Wednesday, 12 March 2014

Posted by Velouria Posted on 08:24 | 3 comments

2014 The Big Day Out

After my rather disappointing 24hr effort, I was left with the feeling that the season would slip by and I would be left with out a defining highlight. When I read about the antics of Richie Porte and Cam Wurf I just knew this was the redemption I was seeking. An epic adventure. A ridiculous all day ride. And I wanted to do it with someone. Finding someone who would ride with me on something like this excluded just about everyone that I know, except Captain Craig. If there is one guy that likes spending vast amounts of time on a bike almost as much as me, it's him.

Once we had agreed on doing something truly monumental, we had to iron out the details. What exactly would a monumental ride be for us "normal" guys (the mere fact that we were discussing this precluded us from being called normal)? Richie and Cam had done 403kms, but they are professional bike riders, so we settled on 250kms as a starting point. But that just didn't sound monumental. That would be tough, and hardcore, but we've 250kms before. We had to go further. It had to be over 300kms, and the thinking was that if we're going to go that far, why not go a little bit further. The furtherest I have ridden in one outing is 355kms, twice, at 24hr events. We had to top that. So we settled on 356+kms.

Captain Craig came up with a route, starting at my house and finishing at his house, and going through 11 towns around the Western Cape, over 5 passes, and through some of the most scenic countryside the Western Cape has to offer.

With the route organised we just had to find a day worthy of our endeavour. Scanning the long term forecasts on WindGuru and yr.no we spotted a likely candidate. A Wednesday with almost no wind, and a maximum temperature of 35 in the shade. We had our epic route, and an epic day to match.
At 5:44 we set off, not too sure if we would reach our goal, but keen to enjoy a day out on the bike where heart rate zones and Strava segments didn't matter. Riding bikes for the sake of riding bikes. Almost immediately we were struck by the realisation that 356kms is a long long way. An hour in and we were less than 10% of the way. Very quickly our approach changed from knocking off the miles to achieving mini targets - top of a climb, the next town, a coke stop etc. The less we thought about the kilometres, the quicker they passed us by, and with the beautiful scenery all around us to distract us, this was rather easy.
Almost immediately, we realised that WindGuru might have been lying to us. We had been promised a near windless day, yet we were toiling into a stiff headwind as we made our way from Stellenbosch to Franschoek. The wind got worse as we started the ascent of the Franschoek Pass, and for a brief moment we considered changing our route (and effectively wimping out). After careful consideration to Rule 5 we persevered on with the original plan.
Our first stop of the day was in Villiersdorp for a top up of water, after 86kms of riding. So far it felt like every other ride, we were still well within our comfort zones, and despite the horrid head wind, we were having a good time. We were already riding on virgin roads - although we had previously ridden in the area a few times during the Cape Epic. Before long we had knocked up 100km, and just like that, the wind dropped. The depressing part was the realisation that we still weren't even a third of the way into our big ride.
Our next stop was in Worcester, 140kms in, which on it's own would be good day's outing. When comparing it to what we still had to do, it seemed like a warm up ride. By now we were starting to feel the heat, as it picked up over 30C for the first time. Some coke and snacks in the air-conditioned comfort of the Shell Ultra City gave us a brief respite, before we set off to tackle the remaining 210kms.

