It was early November. The erosion caused by the frequent summer-rains meant that familiar downhills were suddenly far more rutted than they were on the last few dusty winter-nights. Fresh new summer-weeds grew merrily all over the familiar trails, hiding the track in general, and the new potholes & ruts in particular, from the unsuspecting rider. The old familiar trails were new and exciting once more.
There were also the new single tracks, new challenges & new obstacles that came with moving to a new venue.
The scene was set for a few spectacular falls.
The knightriders were not disappointed. If there were an award for the most spectacular fall of the year, then the finalists would probably all come from the same ride.
***
Our story begins with a few intrepid cyclists, and then some more, greeting each other and chatting away as they were getting their bikes and lights ready for the weekly ritual that changes ordinary mountain bikers into exceptionally cool people. The weather-goddess put on a feeble attempt to scare our 20-odd Warriors of the Dirt with an electrical power display on the horizon. But by now they were used to her unpredictable whims, and like true Conquerors of the Dark, they all just ignored her. She sometimes does go away if you do that. And it was going to be an intro/xtro ride anyway, so if she does get grumpy later, the riders could just all opt out of the xtro-ride.
So, off they went. Hardy showed them an awesome playground with some short turns, drops, jumps, everything a dirty warrior could want :)
He allowed them to play a little, and then they were off to new challenges –
Up someone's single track, down someone else's route, up this way, down that way – and then suddenly something would look familiar again.
Big Dipper was coming up. The ideal spot for the Mummy to test his most recent acquirement: the custom-built green light that dims and brights with the speed of the bicycle. So down they went, a mad dash of single file-bikes, down to the bottom of the hill. Faster and faster. Will the light be bright enough to handle the Mummy's famous downhill-speed? Will the light be bright enough to reveal the ruts and rocks hidden under weeds, dust & starlight?
Stay tuned for another episode of the chronicles of the knightriders.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Flying is Fun
Samantha's got lots of 'other lives'. Shy sometimes cycle with me, i sometime paddle with her - we've done an adventure race or 2 together. One of her other lives and loves is flying - so one weekend she took me with. I did a tandem-flight with one of her friends. Lots of paragliders in the air; they physics similar to parachute but you'r in the air for a lot longer.
The most impressive part of the day was where Sam drove her 2x4 up a really technical 4x4 path - well done
a brilliant day out in the sun.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Midlands Mystery Mally
i like it when people say i'm scared of nothing - bu reality is that i'm scared of quite a lot of things ... like being lost in a forest in the dark all by myself, as i realised last weekend - i added another DNF to my repertoire this year, and this time, solely because i was scared. But thank you anyway, Eric :)
***
I do the D&D's partly because of the cool crowd of people that i get to ride with, but mostly because night riding is highly addictive ... up to a point where once a week isn't enough. So i googled every race calendar i could find for more night riding. Seems there's not a lot of night-riding going on in a year - you can take on a full adventure race in the hope that at least some cycling will be on single track at night, or there's the noon 2 moon and 24hours northern farms all on the same weekend, the sabie shenanigans, transbaviaans, and the midlands mystery mally (past weekend) - and that's about it :(
Oh yes, and then there's the non-stop-sani2c and the freedom-challenge if you've got a really bad case of addiction, or the telkom satellite night-MTB if you can justify the fuel & time to go there to cycle 10 kays.
The crater cruise sounded too much like a roadie-ride off road, so paul, jan, elja & i headed to midmar dam for a staged mountain bike race along the same lines as the sabie shenanigans: a rally-style race consisting of a 50 kay day stage followed by a night stage of 45 kays - if you don't get lost, that is :)
The day stage was over varied terrain, a few longish climbs, a hike & carry-your-bike section, a fast downhill through the forest, some rain-relief against the warm humid October-natal-air, some magnificent down hills that still make me smile thinking back, Jan & Paul catching up on us just as I discovered the broken derailleur & then realised that i lost my map - they picked the map up so i didn't have to go back up the awesome downhill, and then sommer fixed the broken derailleur while they were in the area ...
The transition was at a hotel somewhere between the forests & tracks & rivers & waterfalls; hot showers, hot chocolate, coffee, lasagna, even a comfortable coach for a quick snooze...
