-climb up to one of Sabie's mountain peaks.
We arrived in Sabie latish the friday night - it was probably already saturday morning, to be more precise. Since
Jacques didn't go along, we had to pitch our own tent. My toes were freezing inside the ice nino down sleeping bag - pack warm bags & clothes for the Induna next weekend!
Registration was at 9 on saturday morning (now why can't all race organisers have such civilised starting times?). We crawled out of the tents at about quarter to nine, brewed some coffee, and received our starting times. The novice teams would start at 11, with the more experienced teams starting later.
Plenty of time to get the bikes ready and brew some more coffee. Half an hour before our start time we collected the race instructions. The glowworms (undercover in black & gray) were ready for the adventure. We started almost right in front and were leading the race for a few moments ... that's until we took a wrong turn, and Daleen's team (the WYSIWYGs) passed us.
The race format is brilliant. You never have to digest "54 km to go". The distance (and fortunately the hills too) are broken up into doable chunks: climb for 420 metres, pass over the crossing, continue up for 1.4 kays, turn left, continue up the hill for 760 metres, then turn right and cycle up the track. continue for 130 metres, turn left up the hill.
(Notice the repetitive use of the word "up".)
the day-stage was about 55 kays (without scenic detours) and there was a cut-off at 5 o'clock that evening, if you
wanted to continue with the night-stage of 45 kays back from mac-mac to sabie.
We caught up with Daleen & Pieter on a long steep hill on the way to the top of the mountain. we cycled with them for a while - not much chatting going on, though, because you need breath for that, and there wasn't much spare oxygen on that mountain that day!
about a kay from the top, i heard "clonk" - a seatless bicycle doesn't make for a very comfy ride :(
Jan fixed the saddle with cableties while the stronger teams (who started way after us) passed us - what a pleasure to see them power up that hill! About half an hour later my saddle was ready, and we were on our way again. But, as I discovered on saturday, a saddle takes a little abuse on a hill, and it wasn't long before I broke some of the cable-ties, then some more, and we had to stop again. Jan made another plan, this time involving lots more cable-ties, a whole roll of plaster, and another half an hour. Just after we reached the top of the climb, the saddle was wobbly and unreliable again. We had 20-something kays to go, but we realised that we were in real danger to miss the 5 o'clock cutt-off. Jan's seatpost was too thick for my frame, so we had to continue.
An hour (and some more minor climbs) later I realised that I won't have the energy to finish this race without a saddle, even though Jan pushed me up most hills, and waited patiently for me when i couldn't go further. We stopped again to re-think my saddle-less situation. A few minutes later another team came past us, and (like tobias from my childhood-storybook) had an extra seat-bolt in his bag ... we fixed the saddle, but by then we had about 17 kays to go, with just under an hour to cover that distance ... we knew we were out of the race, but chased time anyway ... what a pleasure to ride with a stable saddle!
There was an AWESOME downhill of 6 kays, it just went down and down and down - faster and faster and faster and slightly out of control - i'm still walking around with a grin on my face!
We arrived at dusk (and 40 minutes after the cut-off) in Macmac with mixed feelings - disappointed about not being able to continue, but grinning from ear to ear about the stunning cycling experience that day. The total ascent for the daystage was a cool round 1800 metres...with a matching 1500 metres of descent. The extra 300 metres of altitude would be for the nightstage.
With about an hour and a half to go until the night stage would start, we tried to convince one of the organisers to
allow us to continue - in the mean time we had to get the bikes ready for the nightstage, find warm clothes and
nightgear for ourselves, boiling water for hot chocolate, and restock on water, junglebars and snacks. We soon realised that the darksone wasn't going to happen for us. So i didn't get to test my new toecaps that was suppose to keep my toes from freezing. (will have to do that on thursday, then)
We did see 2 specialised bikes with lights that looked like they would light up Loftus, though. Would love to see them on a D&D ride once :)
and we did get to cheer Daleen & Pieter on their way out when they started the nightstage. We missed them at the finish though, mainly because we were trying out the local beer in a local pub ... sorry D1 :( !
As consolation for the missed nightride, Jan showed me some of Sabie's singletracks & downhills the sunday morning after the prize-giving-breakfast.
wow what a place!! wow what a ride, what a weekend! And we'll just have to go back next year to do the nightstage too ...
