Mud and Hair

Mud, what lovely stuff. All sticky and dirty. All over my bike all over my clothes. The other day I spent 3 hours covering everything with butiful stuff. Just great. Halfway though my bike didnt want me to use anything but the big ring, for the remaining hour or so.

Ah what fun we have making hard work for the washing machine. Playing, folly, good times under the clouds of passing showers. Keep playing, keeping warm with the movement.

Then when its time to lay down the mud incrusted machine its for the soft drinks and chasing the girlfriend with offers of hugs to make her muddy too. One sweetly dirty mess munching on miny choclate bars and suger drinks.

I think I have mud in my beard.

Rainy Return

Some time has passed and with it not many hours have been spent on the bikes. An offseason of sorts anyway. After pulling the pin on the big LoNZ because of my knee bad times I figured some time out was in order and combined with ducking down to Blenheim for a couple of months of which I had two days off made bikes easy to avoid.

But now back in wellington with the freaks and the hills there is time to spin the legs and find that grove. And where does the grove lead, plans they are a making. Rides, races, records all lie out there for those who train. Still having an eye of the obscene distances big rides will be a factor in the coming months.

In the weekend I rode the first race in n age it seems, the Wainui six hour. With next to no training (honestly) and having cut and bruised my knee the day before in a lame little crash I didn’t expect the world of performance. Rather I had a quiet little time with no support crew and no idea where I was the entire race. Edged but into some of the old ways but still lacked all the things I would expect from myself in a race this length. Somewhere to move on from then.

An old friendly steed has returned to the stable. Back in 08 I raced my first World champs in the sludge fest that was Nordic centre in the Rocky Mountains of Canada. That day’s I charged down and up the hills on a bike that has since then been hardly ridden, the Black Panther. So named because it is one of the dam good looking machines I’ve seen. All black and silver it was something of a patriots. But it was ahead of it times been the one of first 29’er duel suspension bikes made.

After taking it out the other day to get it muddy I am dam glade it didn’t sell. And with the Rohloff fitted it will be seeing many coats of wellington mad this rainy season.

A Week out and Delusional

Not been one to face things too well organised things are not all in place. The mighty Richel (my km eating old road bike) stands with missing parts waiting orders to come in, which they will. I am yet to find the locations of every 24 hour food outlet in route or even have defined and finalised route. But do have the madness and silliness to dive into this kind of mission. Can’t wait really. Riding all day, then all night, then all day again, repeat till further notice until your mind snaps. At this point sit on the side of the road and have nut bar. Then continue as before. When the road ends you may stop. All yay’s really.

It is hard to ignore the force of nature that has dealt out such destruction and lose of life in Christchurch. My good wishes go out to those put at ill by this disaster. The ride will continue as planned at this stage although a deviation around Christchurch itself for a variety of reasons.

The start time will be early morning on the second of March, probably around 6:30am. It looks like it will be wet in the Deep South on that day although the winds look almost favourable. So it’s a quick run out of there hopefully. Then straight on up the east coast to Picton. Sounds quite quick but is around 1000km or about halfway.

The North Island is a tad more complicated. Auckland is of course the most so but there are also a multitude of routes present themselves once you head north of Bulls. But at this stage the loose plan is to hit the dessert road then follow the western access around Lake Taupo. Then make my way into the back of Tokaroa and head east of Hamilton towards the big smoke. Though which I will likely get lost several times and end out on the northwest side and wined my way back to SH1 then continue till the road ends.

There is one glaring misgiving in my plans that I am unable to fill at this stage. I’ve got a flight to Invercargill and then I ride to Picton, ferry, then ride again. Then when I am done I will be at the Cape, but I live in Wellington. So I guess I will take a photo or two and turn around, perhaps hitch, perhaps sneak into one of the tour buses. It’s good to have some mystery in such a well oiled undertaking.

Length of New Zealand Now

I quite literally decided to do this on the way home from work on Saturday. It was a work were I was told that the cut in my hours that I knew was in the post was about to kick in. so today I handed in my notice and have given myself a two week window to complete a mission. And what mission could fill this time gap with? Own that has been on my case file for a while, riding the length of New Zealand.

But this ride will bare virtually not resemblance to all precious attempts to break or set a record. There will be no support vehicles, no helicopters and crew of people helping with my every need. No it’s just me with my bike, alone and unsupported for battling the length of this fine land. Oh and I’m also doing the ride backwards, south to north, against the prevailing winds. The reason is because the cape is pretty and it’s about time some did.

With such a spur of the moment decision comes urgency to the preparation. Yesterday I built my first ever set of wheels with the main purpose of completing this ride. There are tires, bags, chains and new helmet to be obtained before the end of the month. There will be hustle for a while yet.

The pure practicalities of the ride are simple. Ride until further notice, stop only for food gathering and essential nap time. Only the ferry ride in the middle will present a meaningful time off the bike. Think fast brevet, but with no one else competing.

Just Moments Away

Good to see the ozy’s are been modest in their build up with an article in the Australian mountain Biker that portrays all riders competing this weekend as time wasters and pretenders. Well done on the sportsman ship front. This only adds to the motivation to rustle the feathers that are placed so high and bright.