Anyway - before this becomes a race report - 'cos Frequent Flyer will do the proper write-up - let me come to the point of this email - the part where i opted for a DNF because i was too scared:
All but four teams withdrew from the night stage, and due to circumstances outside our control, the fireflies (elja & i) started the night-stage in the very last position. So now there were 3 (very strong) teams ahead of us somewhere out there, & we trailing behind. Just outside the town, a drunken guy wanted a lift, and when we ignored the request, started running with us. We outcycled him, but could still hear him shouting abuse after us for what seemed like hours... it was about then that we hit a corrugated downhill ... which was when i realised that i never put the brakes back after the derailleur-fixing episode at the hotel. I managed to stop to put the brakes back, all the while knowing that the shouting running guy is catching up on us ... long story short, i felt very uncomfortable and when we missed a turn-off a few minutes later and lost about 50 minutes climbing the wrong mountain, we realised that the other teams were now about an hour ahead of us; and we'll be alone the rest of the night, and that even if the derailleur held, & there were no other mechanicals, we'll have to stop every now and again to look at the map ... and stopping wasn't safe...
So we quitted.
If more teams entered, we wouldn't have felt so utterly lost & alone in the forest - it helps to know there are other people in the area.
And here, finally after all the ramblings, is the point of this email:
Why were there so few teams?
maybe there's just too much going on in a year?
maybe it clashed with the crater cruise?
maybe it's too expensive for gauteng-teams to go down to midmar, but at R420 per team entry (2 or 3 people, which included a hot shower, supper, midnight soup, rolls & hot chocolate, & breakfast) it was excellent value for money for the midlanders?
maybe night-riding is too daunting?
maybe the total distance of just under 100 for the day is too daunting?
maybe ... any other suggestions?
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Transition-disability causes Baviaans favourites their podium-position
Transition-disability causes Baviaans favourites their podium-position
Dark & Dirty Dispatch
Baviaanskloof, 19 August
One of the favourite teams to win this year's Trans-Baviaans challenge, a gruelling mountain bike race over 230 km, transitioned a sure podium-position away last weekend when they spent too much time in transitions socialising, eating and sleeping. The team spent about the same amount of time at checkpoints, as other teams took to finish the whole race, reports our correspondent from the Eastern Cape.
Team Dark & Dirty, who entered their third team due to all kinds of excuses from the first and second teams, were the favourites to win the competition, mainly because of all the publicity that their small & loony group of writers, riders and photographers enjoyed over the last few months.
The transitionally challenged team started the race with a mad sprint over the flattish and sometimes even downhill-part of the route. Jan Dekker was seen spinning like a yo-yo at a cadence approaching 300 revs per minute to keep up with team captain Hans Wolfaardt's crazy pace. Team Dark & Dirty were among the first 50 teams to arrive at checkpoint 1. 'I went quite fast', was all that Dekker had to say as he tucked into the hotdogs and coffee provided at the checkpoint.
No team could overtake Team Dark & Dirty when they were on their bicycles, averaging about 19 km/h over the total distance. Speed and fame, unfortunately, were not enough to win them glory, the team found out in the early hours of Sunday morning.
The team's original goal was to finish in 20 hours, and ahead of team Bloukous and Team Brother-In-Law. The tailwind and dry weather made for perfect riding conditions, and it soon became clear that neither the 20 hours, nor any other team (with a teamname starting with B) posed any threat to the Dark goals of the Dirty team.
From the first checkpoint, the team were a clear favourite among the checkpoint-staff, opposition team support teams, and paramedics. A paramedic at checkpoint 4 ascribed the team's popularity to the fact that they stopped and socialised with everyone at every checkpoint, instead of just racing past like other teams of their calibre. Team Dark & Dirty stayed in the first transition for more hotdogs, more coffee, and then sat down watching teams come and go, lubing their bums, lubing their bicycles, and thinking up all kinds of other excuses to postpone leaving the checkpoint. When they finally did leave, it was a mad dash to catch up with teams that passed them while they were transitioning. By the second transition the pattern of 'cycle hard, transition hard' that the team would follow through-out the race, was already firmly established.
The hardtail-unfriendly surface, freeride-bike-unfriendly hills, long fun downhills, more long fun downhills, gruesome climbs and stealth-mode riding by starlight, all contributed to the sore bums that would haunt the team from the first checkpoint. Dekker almost caused a riot in the team when he suggested that the reason for sore bums might be too much chocolate brownies.
When the race-pace became too hot on one of the rare occasions that the team could be found actually ON their bicycles, Carine Reyneke tried to wear her team mates out by discovering a puncture right at the top of a downhill, causing the ever-energetic team mates who waited in vain at the bottom, to climb the hill again to come to her aid.