And we'll take a spare seat-bolt with.
***
the only question that remains is:
if (hypothetically speaking, of course) i am contemplating a dual suspension for some of the singletrack that i saw this weekend (and particularly on sunday morning), what should i look at / spend / buy?
only out of theoretical interest, of course :)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
xtreme ironing - gatberg
Life is all about the little luxuries in life: hiking between towering peaks of the Drakensberg, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, pancake with lots of cinnamon and sugar (no lemon!) in rainy weather, make-up in the morning, a facial scrub before you go to bed, lycra by day and down by night, a proper supper with lots of fresh veggies, neatly pressed clothes.
*
A girl must know how to organise. Especially if you love life's little luxuries.
Organising a hike in the Drakensberg is easy enough. If you happen to like pancake for breakfast, then you take someone with who knows how to bake them. If you like veggies, then you carry them up the mountain & insist that you get the first cooking-turn (to contain the weight in your backpack.) If you want to make-up & scrub in a mountain, then you keep an eye open for miniature lipsticks, creams, lotions & potions to keep the weight of your backpack within manageable proportions. If you like good coffee, then you invest in a gadget that can brew fresh Mocha Java on the top of the Drakensberg Escarpment (and carry condensed milk to drink it with, of course). If you like lycra & down, you can bend your MasterCard to your heart's content (or merely until it's maxed out) at the Capestorm-shop in Bryanston.
The neatly pressed clothes, however, proved a bigger challenge. Clothes out of a backpack just never look tidy, no matter how carefully you packed it. It seemed that there were some things, after all, that your MasterCard couldn't buy.
That was about to change, though, with the discovery of the D&D crowd, a slightly crazy writer's club constantly in search of (usually nocturnal) adventures so that they have something to write about. After some careful research, it seemed that there were people willing to carry the ironing board & iron up the mountain for you. The extreme ironing-challenge was on, and Gatberg was the ideal spot.
The Extreme Iron-team couldn't stand the idea of other people having fun & them not being part of it, so the adventure had to start with the Easter weekend's Thursday-night-ride - a 45-kay Dark & Dirty. After the ride, some of the extreme ironists showered while the rest of the team packed Weazul's car - the only car in the team that would (almost) fit four people, four backpacks and a tent. They were on their way.
Somewhere before Harrismith the SleepMonster attacked the team members, so we stopped for two hours at a Wimpy while Weazul & Daemon entertained us with stories of funnily-rigged abseils & strange rock-climbing-techniques. Great for boosting your confidence in the team's abilities.
Arrived at Monk's Cowl early on Friday morning, signed the mountain rescue register, and sat down for a long breakfast: espresso, cappuccino, bacon, eggs, scones & cream. Just before lunch we ran out of excuses, so we had to start the hike up to the contour path.
Lots of excitement & attention from fellow-hikers – what on earth were we planning to do with the ironing board in the mountain? One grumpy old girl with wrinkled clothes complaining about mountain ethics. (What? Who wants to look Dark Wrinkled & Dirty like her, if you can look Neat & Tidy like us?)
Before long we found the first ironing spot. Extreme Ironman Jacques scaled the boulder & we waited for innocent hikers & passers-by to witness the spectacle. The disbelief and surprise on their faces –something your MasterCard can't buy! The girl, not noticing your backpacks with the ironing board at the waterfall, asking Weazul if he saw the people with the ironing board, speculating what they are up to – something else your MasterCard can't buy.
The previous night's lack of sleep caught up with us, & we stopped at the first possible camping spot. Some of the team members caught a bath in the mountain stream, but most of the team members just sat around. Jacques pitched the tent. Jacques pitched the ironing board & plugged the iron into a tree. Jacques fetched water. Jacques ironed. Jacques did pretty much everything to do in and around a camp. A very handy camping tool indeed!
More innocent passers-by speculated about our intentions with the ironing board.
Saturday morning broke rainy and wet, but we were oblivious – slept until about 11 or something. Daemon complained about sleeping next to Weazul, everyone complained about sleeping in the same tent than Daemon, Weazul baked some pancakes for a late breakfast, and Jacques broke up the camp, fetched water, washed dishes, and did about everything there is to do around a camp in the morning. Then we hiked into the rain.