The course is half similar to that of the Scott that I did in 2007. Climbing up Mt Stromlo twice in a figure of eight like pattern. A technical rocky decent makes up the back face of the mountain followed by a long four wheel drive climb that will make the best feed opportunity. The home run decent is just lovely and fast, jumps galore and berms big enough to keep a truck on track. Definitely section that will keep you going out to have another run at it.

The weather seems to be holding up in the mainly fine a hot margin with steady winds to keep u sane. Not nearly as dry as last time a popped over for spin. Although it ‘rained’ last night but you would not dream that it did seeing the track by time I got out on my morning ride at around noon.

The transit was a bit of a series of surprises and hassles. First been told it was going to cost $360 to get my bikes there then $410, then $585. In the end I paid and the expected $175 for two bike boxes on AirNZ and bluffed then rest in a manor not fit for publication. Having to rush though a crawdad Sydney airport to make a connecting internal flight was a great time with a trolley stacked high and wide with bikes. After offending and bumping into numinous faceless feigners it became clear that it was fruitless and I was going t miss it anyway. Got on a later one and all my bikes and bags arrived safely despite the check in ladies warning that potential only one would make it on the plane because it was a small propeller one. It turns out that small is anything less than a full blown jet liner.

I managed to get myself a brand spanker of a new bike for this attempt, a shiny white and glorious Jet from Niner. Designed as fast, stiff race and trail bike it’s making mince meat of the fast and at times rough and rocky Mt Stromlo. I had new light wheels built fresh for it to add to the speed factor. But what are really making the k’s fly by are the new ultra light low tread tires. A choice that was aroused some questions from locals as there are thousands of sharp rocks, although in practice there are been no problems. Botrager XR1’s are not likely to make the picks for many New Zealand races but here in the dust and the crave for speed and efficiency I am going with them. Last time I was running even skinner tires and it went swimmingly.

By chance I dropped in on the one shop that stocks Niners in ACT and also the biggest seller of them in Australia. Been in a couple of times just tuning up the Jet and the Sir ready for some steady punishment on the mountain. So a plug for Mel.Adgusted in Dixon, Canberra, cheers guys.

So registration and briefing tomorrow along with my final crack at the course. Ready? Well who knows really is all a guessing game even at this level. I can but turn up having done all that I have with the will to race.

Closing In

All the mornings, days and long evenings of hours in the zones. Honeing my body, refining the rough edges. All the in-between is now stretching behind me and all that’s left is the small few steps towards the goal. In which there is only opportunities to make mistakes. Recovery has become the watch word. The hazy drifts down country lanes will be missed for a while the ride become legit.

Yeah soon it is to the time for yet plane food and rigorous custom searches. Bikes in boxes and plathinths of worries and last minute rushes. Every time it seeks up like a cousin’s birthday you never mark on the calendar. Hell I only booked the flights a matter of weeks ago. This time though there is not 30 hours of dealing with un-helpful strangers in a transit to a far off land.

Prep is going well. Bike sessions are been dominated by the mountain bike, making a lovely change from staring a tarmac for more hours a week than I spend in paid employment. My road machine is principally become a commuting work horse and my Niner Sir is pretty well always dirty. But oh is it good to be hitting the dirt.

The mojo is creeping on back in. Further and further I have been pushing passed that point of comfort braking. Giving Dorothy (Niner Sir) the treatment it is built for. Although a hard tail it may be, it still gets down from them peaks with a whippet like style that makes some duel sus’s blush.

Air-Conditioned Whiskey

Wrap up and stay inside, keep warm by the fire with a whiskey to dull the noise of the winter at the window. Shut the blinds and sleep in, like them bears, they have the idea, just sleep thought the rough stuff. It’s all numb feet and sharp wind out there. No glimmers, no real salvation. Just endless roads significantly coated with water barely holding off freezing itself. Layers of wool and technical shells help but you are still out there battling in a sweaty ball of wishing for summer days.

Most bikes take after the bears of the north and hide in dark holes while the rain and marginal mornings creep by. Some brave the notion of the cold wet and trudge out the door and instantly regret it. Soaked in seconds as the first few meters grind out.

Mountain bikes take the worst with the pasty soil sandblasting every component driving the whole to an early grave. The simple survive here. Years of trails have proved this. Gears and suspension work great on the summer all days but in the slushy bowls of May and June things are less friendly to the bits conceived on a dry air-conditioned desk in California.

Road bikes drown in the archaic spray. Grit marks from the environment encroaching on the road space. Rotting from the inside out they pound out the hours of the hard shit. Group therapy dose not even make things easy. Just more spay in the face really, maybe kick some shit about titanium bottle cage bolts. All avoiding the point that what is really just a bit of a bad time.

Till one day the madness comes down and it all becomes absurdly clear. A back road somewhere near that turn off where you take the left to get to that road with the barn. A square sky and bent trees. Gears click over for a while with lucid pedalling. No real motivation, a lapis in purpose one free moment. The rain still comes down but hell your wet anyway. Over the hill and onto the next valley. Further, more, plus, multiple, away from the comforts, the fires, the whiskey and rug and arm chair.