When that didn't seem to slow the team down, she tried an old trick by breaking her seat post. Dark & Dirty Dispatch Readers will remember that she tried that very same trick a few months ago during the Sabie Shenanigans, causing Dekker much pain and grief to try and fix it, while she was taking a much-needed rest. This time, however, Dekker was ready for the onslaught: no sooner had the team been made aware of the broken saddle, or he was found lying sleeping next to the road, with gloves tucked in on both sides of his helmet to shut out lights from passing cars and bicycles, leaving Wolfaardt to take care of the mechanical breakdown.
Official investigations are still underway, but a preliminary report reveals several possible reasons for the long transitions that costed the team their race.
The perfect weather could have played a role in the team's reluctance to get out of the watering holes. 'In foul weather, a team might want to get on their bicycles and get the race over with, but the sunshine & tailwind might have reminded the cyclists of lazy Sunday-afternoons on thick grass under big trees', a paramedic explained.
Wolfaardt blamed the transition-disability on the changed menus. Racers were promised boring potatoes, but were offered braaivleis, potato salad and sosaties instead. At another transition they were promised coffee, but got harassed with cream-and-syrup-spiked hot chocolate, chocolate muffins and garlic rolls. 'I mean, what was the organiser thinking - it was more like a spud-crawl than a cycle-race', Wolfaardt was heard muttering to his team mates. 'How did the race organisers expect us to cycle after that? Being all sleepy like after a Sunday lunch & everything?' Official complaints will be lodged with the race organiser.
'We tried not to transition longer than we took to cycle the previous leg, but that was not always possible', Dekker was heard saying after a two-hour-long transition at checkpoint 5. (The cycle-leg prior to that checkpoint took them a mere 90 minutes.)
At checkpoint 6, the team finally found a way to keep Dekker from falling asleep at transitions when Wolfaardt devised a cunning plan that involved getting an innocent bystander to admire Dekker's bicycle and start discussing freeriding. This plan, however, also had its challenges, because neither Dekker nor the innocent bystander was prepared to leave the checkpoint before the necessary exchange of contact details.
Wolfaardt calculated that the team could change the 24-hour-event into a staged race by combining the time spent at each transition, and rather make a proper transition-area out of one of the transitions. 'We could pitch tents and sleep in proper sleeping bags', Wolfaardt proposed excitedly. Fears now exist that other teams will catch on with this trend, changing the Trans Baviaans into a multi-staged event and thereby robbing if of its status as the world's longest single-stage race.
One possible reason for Dekker's reluctance to wake up and get onto his bicycle after checkpoints was discovered after the race when Reyneke tried to move Dekker's backpack. It weighed about 70 kg's and help had to be called in to move the pack 2 metres to make space to sit.
Dekker was not available for comment.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Singletrackminded
Having never seen a "North shore-bridge", I had no idea what the organiser (and everyone else) was on about at the Sudwala pre-ride briefing. The sparkle and excitement in my freerider-buddies' eyes hinted that it might be technical stuff far above my or my bike's ability. The promised "chicken-runs" didn't put me at ease in the slightest - I remembered only too well that the so-called "chicken runs" at the downhill-competition the day after the Induna were still very much higher-grade.
The organiser spoke about single track and drop-offs, downhills & obstacles & bridges, North shore-style.
Yeah right. We started on dirt-road, did a quick loop through a tunnel, and then onto a never-ending climb - on tar. At the top of the tar-hill, we at last left the tar and continued the climb up a rutted jeep-track. Finally there was a water point, an Argustour-vibe and a downhill. The downhill didn't last long, though. But the next hill was short, and finally we were in a forest. The single track twisted and turned and I missed it a few times DeeKay-style. Then there was a piece of single track that looked like it was made a few days before - which is likely, due to last minute route-changes because of the fires that raged the area. The path was against a steep slope and you had to tackle it fast so that, by the time the earth disappears beneath your back wheel, you'll be over that patch already. Unfortunately there was a bottleneck - like sometimes happen on these juicy bits. People haven't heard of the 'speed can cure almost any obstacle'-theory yet. Finally the newly created track sloped downwards, and then joined with something out of this world - we were inside a mini-canyon with a play park of bridges, twists, turns, and more bridges. Once or twice I accidentally took the chicken-run (I'm still learning to look further ahead) and had to turn back so that I could attempt the real thing. Once or twice I was in the real thing before realising it, and it was too late to stop so I just had to continue - wow!