By the time we arrived at the campsite below Gatberg, we were soaking wet. It would be impossible to take the Gatberg ironing-pictures in that weather, so we called it a day. Some of the team members caught a bath in the mountain stream. Most of the team members just sat around. Jacques pitched the tent in the rain. Jacques pitched the ironing board & plugged the iron into a tree in the rain. Jacques fetched water in the rain. Jacques ironed in the rain. Jacques did pretty much everything to do in and around a camp in the rain.
Weazul had some mountain-mix with tadpoles for lunch.
The girl in the team had to go fetch the water needed for the evening meal & coffee because Daemon was too scared of the Drakensberg-cats that was about to attack him. He redeemed himself, though, with a scrumptious pasta-supper – the man can cook!
The man can cook, but he SO cannot make morning-coffee! By the time he found the pot, figured out how to operate the stove, found the coffee, measured the coffee, got water out of a bladder into the pot, found a spoon, found the condensed milk, and figured out how the coffee-gadget worked, everyone was wide awake – he'll just have to keep practising morning-coffee until he gets it right.
It was still raining. We climbed Gatberg sans the ironing board – extreme ironing in that weather would not be possible – and would indeed be dangerous. Visibility was so restricted that we accidentally found ourselves on TOP of Gatberg's gat, instead of INSIDE it. Thank you, Weazul, for giving me a hand when I felt slightly insecure and unstable on those loose rocks :)
On our way back to the camp, a few hikers were coming down into the campsite from the other side – their body-language showed their surprise when they saw the ironing board neatly pitched next to the tent – more stuff your MasterCard can't buy.
By the time we arrived back at the campsite, Daemon was in the mood for some serious adventure-race-training, so we decided to break up camp and walk straight out. Jacques washed dishes, made coffee, packed up the wet tent, packed just about everyone's backpacks, and did pretty much everything that needs to be done in and around a camp. Did I mention that we were wet? The gentlemen in the team graciously allowed the girl to bath and put on dry clothes at the first possible waterfall, and then we walked off into the sunset and into the night.
We spent the night in a warm dry place after Weazul baked some more pancakes, & on Monday morning we headed home via the touristy route – doing all the touristy things like shopping in touristy towns & looking at touristy Lesotho-waterscheme-pipes.
A great weekend with great people – thank you guys!
Credits:
- Jacques, the incredible camping tool
- Weazul & Daemon – an entertainment system on legs
- Mich – for lending us your tent; we would've been seriously wet in mine :)
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
In search of Dirt
The Vitalstatistics:
The date: 20 March 2007
The occasion: a Beeg Nite Out
The distance: 79.9 kays
Time out there: 6 hours 18 minutes
The actual riding time: 4 hours 30 minutes
The average: 17.8 km/h
The altitude gain: 680 metres
The Cast:
16 nightriders: Oupa Gert, PowerGirl (with the usual heavy AR backpack), Hardy (with the usual heavy backpack with the baseball bat sticking out to scare any potential attackers), QT, Bennie, Sybrand, Wollies, the Thug, D1, William, Con, Pieter, Ian, JP and Marius. And I
The Scene:
Each D&D outride starts the same: You arrive at the D&D centre; get your bicycle ready, check the lights, greet everyone else (this usually gets noisier the more girls there are on a particular ride), & sometimes chatting to someone who can’t ride that night but arrives in his work attire to wish you well.
Wednesday was a public holiday, offering (some) the rare opportunity to sleep in after the previous night’s ride. So Tuesday simply had to be a beeg nite out.
The riders for the night included the old-timers, the every-timers, the some-timers & even a new face.
You wait for the last cyclists to get their bicycles ready for the night’s adventure, then ride to the garage to meet Hardy & Bennie where they stocked up on jungle bars - and finally the games can begin.
Headlights, Taillights, Helmets, and … Action!
Like all other D&D rides, the ride starts by flying down king-of-the-hill, around the traffic circle & then onto the dirt track. Unlike other dirty nights, this happened in broad daylight ‘cause you (at least tried to) leave a little earlier than usual.
