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This is Vaughn's 2003 Mont Diatribe:
These are the words used to describe a fat old bastard wheezing his way around a 17 kilometre track 3 times in a 24 hour period, early in October 2003.
The Weather:
The weather had been changable prior to the event. In the weeks leading up to the Saturday, there had been rain and the track was wet. On the day, however, it was crystal-clear and sunny. The forecast was for dry weather for the twenty four hours of the race.
Piss-Poor Planning:
Despite having taken the Friday off and setting up a tent at the camp site for the Mont, Saturday morning was a discordant shambles. Rocking up late and with a van full of "essentials" left no time to get properly set up and take pictures and join the Team.
The Start:
The start was a "Le Mans" start where the first riders were to run from the starting line, walk their bikes to a particular mark then tear off along the track. There were hundreds of starters. They came down the hill from the starting line in a stampede of riding shoes and Lycra. Fantastic to watch, bedlam for those involved, with some riders having diffuclty finding their bikes in the initial mix.
The Race:
The start was very exciting. There was a chance to see those people who were descending from one of the early steep parts of the track that were near the camp site that was a short jog from the start. The downhill zig-zag saw the fearless tear down toward the blackberry bushes at break-neck speeds. Little did they, or I, know that this was just a small fore-taste of the entire track.
The Wait:
After our Team's first rider went out with the horde, there was time to settle in and get organised. It was also time for the next rider to get prepared to go out, as soon as the first rider hit the start/finish tent. The tent was set up for the race officials to log the numbers and the times of riders after they had finished their laps. Those taking the "baton" for the next lap would wait for the previous Team member to return. Riders would walk their bikes to the start in anticipation of their Team-mates to come jogging through the time tent. Some embarrassing moments saw exhasted and expasperated team members come through the tents then have to search for the next rider in their Team.
The Race Continues:
Riders continued to return and leave. Our Team worked it's way through the list of riders and post impressive times. Considering the field included Olympians, internationally recognised riders and those in this country who are considered the sport's elite, we had our own champions whose lap times were not far from the "gun" competitors.
My Turn:
I am not a superior athlete or a world champion, so I had no pretensions as to how I would perform. There were some hills I struggled up. There were many others I walked up. Being a fat (*%$#, the downhills were all easy. At the start, I made the fatal error of being wound up so hard that I hit the track too hard. I have been in foot races where I had done the same thing but had not learned the lesson: Nothwithstanding being overweight and an asthmatic bushfire victim, I was wheezing my corpulence around the Kowen track very soon after the start.
A Pleasant Evening:
The weather was, as reported earlier, mild and dry. Not quite the Burgess "flip dark chill winter bastard" but not the balmy late November or December Canberra evening, either. This made the ride more tolerable in that one was not sweating due to the heat or the humidity, or freezing and trying to move more to stay warm. (That would come later.) My first lap started as the sun was setting and finished well after darkness fell. This meant that the eloborate lighting systems on all bikes were tested, as they were needed for at least eleven of the twenty four hours of the race. Visibilty was generally excellent, as a result. However, there was a section of the track which was the longest downhill portion of the whole track that was a mess of chopped-up dust. Mix that with dozens of cyclists belting down at 50 or 60 (plus) kilometres per hour and there was a kind of fog raised at that point. Yours truly took the opportunity to cough up half a burnt-out pine forest and clear what had been ailing him for 9 months.
Alexi Sayle & Hannibal Lecter:
I got lapped. Not surprising, but there were people riding faster than me. Occasionally, I had the rare opportunity to overtake some poor fatter and wheezier saps. (No apologies: Did I mention that I am fat?) (Who's that fat bastard?) There was an established protocol for the riders to negotiate each other to let the "traffic" to flow. This meant that the rider you didn't otherwise hear coming up behind you had to ask to pass, and you had to acknowledge, and let him or her pass when safe or convenient. Some rude riders would want to hurry me up and abuse me for going slow or getting in their way. Remarkable that many of these voices had North American accents. Every time this happened, I was reminded about those scenes in the Thomas Harris trilogy of books where Hannibal Lecter murdered and ate those who he thought were less than respectful of him. I don't eat meat, but.
Brass Monkeys:
Any old Salt will tell you that the story about Brass Monkeys and Balls does not relate to statues of primates. It is all about the old sailing days before the Bismark and the Missouri, where cannon and cannon balls were the standard. In order to keep the cannon balls stowed so they didn't roll around the deck, they were kept in place by sitting on top of a brass plate. The plates were called "monkeys". When it got cold enough, the metal of the plates would shrink faster than the metal of the cannon balls, and, ergo, the cannon balls would come adrift.
Why is this little factoid pertinent? The weather of the Saturday night and Sunday morning was bitterly cold. It was essential to rug up and stay inside, to avoid cramping up and becoming crippled during the rest periods. This was another lesson learned the hard way. It is impossible to sleep when you can't move for cramps and you are shivering so hard your entire body shakes. Have I mentioned self-inflicted masochism? I volunteered to go in the race. No one forged my signature and paid my $85 on my behalf.
L.A. Fairy Lights:
The best cure for cramps is to get moving and warm up the muscles. In a way, it was a blessing to have to go out on my next, pre-dawn lap. Again, it was dark when I hit the track, and the lights were essential to navigation around the course. In one of my many stops during this lap, I had this vision splendid in one part of the track. At the biggest climb of the race, the track initially travels East-West. At the top of this section, I stopped to catch my breath and copped a fabulous view of a string of rider's lights coming to me in the early light of the Sunday dawn. The horizon showed the first light and the track was speckled with bike lights moving steadily up the hill.
