Much Love

Two coffees down and winging around the bay talking the smack. Having been though the frozen valleys out of the morning sun I was grateful to have the use of my hands again. The south Alps nicely placed in the distance with lovely cold snow from the past few days. I was grateful that it was not cold and raining as I had been then. The drag out of bed away from comfort had been worth all the inconvenience. A lovely morning spinning the cranks over the grey mass making life a little more inconvenient for motorists and in the eyes of the authorities waiting to die for it. Cherry waves into back windows as their brains steam at our merry riding pleasure obeying rules and been heckled relentlessly. Hey thanks everyone for been so tolerant and not killing me as I deserve, I’ll blow you a kiss next time. 

Fresh new ripe good

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. 

New Playgrounds

It is true, in the town of sun and cycle lanes. Around which are still the signs of the recent flooding. Yes nelson is just fine. It is one of the places that I could have seen myself living in. the allure of job with reasonable monetary return, proximity to vast track networks and a break from the eternal winter that is wellington.

But alas there is the work to be done along with the lethargically state of training associating. A physical job too, requires chunks of sensibility and excuse elimination to make any sort of regular training habit. At a month in things are kicking over but no mad k’s of yet, just all lead up.

After returning from the west island of hopes and heat dreams and madly covered most of the north and south islands, settled up in my home town for a week to ‘sort my shit out’. Mixed results really and the pack up for the drive to Nelson was full of half finished projects that would be easier completed in my parents garage.

A storm hit within the first week in a sunshine capital and living in a campground became less ‘holiday’ like. With this and a 26km ride to work followed by a good hour and half of getting and out of 4wd’s to make it to the work site. Luck rode our way soon after and we made it settled and relieved to be in a flat within 9 days of turning up in this fair city.

Now after a month or more I am beginning to discover this low key riding Mecca. Been still of an age where you can simply pack up a move is advantageous to life excitement. There is Taranaki style back roads a good warm up away and the hills ring long and loud with wild single track.

So far I have ticked off the Mtb Park of codages and the copper mine loop. Both awesome and worthy of the required effort. It’s even got me missing Wellington a little less. Although the coffee fuelled week day morning missions will be sorely missed.

Heat Treament

So full of life is this land. Teaming with bugs and reptiles that every bush moves with a scurry of hurried panicked dashes and you can’t stand still for want of swatting the million flies that patrol the air for a victim to lazy or weak to brush them off. Relief comes aboard a bike pushing though the air and past the bushes. Keep the speed up and the snakes and flies fall behind.

No I’m not acclimatising but merely accepting that hanging in for another two weeks is feasible. Nothing fade the feeling of inescapable heat here, I liken it to cabin fever but going outside makes in worse. Past a certain temperature, about 33 I reckon, there is even no relief from riding though the air. It’s just feels more like a giant oven on fan bake and the moisture is grilled out of you faster than a drip could counter.

Aside all this I have been a while and I have ridden one or other of my bikes to try and bring on some form of fitness to ready for this year’s activities. First off is the Brevet, which is very soon and the reason I am departing this land so soon. Been going over the course and think about my bike that sits in pieces in a garage very far from the start line. Yes it’s another trick of a series of last minute rushes to prepare for a big event. Lessons learnt and ignored and all that talk, lecture even.

Riding to work has been the regular thing here. Most weekends have involved a backpack loaded mission of 120km or more to Brisbane to hang with friends. After six or seven goes I have developed a reasonably direct way into this city of 3.5 million without getting tangled in motorway networks and industrial estates. Late Sunday returns have become real world training for the evening dashes of brevet’s, helped by the lack of reasons to sleep the eight hours on Saturday nights.

This time it’s all business with the bike; Freeload racks, aero bars, cycle cross tires, lights. I will be doing it again in the spirit of marginal Brevet technique but a touch of the deluxe. So instead of a glorified rubbish bag I have a bivy bag and instead of my usual down jacket I have light weight yellow one. The main difference this time is that I actually have enough money for food, whoop. Gee there is going to be some smashing dirty truckers breakfasts.

To the fringe where I like the feel of the grass

Not been one to keep to norms or even followed reasoned advice has its joy placed in unusual corners of time and space. 12 hour racing hooked me in at 15 years then 24 hours shortly after at 16. With the failure on the parts of others there were no Worlds for 24 hour solo racing last year, which gave me a chance to not be racing, disappointing on many levels as I had the time to train.

This last while I have been riding on my terms, mostly whimsical and occasionally extreme. Many great times have been had to the credit of body and mind, life happened. But on I must go to the future with the guide of a plan.

There now runs a widening gap in the 24 hour solo community. One side is the well established outfit of the 24 hours of adrenaline. They have not full faced up as to why and who is accountable for the absence of a Worlds last year. But have come up with a date in later 2012 for a Worlds race in the same location as 2009 and 2008.

The other is a the mighty club of Corc which has got the pip with the adrenaline outfit and made their own Worlds after running the 2010 event with great success. First up is Italy in May 2011 and with confirmed dates and venues for the next two years following that.

All considered it would be safe to say the Corc are ones for action and have come through with and attractive plan. But the question remains to which winner of either event is the honour of a World title?

Before this all came out I decided to put my energy into an event that had dates and locations fixed. The Tour Divide, a race for those who want more than a weekend spins around a park. With around 4000km for adventures to develop and problems to grasp your heels, it’s an undertaking.

My earlier length of NZ attempt was in a similar style to The Tour Divide. No support and no outside assistance are the basics. You can pick up anything that is publicly available along the way; food, shelter, bike parts etc.

So that’s June sorted, before then it is another crack at Length of NZ again and the Kiwi Brevet. Both of these with great challenges deep within. Looking forward to putting myself though the dark miles of riding into one’s mind.

Currently I am earning a wage in a small town northwest of Brisbane. With marginal riding missions already pilling up in the wedge between periods of work. I hope to get some form of coupling fitness before February and the Brevet. Yes yes.

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.