So it was on to the air force base, around the garage-corner, down VO2Max hill into the sunset, over the sewerage-stream, down to the SPCA, & next to the railway lines. Switch off your headlamp, because it only lights up the dust kicked up by the bicycle in front of you. The last thing that looks vaguely familiar is the area around Smuts house – and then – gone. ‘Cause as soon as you get to know the cycling routes, a new fence is erected, a new development is built, or the Hardenburgs think up a new route. Just to keep it interesting – and to keep you coming back for more
Some shockwaves as you pass under power cables, then through a veld on fire, & on to a sweet track with a squatter camp on one side where Elsie’s wheel decided it’s enough. A quick fix, & you’re on the road again, with excited greetings & shouts from the community members – they probably don’t see 16 cyclists (at night, nogal) riding right past their camp.
Now onto corrugated dirt road with Sybrand telling stories (and asking Bennie & Hans every now and again to confirm it) about QT’s need for speed when they scouted the route a few weeks ago.
After some mad chases up QT’s hill, you reach the first jungle-bar-stop and Hardy tells the legend of the ghost of a girl from a long time ago … with the appropriate light-effects to go with it when you signalled the ghost-girl, nogal.
After the brief spell, you’re on the road again. But Hardy discovers a flat tyre. Pump. Race down the hill. Flat. Stop. Change tubes. Pump. Race to catch up with the others. Flat again.
Starry skies. No wind. No sound, except from the 16 slightly crazy cyclists. No moon – the only light is from 16 bicycles with 15 headlamps & 15 handlebar-lights and the occasional ambulance or rattlecar (from driving on the corrugated roads too often) passing slowly to witness the spectacle. The long yellow grass & dry dust tells you that it is autumn already. There’s a chill in the air that confirms the end of summer.
Hardy pumps. Hans pumps. Hardy pumps. QT watches. QT comments. Bennie comments. Sybrand comments. Finally you’re on the road again.
The pace picks up, & then you get to the end of the corrugated road. Hardy’s magical backpack produces hot coffee for all. There’s talk of easing the pace a little, but that’s promptly forgotten as soon as you hit the road again. You try to keep up with Oupa Gert and the Tug on the dirt next to the tar road, with a few stops to regroup. Then you turn into proper dirt road again.
It’s a perfect windless starry night. No sound, except wheels turning & cyclists chirping & chatting. You want to be no-where else than on your bicycle on that moment on that road. And with these slightly crazy people
By the time you reach the garage, everything’s closed. So Hans rigs the locked tap, you fill your bladder, you eat your jungle bar, and then you cycle off into the night again.
There are lots of warnings from Hardy (with confirmation from Bennie) about the loose rock on the next downhill, but it’s paved now. You switch off your headlight because it only lights up the dust, and then it’s downhill, regroup, more downhill, regroup. Then a magical rocky uphill single track – most attempted it, some walked it, some almost cycled it all the way to the top – wow, well done! You will have to come back one day & cycle the whole darn thing
Oupa Gert’s wheel requires a quick pump, & then you speed off into the darkness again.
An uphill. QT picking up the pace again … and picking it up, and picking it up until you’re almost dead at the top of the hill – gee-whiz girl, where do you get all the energy? Bennie fixes your breaks, & then you’re ready again. Some tar, & then off to the right in search of single track once more.
From somewhere you join Atterbury road. You stay on the sweet downhill single track all the way. In the back of your mind there’s something vaguely familiar about where you are – and a gnawing feeling that there’s a mountain between where you are & where your car’s parked. But the current moment is the only one that exists – and oh what fun it is to ride downhill single track in the dark!
Then you hit Hans Strydom. Bennie says goodbye & cycles off home.
There’s something blissful about not knowing where you are – ignorance of the hills to come make them somehow more tolerable. But you know where you are. And there’s no getting away from it: the only way to get back to your car, is over that mini-mountain.
But the current moment is the only one that exists. So you put your head down & conjure up the energy to cycle up the hill. Those traffic lights in the distance, they are at the top. There is no other life; there is only now.
Long live Elsie-with-the-backpack, Queen of Hans Strydom hill! You go, girl!
It’s a downhill cruise to the shopping centre & the cars. Another hill conquered. Another magical night in the dark. Fifteen dirty happy slightly crazy riders, 15 dusty bicycles & 15 huge smiles. What a night!