This reminded me of the aircrat on final approach to LA Airport. From the ground, in the twilight and in the dark of night, so many aircraft are lined up before the runway in the air, it appears to the observer as a string of unattached fairy lights coming your way.
Pumped:
The end of the track was a gentle downhill slope. Those bent on hitting the Start/Finish line as soon as possible to better their times were repeatedly warned about the speeds they hit the tent. The older, more corpulent of us had the pleasure of getting up a little speed and alighting from our bikes at the end of our laps full of beans. I was always pumped. Each time saw a surge of triumph driven by all of the natural drugs produced by my body, sending my head spinning. I have felt this euphoria before when I have run and made the transition from plain jogging to actual running. It felt like you were flying through the air and little or no contact was being made with the ground. Coming down from this buzz is hard. It also takes an inordanate length of time, too.
Settling:
Being that high meant that settling down to rest was difficult. Despite the bruises from falling off and the nag in the back of the "old brain box" (with thanks to Dennis Potter.) that says it's time for rest. This last instinct can overtake you, especially when it is ignored. No one fancies falling asleep at the wheel of a vehicle at the traffic lights on the way home after the Mont.
The End:
Our Team toyed with idea of sending out another rider after my third lap. With two of the Team hurt and everyone well and truly stuffed, it was left to me to ride last. I took my time. I took an inordinate amount of time, in fact. I did the Ferdinand the Bull trick, and stopped to "smell the flowers". While I cruised around the track, there were still lots of people riding their hearts out to get those extra laps before midday on the Sunday. So leisurely was my last ride that I stopped many times to watch others zoom past and shoot around the course.
Given I had to cross the line after 12:00 PM, I stopped short of the end of the track and waited some time after 11:00 for about forty minutes for the end of the race to happen. Some people became more desperate and worked hard to get the extra lap before the time elapsed. Many others parked their bums and their bikes, as I had, and waited for the end. At 12:00, those ready to cross, did so in a pack of riders and bikes.
I did try to stay for the presentations, but I was completely and utterly stuffed too. With some assistance from the Support Crew (Read: The Boss and the kids...) I packed up and left Kowen Forest.
Training Tips:
These suggestions are not for the experienced rider. This is for the fat f*&%$% or inexperienced punter who is doing this for the first time:
1. Train In The Dirt: Riding on the roads and the bike paths (for Canberrans) is very relaxing. The breeze is in your face, you are pedalling at a uniform pace and in a straight line. You have no idea until you do Kowen. You have no idea until you ride Kowen lots. Indeed, you have no idea until you hit the track with hundreds of other riders who are faster and fitter than you.
2. Train In The Dark: At the very least, you are testing your lighting system for it's longevity. Otherwise, you are learning how to be scared shitless because you have no idea what is around the next corner in a dark forest. Also, try getting lost without lights on the way back to your car after training. This is a good lesson in how your innate fears and all of thos idiotic "Horror" movies play on your mind. (!) Nevertheless, the stars are spectacular away from the light scatter of Canberra and Queanbeyan.
3. Mix Anaerobic And Aerobic Training: The aerobic training is virtually a no-brainer. You are going to be riding hard across "undulating" terrain. You will need to be able to sustain this for at least 40 minutes. You will also be jarred physically. This means that you will need the muscular strength in the arms, the shoulders and the legs. "Legs" means both your calves and your thighs. Note also the punishment meted out to your upper body. How many push ups can you do? How many push ups can you do with a mix of flat hands and knuckles?
4. Who are your Team Mates? How does their performance compare to yours? Note the differences. Imagine how hard it would be to challenge and compete with the "Gun" riders on your Team. Sustain that for 40+ minutes. You simply can not do it without Phar Lap's heart. Acknowledge this fact.
5. Train In The Dirt Again. You can not do enough training on forest fire trails and single tracks. Through mud. Through bull dust. Through puddles. Through pine tree stumps. Through rocks. (For exhilaration and lots of rocks, try Majura. Be mindful that that area was volcanic and is littered with lots of rocks.)
6. Training Gold: GET OFF YOUR ARSE. Comfortable it may be to sit on it while you are riding, getting of your arse will improve your fitness and aerobic capacity. This is contrary to the advice I have had and has caused me to fall off trying to negotiate slippery and steep tracks. It has also done wonders for strengthing everything in the "power chain" between your handle grips and your pedals. It can also test your nerve when you are training on steeper dirt tracks to see whether you are going to whus out and stop, fall over or push that little bit harder to make it up the hill.
Epilogue:
Given the 2004 event is nigh, my last is to warn of the cold. Ensure you are protected from the chills of the Saturday night. The track is in an elevated part of the Canberra environs and gets bitter at night. Down sleeping bags are the go.
It's far too late for training tips. If you haven't put the effort into training before the race then you are doomed to walk up lots of the hills and to be abused by those cretins with North American accents. Make the most of the downhills and the odd flat bits.
Enjoy. The vibe is fabulous and something to absorb. Lots of fit and (generally) young people keen to ride their hearts out for themselves and their teams.
© www.themarshalls.tv 2004
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