The rest of the route followed the same pattern: climbing on (sometimes very steep) rutted jeep-tracks and bombing down deep kloofs with twists & turns & rocks & bridges & broken bridges (deliberately, I suspect, because the wood seemed quite new) and very narrow bridges and very long bridges and bridges that turned in mid-air and bridges built at strange angles and steep turns that would throw your bicycle up against the track-wall, and drop-offs with low tree-branches that would grab your camel-back just as you cleared the drop-off or the obstacle. There were a few hair raising moments when I overestimated the angle of a bridge over a fence, and caught some air right at the top of the upside-down V-bridge...I would have been out of the race if the mountain bike-goddess didn't show some mercy & guided my wheels to a soft landing straight back on the bridge. There was some more climbing, and more bombing down into some or other technical heaven, then some waiting for a chance to pass who-ever's in front of you, and then another climb, where the slow-single-track-people would outclimb you again, another downhill and sometimes another bottleneck.
Every few kilometers you would hear a big noise, and a few 100 meters later the water point would come into sight - with loudspeakers & pom-pom girls cheering you on - the vibe was great & I felt like a champion as they cheered me into & out of each water point.
It's almost a week after the race and I still walking around with this stupid grin.
There's just one thing that this race doesn't have: ski lifts to the top of the many climbs. I guess I'll just have to learn to climb, so that I can avoid the bottlenecks by reaching the single track first.
Note to free riders, duallie-riders, Dark & Dirty-riders and other Mountain Bikers:
A girl on a hard tail wrote this report, and 'technical' for her is nothing special for anyone else. Not worth going to Nelspruit for this ride.
Note to roadie riders:
This ride is far too technical and you won't like it one bit. Don't take your MTB there for it's annual getaway. You might fall and bruise yourself - and we don't want you to walk around with a grin for a week after the ride and then convert to MTB.
The organiser spoke about single track and drop-offs, downhills & obstacles & bridges, North shore-style.
Yeah right. We started on dirt-road, did a quick loop through a tunnel, and then onto a never-ending climb - on tar. At the top of the tar-hill, we at last left the tar and continued the climb up a rutted jeep-track. Finally there was a water point, an Argustour-vibe and a downhill. The downhill didn't last long, though. But the next hill was short, and finally we were in a forest. The single track twisted and turned and I missed it a few times DeeKay-style. Then there was a piece of single track that looked like it was made a few days before - which is likely, due to last minute route-changes because of the fires that raged the area. The path was against a steep slope and you had to tackle it fast so that, by the time the earth disappears beneath your back wheel, you'll be over that patch already. Unfortunately there was a bottleneck - like sometimes happen on these juicy bits. People haven't heard of the 'speed can cure almost any obstacle'-theory yet. Finally the newly created track sloped downwards, and then joined with something out of this world - we were inside a mini-canyon with a play park of bridges, twists, turns, and more bridges. Once or twice I accidentally took the chicken-run (I'm still learning to look further ahead) and had to turn back so that I could attempt the real thing. Once or twice I was in the real thing before realising it, and it was too late to stop so I just had to continue - wow!
The rest of the route followed the same pattern: climbing on (sometimes very steep) rutted jeep-tracks and bombing down deep kloofs with twists & turns & rocks & bridges & broken bridges (deliberately, I suspect, because the wood seemed quite new) and very narrow bridges and very long bridges and bridges that turned in mid-air and bridges built at strange angles and steep turns that would throw your bicycle up against the track-wall, and drop-offs with low tree-branches that would grab your camel-back just as you cleared the drop-off or the obstacle. There were a few hair raising moments when I overestimated the angle of a bridge over a fence, and caught some air right at the top of the upside-down V-bridge...I would have been out of the race if the mountain bike-goddess didn't show some mercy & guided my wheels to a soft landing straight back on the bridge. There was some more climbing, and more bombing down into some or other technical heaven, then some waiting for a chance to pass who-ever's in front of you, and then another climb, where the slow-single-track-people would outclimb you again, another downhill and sometimes another bottleneck.
Every few kilometers you would hear a big noise, and a few 100 meters later the water point would come into sight - with loudspeakers & pom-pom girls cheering you on - the vibe was great & I felt like a champion as they cheered me into & out of each water point.
It's almost a week after the race and I still walking around with this stupid grin.
There's just one thing that this race doesn't have: ski lifts to the top of the many climbs. I guess I'll just have to learn to climb, so that I can avoid the bottlenecks by reaching the single track first.
Note to free riders, duallie-riders, Dark & Dirty-riders and other Mountain Bikers:
A girl on a hard tail wrote this report, and 'technical' for her is nothing special for anyone else. Not worth going to Nelspruit for this ride.
Note to roadie riders:
This ride is far too technical and you won't like it one bit. Don't take your MTB there for it's annual getaway. You might fall and bruise yourself - and we don't want you to walk around with a grin for a week after the ride and then convert to MTB.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Lessons & Observations on a roadie-ride
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.
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.
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."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)