The Credits
Coffee provided, carried & kept warm by the Hardenburgs.
Scouting of the route done by the Hardenburgs, Sybrand, Bennie, Hans, Oupa Gert.
Sweeping courtesy of Hans
The excellent company en route – provided by all the knightriders – thank you SO much everyone for keeping training fun!!
Special thanx to Clinton & QT for the enthusiasm that keeps the night-rides alive, fun, entertaining, interesting & excellent training.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
St Pete & Moscow
Swan Lake. Can't be in Russia and not watch a Tchaikovsky balet.
The Russion version of Dark&Dirty - leaving from the Winter Palace!
Lemon ice cream on Red Square.
This church was rebuilt after communism fell. That's real gold on that roof.
The Russion version of Dark&Dirty - leaving from the Winter Palace!
Lemon ice cream on Red Square.
This church was rebuilt after communism fell. That's real gold on that roof.
Elbrus - insulting the mountain gods
Elbrus. What a beautiful mountain – we saw it the first time when we were acclimatising on another mountain in the area – and what better way to acclimatise than to go up as high as the ski lifts will take you, and then walk a bit extra for a picnic on the summit. I loved the ski lifts – quiet, no-one chattering in your ears, with a great view of the mountain you came to climb on the one side, & snow-capped mountains with dark blue glaciers and a live avalanche on the other side.
Mt Elbrus itself is huge, but you only realise it once you start climbing the real mountain. We went up with cable cars and ski lifts as far as they would take us – probably the whoosie way to do it! The last ski lifts stop almost at the Pruitt of Eleven huts. The view is something out of this world: the (slightly intimidating) twin peaks of Elbrus on the one side with blue-green crevasses at the bottom, and snow-capped mountains on all three the other sides – this view alone made the trip worthwhile - you have to go see that for yourself! I had visions of the pictures I would take from the summit – but that was not to be.
My backpack weighed far over 20 kg's with the tent, cold-weather-gear, harness, ice-pick and other ice-gear, and minus-25degrees-sleeping-bag. I have an 80-litre-bag, but when the sleeping bag alone is in there (properly squashed), my backpack is half full!
We dragged the backpacks to above the barrel-huts, pitched the tents, put our crampons on the snow-boots and then went for an acclimatisation-hike up to the next day's campsite.
It was a beautiful clear sunny day. I vaguely remember someone insulting the mountain-gods, and someone else shouting an apology to them: "Mountain-gods, he was only kidding! It's a joke, please, he didn't mean that!"
But it was too late – you don't insult a mountain-god & get away with it. That evening, just as supper was almost cooked, the weather turned against us, & it only cleared up once we were off the mountain. It started with a thunderstorm & turned quickly to hail. Elsie (my tent-mate) had to go for a wee; the hailstones bruised her bum!
Somewhere during the night the storm calmed down a bit, and we woke up in a snow-covered tent that looked like an igloo, and virgin snow all around. It was beautiful! We melted some of the snow for morning-coffee & drinking-water, packed the tents & then built a snow-man while we waited for the others to pack & get ready.
If you ever want to experience a "big mountain" without having to summit, this is the one. There're huts at all the campsites, & where the ski-lifts can take you no further, you can hitch a lift with a snow-plough from one hut to the next! Or if you want to climb the mountain, but don't want to carry your backpack, you can send that up with the snowplough. The huts are comfortable enough – there's a stove that always have boiling water – just add some snow to the pot every now and again – and dormitory-beds with mattresses…climbers' non-climbing significant others can share in the whole experience without too much discomfort. Two members of our party took the snow-cat to the last day's hut - & it corrupted them totally; they decided there & then that they are not even going to attempt the summit.
Not sure exactly how many nights we spent on the mountain. Anyway, we generally dragged our backpacks to the next campsite, pitched tents, & then hiked up to the next day's campsite to acclimatise. The last night before our summit bid we camped at the blue hut. Lots of garbage lying around there :(
By this time the weather was really bad; everyone opted to sleep in the hut, except my tent-mate (who is climbing Denali in May and wanted to get used to the expedition-style camping) and I ('cause I was sharing a tent with her)!
