Long is the stretch of time since my last 24 hour solo race. It was Worlds two years back, and ending in a farcical medically based withdrawal. To forward to the coming year is hope, hope of a race that has given me cruel kindness in the way not to distant from a female pray mantis.
Yes the only real 24 hour race is set to return to the well kempt trails of the Whakawerawera forest. The 24 hours of N-Duro was my first 24 hour solo and where I first won a big race (different years).
Back in Wellington now and settling into the old mate trails with the aid of my now even more modified Sir. Into routines of glorious morning rides starting with a punch of a powerful short black at ‘Tony’s’ and the avoidance glares of clean suits and heavy jackets. Followed by charging rugged tracks careering off the beasty hills. Lungs burning the crisp swept wind then exhaling puffs of steam and hurt. I have also gotten sick and I live in a cold flat.
Not ungratefully reduced to just having the only the rigid single speed running with the weather keeping things nice a slippery and yum. Plentiful merry bronation (lateral wheel movement away from the prearranged direction intent) and the delightful sounds of tacky trail mud as the tires break away from the surface like peeling away day old dressing from some gnarly road rash. Who needs suspension or gears in this weather anyway. Having recently blown out my only two suspension forks, it would seem I don’t deserve this luxury.
So I’m back and it is good. Life outside riding carries on happily at times and grinds by during those ‘work hours’. Thanks Wellington for letting me back into your hills.