By now we were riding from town to town, coke stop to coke stop, slowly accumulating kilometres. The scenery and surrounds became more important than the average speed and heart rate zone. We hit the bottom of Bainskloof after 6 hours of riding, with the temperatures in the high 30s. The sparkling water in the river below, much like the Sirens, were speaking to Captain Craig, luring him in with promises of relief from the heat. And much like Jason, we resisted - we had our journey to complete.
The relief of reaching the top of the climb was twofold - not only had we done most of the climbing for the day, we had also crossed the halfway mark. It's quite amazing to realise the psychological impact little milestones like this have. We were now homeward bound. And our first order of business was to stop for lunch in Wellington after enjoying the descent off Bainskloof. Nothing better than a Gatsby, a chocolate SteriStumpi, and a coke.
The temperature was now above 40C and still climbing, and if Captain Craig has one weakness on a bike (apart from descending - apparently), it's the heat. And since I'd asked him to come along on this ride, I felt I owed it to him to make sure he survived. That's the level we had dropped to - survival. One pedal stroke after the next. We were now no longer riding side by side and chatting, it was a return to our familiar Epic position of me on the front, and Craig behind, riding a steady tempo.
On the stretch from Wellington to Malmesbury we began to realise just what we'd gotten ourselves into. The water in our water bottles was like tea, our mouths were constantly dry, and the sun was baking down on our backs. We felt like chickens in a convection oven, the heat radiating off the tar and cooking us from below. By some miracle, we stopped at a wine farm before attempting Bothmanskloof Pass for Captain Craig to cool down, and for us to refill the water bottles. I turned my back for a second, only to be greeted with Captain Craig practically lying under a tap and dousing himself in water. After clearing my throat several times, and looking longingly at the hill, he reluctantly got the hint that we actually needed to continue on our ride. With bottles filled and core temperatures chilled, we set off to tackle the climb.
And about a kilometre later we found ourselves standing on the side of the road in 47C heat fixing a puncture. You might be able to spot a bit of grumpiness on Captain Craig's face ;)
With the puncture fixed, we made it to the top of the climb with a mere 125kms to go. Fifteen kilometres later and we made Malmesbury - a little later than planned - and had another welcome coke break.
Despite having done 240kms, the section of road the I loathe and fear the most in the Western Cape still awaited us - the soul destroying strip of tar from Malmesbury to Durbanville. There isn't one outstanding reason why I detest this road so much, but it is the sum of several small factors that work together to make this road The Highway to Hell. The surface is rough and uneven. It's a gentle drag uphill for most of the way. It's pretty much dead straight. It's directly into the prevailing wind. And there is absolutely nothing of interest to look at. If there was one stretch of road that could derail the big day out, this was it. But we hadn't come this far to let some road get the better of us. It took us an hour to do 25kms, and another hour to do the next 20kms, and in the process we gave up on 356+km. We were just too shattered and short on time that we opted for a short cut. Without that short cut, we would have had to call off the rest of the ride.

And just like he always does, Captain Craig came good as my legs started to protest by violently cramping. The only positive was that the nausea I was feeling from drinking too much coke was no longer my biggest issue. As we left Durbanville behind, the wind dropped and the sun dipped towards the horizon. It really was quite magical. With Table Mountain now almost within touching distance, we set off towards Blouberg and the Bike Path (people around here refer to it as if it is the only bike path), and our way to get through the tangle that is Cape Town's roads. We got onto the Bike Path, and I felt a change - my legs seemed to revive a little, and our mood lifted. Suddenly, we weren't riding a 356+km ride any more, we were just riding. In the City. On bikes. With all sorts of other people out and about exercising and enjoying the very best that the Cape has to offer. We wound our way through the City, and out towards Captain Craig's house.

We didn't quite achieve our intended goal of 356+kms. We did something more. We had an amazing day out, riding bikes because we can, and enjoying the very best that the Western Cape has to offer. We saw some amazing scenery, shared the road with some courteous and considerate drivers, and watched ordinary people go about their business, all from the comfort of our saddles.

Thursday, 6 February 2014

Posted by Velouria Posted on 23:06 | 1 comment

Oak Valley 24hr 2014

After my previous disappointment with the state of affairs of South African mountain biking at the 2013 Wines2Whales, it's refreshing to know that there still are a few events left on the calendar that hark back to the days of when it was more about the experience, and less about cost of your bike. Dirtopia's 24 hour races have always been such events and after some declining numbers in the past few years, it was great to see a massive turnout at Oak Valley.