Still think it might have been warmer in the tent than in the hut – the minimum temperature that my watch recorded the night before we attempted the summit (with a snow-storm outside) was zero. The -25°-sleepingbags a total overkill! We cooked in the hut & I got warm water from there to bath & wash my hair – heaven! It certainly was quieter in the tent than in the hut – two Italians got off the mountain in the wee hours of the morning, & apparently they made a big commotion in the hut trying to warm up again. We were oblivious of it all & at least got a good night's rest.
Summit-night just before three in the morning the weather cleared up a bit and we decided to go for it. We were so far north, I expected it to get light by 5-ish, but the time-zones are the same as Moscow's – so the sun would set very late, but rise only at 6-ish. Staying awake during those first few dark hours was very difficult – the sleep-monster attacked me big time! But there were stars & the weather was better than it had been in days. By the time we reached Pushtakov rocks (to where we hiked the previous day after pitching tents & a snowball-fight) 3 people already turned around. It was freezing cold, the biting wind picked up & you dare not take your gloves off to take a picture. A pity, because the signs of the temperature were beautiful: frost in every crease and seam of every rain-jacket & on the backpacks, eye-lashes covered in frost, frozen droplets on the bits of hair visible under the hoods, frozen breath on the outsides of the buffs that covered mouths and noses.
The sun rose shortly after, but visibility was restricted to a few metres due to snow blowing all over the place. The only way we knew we were making progress, was the guide telling us every now and again where we were (according to his GPS), and our watches that told us that we were gaining altitude fast. We had to be at the summit by 2 o'clock if we wanted to be off the mountain before dark, and we were making good progress in spite of the howling wind.
We seldom stopped – it just is too cold! So we never realised that the wind blowing into the backs of our rain jackets & hoods was already gale-force. At about 1-o'clock we were about 200 metres (horizontally) from the summit – according to our guide, it would have taken half an hour at the speed we were going. A group of people with National Geographic-branded clothing came from the front, saying that it was really dangerous up there; they almost blew away & the wind is still picking up. When we stopped, we realised that we could hardly hear each other above the wind, & visibility was about 1 metre.
We had to make a call – going for the summit, or going down. We were SO close. But there was one particularly dangerous climbing-spot between us andthe summit about which both Lance and the Russian guide were worried. Tanya was very tired, & I knew that once she would turn around, I would be the weakest link. Anyway – we could not leave one person there to wait for us, and turning around on your own with no-visibility would have been a no-brainer. If you get lost there, you might end up in the crevasses … & if you wait the storm out, the night might catch you & you might – no, you will - die of exposure. We decided to turn around – it was heartbreaking! But we opted to live – so that we can try again, or so that we at least could tell the tale.
The going down was the hardest part of the whole day. The gale force wind was now in our faces (& I got some frostbite to show for it!). The scarpas (the plastic snow-boots) were eating into my shins & I couldn't take any painkillers because I hadn't eaten anything since that morning 3-ish. (My shins are still sensitive at those spots & it's now almost six months after that day!) As we went lower, the snow became slushy & the crampons (even with anti-snow-collecting-plates beneath them) collected snow underneath, so that it became a balancing act to stay on top of them. Every five steps you had to stop to remove the snow. Later we removed the crampons & tried to slide-ski down, but that made the boots eat even more into my shins. It might be a design-thing: Tanya had the same boots and the same problem, but none of the guys with those boots had any problems at all. Elsie used Scarpas on Aconcagua and arranged other boots for this mountain; she was fine. I'll definitely get different shoes if I do something similar again.
We arrived back at the blue hut by 5-ish. Lower down visibility was much better –just as well, 'cause you can easily miss the hut. Erik (who turned around early that morning) missed the hut & only realised it once he was far below it. That last 100 metres to the hut was the longest 100 metres I've EVER done. And tea never tasted so good!! That evening we discussed if we were gonna try again the next day – we had an extra day on the mountain available. But I just couldn't face coming down with those boots again, and I guess everyone was tired – so the next day we went down to the ski lifts & back to our hotel for a hot shower, chilli vodka & Russian beer. Bliss! The next day was a beautiful clear sunny day; the summit clearly visible.
There are more stories – about the flight from Moscow to Mineralyevode-airport, the airport itself, the bus-trip to and from the mountain, St Pete, Moscow … will write them later!
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