Tall tales
MT Torrens 12 Hour race 26 November 2005 |
| Posted by Badmin (badmin) on Feb 15 2009 |
| Tall tales >> ENDURO |
A Mongrel report on the 12 hour from visiting author (repeat offender) Pete Stokes and an undisclosed contributor from the support crew.
----------------------Despite the possible oxymoron, time was not a prominent feature of reference in my twelve hour race. A more useful guide may've been the remaining level of skill available to be tapped, or the enthusiasm of the support crew for continued technical support. Maybe even the changing of the pegmen, or the depth of the layer of dust glued to my arms with that oh-so-tacky adhesive, SPF 30+ sunscreen. No matter how you want to measure it, one thing was for sure, time was not progressing along its normal 'sixty second per minute, sixty minute per hour' lines.
When climbing up the hill in the middle of the day, with no riders to be seen ahead or behind, one green bottle could fall many, many times, leaving me to wonder just how much the boys back at base camp were drinking.
Meanwhile back at base camp ---- *Grrrk* -Mission control, there is too much bourbon,* Grrrk* I repeat too much bourbon, over.
''I wont stand for this'' - SwissTony saves the day and purges a few cylinders into the TG1 (Tonys gut) gluggluglug. ahhhh, crisis averted. glugglugglug
Night falls, and the clicking of bats flying overhead leads me to delirious flights of fancy, where I've just awoken from a full day's sleep, where I can see in the dark and where a big, juicy cricket is the tastiest thing in the world. Then, with a start, Dr Karl reminds me that a microsleep can kill...
The jetty drop to the double through the berms and over the pallets is fun every lap. The mincer sucks it hard every lap.
One lap, out of curiosity, I decide to count the switchbacks on the first climb to the ridge. Eleven, all up. The next lap, somehow they've added two more in there. I feel like I should complain to the race officials for changing the track mid-race, but I'm the stoic type, so I push on regardless. To make my survey complete, a little later on I count all the switchback climbs on the course - I count twenty, but that might depend on how I define a switchback.
Meanwhile, back on the good ship HMS Scuppered ------ Captain! We've almost run aground! Garrr,Hard starboard to the esky men! *kssst *kssst, glugglugglug. Ahhhh, certain peril avoided, Garrr!. glugluglug
I carried tools, tubes and a pump the whole time, and fortuitously didn't need them once. Did a quick tyre change for Jayne, making sure to align the writing on the tyre sidewall with the writing on the rim - important stuff that. Now a big fan of the Slim Jim.
Was wired for sound from the outset. I'd created a twelve hour playlist and everything. I was happily bopping along to all the hits, when the bumpy conditions got the better of my iPod. Dammit, I thought these things were skip proof! The damn thing ended up freezing out completely, even refusing to relax under Joe's tender ministrations back at the camp. Six or seven or eight hours later (is skipping for that long a record?), it was working again, but by then I was in a rhythm of my own...
As we were making our way up the hill on the first lap, I was struck with an epiphany. The collective noun for a group of mountain bike riders is a 'congestion'.
Meanwhile, on outpost 4-17 beta , just past the KwikEMart (youcantmissit, if you see the big tree youvegonetoofar) --- ''Hand me the 3/4inch reverse cycle flux capacitor tweakmaster 4000, Stat!'' - Swiss, the young apprentice hastens in the direction of the toolbox and returns, offering a hammer and half a cheese sandwich, his eyes plead for approval - ''that'll do for now my dimwitted assistant, now where's that carbon Scott?'' glugglugglug
It's the 17th lap. It's dark. After this, I'm done. My riding style is very sloppy, at best. But at least now I'm onto the descent. Zip across the open section of the top paddock. Up over the jetty, across the double, into the berm,....Phhhaaaaaarrrk, where did my lights go! In the open, with lights from the oval, I can see just well enough to pick my way down to the forest, but the walk out to the pegman and back is long, dark and lonely? I'm well happy when I get back to the finish line to dismount for the last time.
Might have to invest in more boxes of Carboshotz. Yeah, they sure as hell don't taste like what they say they taste like, but goddamn boy, they keep you going through the day.
Meanwhile back at the ranch----- ''a sure thinks its nearing supa time jefthro, I tells ya I saw ma self one big rabbit today, grab dem shotguns and lets see if we can bag ourselves some for the cookin pot, uhu''... gluggluglug
The halfway point of the 'race', and I'm in a really good rhythm. The Trek is rolling along sweetly and I'm having fun on (almost) every section of the track. ''You know what??'', I ask myself,...''I reckon I should have a shot at doing a 24hr solo'', I continue, before I've even had a chance to answer myself. I don't respond immediately, and three hours later there's no need to. I know what I'm thinking. (''Stupid, optimistic fool...'').
Dressing up was fun, but I wonder, would I have done an extra lap without the added wind resistance of those big ears? And they were definitely a bit distracting when they got caught on low hanging branches. Perhaps next time I'll need to fold them back, scared rabbit style. Still, they were good for flicking away the flies, and the ladies loved them - you know what they say about the size of a guy's ears...
Meanwhile, back at the bar------gluggluggluglug,gluglugluglug, Quaff*, gluglugluglugglug, glugglugluglug, Quaff, gluglugluglugglug, glug gluglugglug
*Quaffing is like drinking, only you spill more
Last changed: Mar 20 2009 at 10:54 AM
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