No caption required
As I crossed the finish line at Stromlo last October, I vowed to never again ride a 24hr competitively. I'd had a good run and I'd proved everything I needed to prove (mostly to myself, as while there are other competitors in a 24hr race, ultimately you're just racing yourself). And yet late one December night, like Santa Claus sneaking around a house to eat the cookies and deliver presents, I found myself tiptoeing towards the study, making sure my wife was still sound asleep, to enter Dirtopia's 24hrs of Oak Valley. While I'd committed to enter, I still had an escape clause - I was just going to have fun, do a few laps, and drink some beer. Ride the single speed. No racing. My back and hands have still not recovered from the beating they took in Australia, nearly 3 months later.

The curse of the Number 1 board
Looking back, I think I'm addicted more to the training for 24hr races than the events themselves. They give me an excuse to spend large parts of my weekends on my bike, often alone, just enjoying the splendor and beauty that the Western Cape has to offer. I've been to places that I wouldn't otherwise venture, taken roads not because they go somewhere, but because they look interesting. There is something satisfying about uploading a 180km ride to Strava, knowing that no amount of KOMs or kudos will match the reward of the ride itself. In a way, this is much the same as 24hr riding - the personal sense of accomplishment that can't be captured by words and segments. It's a drug you have to experience, and once you do, you just keep on coming back. And perhaps that was why no one was buying my "just for fun" line - they knew me better than I knew myself.

Ready to roll
While I hope never to experience the real thing, I think countdown to a 24hr is much the same as the countdown to an execution. Initially, it seems so far away, as if it isn't even real, yet slowly but surely the days tick by, until before you know it, it's the only thing on your mind, consuming your entire reserve of mental and emotional strength. A big, nasty, insurmountable obstacle. With usually a very painful outcome. There is nothing on the other side, no Monday morning, just it. It gnaws away at you, looking for weakness, trying to wear you down. You worry. You sleep less. You stress over the minutest detail. Deep down, you hope that by ignoring it, it will leave you alone, but that just intensifies its power. And then the day dawns.

Up and away
In the short time of 4 weeks, I'd gone from "having fun and drinking beer" to full on race mode. It came as a bit of a surprise to me - I thought I was stronger than that. And yet it surprised no one else. Much like my repeated retirements, everyone else was able to see that I wouldn't be able to resist the lure of racing. And it wasn't because of the fame, the podium girls, the mega contracts or fast cars. I race because that is who I am. What I am. The one thing I can do well on a bike. 24hr racing.

Going for Gold
Come race day and there were some familiar faces, and some new ones. After the pleasantries of the race briefing and the traditional Le Mans start amble across the rugby field to our bikes we were on our way. A 24hr certainly isn't won on the first lap, or the second or third, and it takes a mountain of effort not to get caught up in the racing with the teams and other over zealous riders. You have to ignore the youngsters flying past you, resist the urge to show them that you too can ride a bike fast, and tap out a steady pace. While there are riders around you, you're essentially alone in a race of one.

Not sure who is having more fun
In a rather unexpected move, I'd been given the Number 1 race board. I prefer the comfort and safety of anonymity, of being the underdog, yet here I was with a massive bull's eye on my back. My biggest concern was being able to do the board justice. To live up to the expectation. With barely a quarter of the first lap done, my bike let out a toe curling screech, like the bats of hell had just been released. I frantically looked around to see if I could spot the offending bike component, but isolating a murderous squeal on a moving bike while navigating some single track is not a skill I've acquired. The wailing continued for a few more minutes, and then, like a mortally wounded demon, there was silence. I managed to convince myself the pending apocalypse had been stalled, and that everything was ok. Until I switched down into my granny gear. Pedal pedal, drop the chain. Curse at the mechanic. Stop. Put the chain back on. Pedal pedal drop the chain. Stop. Turn the thumb adjusters. Curse at the mechanic's unborn children, his mother and his dog. Put the chain back on. Pedal pedal drop the chain. Use some words I'm a little embarrassed about now. Stop. Put the chain back on in the middle blade and grind up the hill frantically trying to figure out what went wrong. And then I saw it - a badly bent chain blade from a chain ring bolt that had decided to work itself lose, and in the process unleash the wrath of the titans on my poor granny gear.

Searching for that zone
I persevered a few more laps, abusing the very legs I was hoping to look after, while in the background my ever supportive wife and excellent pit manager (the same person) was trying to come up with a solution. A few laps later I was pulled over to the side by members of the Basin Mountain Bike club and they proceeded to replace the offending chain ring. While I can't claim that the stop was with the efficiency of a Formula One pit crew, the eagerness and willingness to help was greatly appreciated. I'd lost 8 minutes, but more importantly, I was once again riding a fully serviceable bike.

The offending chainring.
A few more uneventful laps went by, slowly laying a foundation, trying to be as consistent as possible. And while everything was going smoothly, I was struggling to get into a rhythm. My laps were a little inconsistent. I was aware of some aches and pains. Not riding aches and pains. Something else. I first wrote it down to a sugar drop, and after a few swigs of Coke I was on my way. But the feeling persisted. A monster headache, a sore jaw, blocked ears. What was going on? I was lying in second place, 15 minutes down, having done 13 laps. Exactly where I wanted to be. Yet not feeling like I could do this for another 15 hours. As I sat eating my supper, my heart rate racing, I had to make a decision. And it wasn't whether I wanted tomato sauce on my chips. Should I continue? Was it just in my head? We've all heard the stories about that guy who decided to race while sick. Was I going to be that guy? I've made some tough decisions in the past, like which colour Salomons to buy, or how high my socks must be on a road ride, but nothing has been quite as tough as deciding to pull out of a 24hr. I knew what the right decision was, but it came with baggage, unanswered questions, and a large dose of remorse.

The Team - Bike, Rider, and Manager
With me feeling rather sorry for myself, the racing continued. Pieter Erwee put in a phenomenal ride, leading from the front, collecting laps like a magpie on a rubbish heap, to eventually end on 33 laps (or 380km). The Other Lance, having learned his mistake of going too hard too soon at both the 2012 Double Century and the 2013 Oak Valley 24hr finished in a well deserved 2nd, with newcomer Ray van Breda just behind in 3rd. In the ladies, Tracey Lentin showed that age is no obstacle, narrowly beating Melinda Griffiths.

The race of one
With its new slot, the addition of the very competitive schools section, and a fabulous venue, Dirtopia's 24hrs of Oak Valley is certainly the trendsetter for 24hr events in South Africa. Not only is the racing good, but the atmosphere both out on the course and in the camp site is amazing - mountain bikers escaping the hustle bustle to ride bikes, drink beer, and forget about city life for a couple of days. And you know what - I'll be back. And I'll be racing, even if it is just myself.








Tuesday, 26 November 2013

Posted by Velouria Posted on 17:41 | 11 comments

Coronation Double Century 2013

Unseasonal weather, year end functions, flash floods and the turning on of the Christmas lights mean only one thing - it's Coronation Double Century time. Another crazy South African invention, right up there with the Kreepy Krauly, Dolosse and Pratley Putty, the Coronation Double Century is a 12 man team time trial over 202kms, with over 320 teams participating, that tests everything from fitness and endurance to friendship and one's sense of humour.

Team HotChillee
After the breakout performance in 2012 where Team HotChillee narrowly missed out on a spot on the podium, we came back fitter, stronger, and more determined to leave our mark on this monument of South African long distance road racing. We scrutinized the palmarès of several cyclists, handpicking riders from various disciplines and specialities that would contribute positively to the team and get us closer to that podium. And then we got the news. HotChillee had secured the services of Team Sky's Ben Swift. Once word got out we were so inundated with CVs that we had to turn riders away. We weren't just looking for guys that could ride bikes - Team HotChillee is about racing hard, but it's also about making friends, having fun, and not taking ourselves too seriously.

Ben Swift, and evidence that pro's do carry saddle bags.
Apart from Ben Swift, this year's team had a unique flavour to it. We had several seasoned campaigners, an iron man, a handful of rouleurs, a few triathletes, some race snakes and a talented youngster by the name of Nicholas Dlamini. Take note of the name, as I'm sure we're just seeing the beginning of something very special. Together, we had a near perfect combination of speed, strength, experience, and eagerness of youth. Unlike other teams that begin their DC preparation in early May with training rides and weekends away, Team HotChillee has a "rock up and ride" approach. We all know what is required and go about our preparation in our individual ways. Our first training ride together is often the ride down to the start line.

Nicholas Dlamini - a super exciting talent on a bike
I was more than aware that I wasn't in the greatest of shape, struggling to find some form after my Australian adventure. Rather than waste my time on some last minute secret training - I spent the week leading up to the DC clearing out my pain cave, making sure it was as comfortable and cosy as possible, as I came to terms that I would be spending a fair amount of time lurking in the shadows at the very back. Once I had made peace with my destiny, a sense of calm washed over me and I was ready to race.

Last minute strategy consultations
Team HotChillee had a 7:09 start time - 3rd last. By the time the top teams are lining up, the carnival atmosphere that hangs in the air for the earlier teams has dissipated, and a sense of quiet determination replaces it. We all know what we're in for, what we've got to do, and how it is going to feel. There is a mutual respect amongst the top teams - bitter competitors on the bike, and mates off the bike - we let the cycling do the talking.

Race line nerves - old hat for the pros.
In retrospect, it was a miracle that Team HotChillee even made the start line. An incident that will forever be referred to as as The Great Sock Mutiny threatened to end our DC without a single pedal stroke. In order to look like a true racing team, Captain Craig had issued each team member with a pair of (second hand) HotChillee socks. The only problem was that these socks barely covered our ankles, and in the age of almost calf high socks this is not acceptable. And to make it worse - our pro was lucky enough to escape the short sock fate that awaited us - something about contracts and obligations. Amidst allegations of Captain Craig being an undercover UCI sock regulator, a compromise was reached - stretch the living daylights out of the short HotChillee socks and next year we'd have UCI legal long HotChillee socks. Crisis averted. Barely.

Team HotChillee's template for next year
After an inspiring introduction by Paul Kaye, Team HotChillee were off, led out under the guidance of Ben - our level headed euro pro with as much talent as the rest of the team combined. We were not going to start too fast, and instead, aim to finish strong - a particular weakness in recent years. By the time we'd left the city limits of Swellendam my vision was already beginning to narrow, my entire consciousness focussed on the wheel ahead of me. All that mattered were the 11 other individual bike riders around me and how we coordinated our efforts together to work as a well oiled machine, slicing through the cold morning air.

I think Ben might be drafting me
The first hour is always the worst - it is the hour when your fears and doubts nag away at you the most. The hour when you haven't quite found your spot in the pain cave and made yourself at home. How much longer can I keep this up? Will I be the first to drop? Are we starting too fast? And just when the team was settling down to business, Halfway Warren broke a spoke. There were unconfirmed eyewitness reports that claimed to see him putting his foot into his spokes, but given the fact that Halfway Warren didn't finish last year's DC and that he had a score to settle, I find this difficult to believe. He tried to ride on valiantly, but a few hundred metres later any dreams of losing his nickname vanished as he punctured. Suddenly, Team HotChillee were down to 11 riders with 170kms to go.

Ben keeping an eye on the Dan the Iron Man
Despite losing Broom Wagon Warren we continued to make good progress, catching and passing several teams ahead of us before the climbing started. Ben, Jarryd and the other mountain goats set a steady pace, which for us bigger guys is still pretty much flat out, as we wound our way up Tradouw Pass. In previous years I've marvelled at the beauty and the scenery, but this year it was all business and hard work. Dan the Iron Man, like a fish out of water, was getting up to things that only a triathlete could, dropping back to rescue dropped teammates that we'd given up on. I half expected to see him come running past me after donating his bike to Broom Wagon Warren.

Captain Craig getting some advice in the picnic zone
From the back of my pain cave I really wasn't noticing much, apart from the wheel in front of me. Ask if I saw the guy riding in the tutu dress, or if I witnessed Captain Craig's bottle dropping harakiri incident and you'll get a blank stare from me. However, ask me to describe the back wheel, cluster and riding style of a member of Team HotChillee and I could spend hours recalling the minutest detail. Alistair looks like he's wrestling an alligator - in the saddle one moment, and out the next. And then there's Nic's restricted junior gearing rear cluster. In order for him to keep up with Ben Swift (with a surname like that, Ben was always destined to be a fast cyclist, or a fighter pilot) he spins his legs at such a cadence that small vortices are visible on either side of his bike. Imagine trying to ride in your 14 sprocket at 82km/h down the other side of Op de Tradouw Pass - that's a cadence of 164.

Not many people can say they've had a Team Sky rider touch their nipples.
Broom Wagon Warren can
With the 3 hour mark approaching, we pulled into the compulsory picnic zone at Ashton, having covered the 115.6km in 2h58. The opportunity to regroup, refuel and revise our strategy was welcomed by all, some a little more than others. The entire team, except for Broom Wagon Warren, was back, and as we waited for Lieuwe to conclude some important business, all thoughts were on the remaining 84kms. We'd been solid this far, but we needed to keep it going. Give as much as you can for the team, and then give a little bit extra. Creep a little further into the cave.

A jubulent Team HotChillee
In what felt like a repeat of previous years, things started going wrong almost as soon as we left the picnic zone. We dropped our backup almost immediately, followed shortly by Hector the Hulk. A sudden surge and Captain Craig found himself staring at a gap that he couldn't close and suddenly we were down to 9 riders with 70kms to go. Doc Dylan was the next to wave goodbye, and I was hanging on by a thread. As we overtook several slower teams and their backup vehicles in a rather harrowing experience, I had a moment of inattention and found myself gapped by my team. I did everything I could to close it, pedalling with muscles I didn't know I had, desperately calling for more power from the engine room. But none was forthcoming. Ben looked over his shoulder and volunteered to come and rescue me - but it would have been futile. I waved him away, resigned to my fate of limping the remaining 55kms home. I watched the 7 remaining Team HotChillee riders winding their way cautiously through the back markers as they headed for the line. It was now up to Ben, Nic, Dan, Jarryd, Lieuwe, Alistair and David to finish what we'd all started.

Post race, pre prize giving chilling
As I slowly emerged from my cave I realised that I still hadn't seen our backup vehicle. I wasn't concerned about my own well being - I would get to the end eventually. I was worried that our race snakes up ahead could find themselves in difficulty without any support. Somewhere behind us in the chaos and congestion, our backup vehicle was stuck, having to fend off attacks from inexperienced drivers and cyclists alike as they tried to weave through the disorder and pandemonium. The only thing I could do was hope that Broom Wagon Warren's earlier sacrifice would be enough to appease the cycling gods and that we'd be spared any additional misfortune. The closer I got to the finish without seeing Team HotChillee on the side of the road, the more I believed we stood a chance.

Medals
As I entered the finishing arena I caught the announcer listing the provisional results. Some team in first, another in second, and then I heard it - Team HotChillee in third. They'd done it. We'd done it. Something us average, everyday guys had been dreaming about for years. Twelve guys who'd never ridden together before as a team, from all over the world, with differing backgrounds, cultures and upbringings had united on race day behind a single goal and achieved it. Each and every member had contributed. And while the result is special, I think the commitment and camaraderie displayed by Team HotChillee will be my enduring memory of this year's Coronation Double Century.

The podium
A big thanks to everyone who made this weekend possible - Sven and HotChillee, Captain Craig, our backup crew of Bonte, Yolanda and Michelle, and everyone else behind the scenes. To our imports - Ben and Dan - it was great riding with you and we hope to see out in South Africa again. And to the rest of the team - thank you and well done. Now lets aim one step higher.

Lieuwe mixing his fake fur


Nicholas playing golf not nearly as well as he cycles

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