Alpine Madness ...

Tough day on the bike last Saturday. My first 100 km race. The sickos who designed the course were sadists. Clearly they were 'hard core' lads who didn't share the same diet and exercise plan as me. I don't think they even knew what the phrase 'soft ripe brie' means. Perhaps I should have taken more note of the race name - The Alpine Assault. (I guess the word 'Alpine' should have been a giveaway for the geographic profile of the area). You were either climbing or descending. Make that grinding up or flat out down. And that was really the order of the day. The only easy bit was the first 300m as we rode out of the car park and coasted down to the lower village at Falls Creek. Then it was a lazy 7km climb to the top of Mt McKay. By this time the lead group was well and truly off and running, the crowd had already thinned and I saw the first of many 'puffers'
A puffer is someone bent over their bike sucking in oxygen like it was about to run out. Poor bastard. Relief was quick to come as the next 12k's one didn't need to peddle. Clearly the snow ploughers had been practicing their winter craft on a sweet sweet summer fire trail down to Howmans Gap. It was smooth as silk (mostly) and smile inducing. Every time I looked at the speedo it was over 45km/h - not that I looked much. The left hand side of the fire road was 'unforgiving' with a no return policy straight down to the Kiewa Valley. Then it was climb time. A 7 km black top grind back up past the resort and out past the lake to the first feed station. I was feeling quite chipper at this point. I had eaten on the way up (and managed to spill Gu all over my glove) and only grabbed a couple of oranges. And resisted the jelly snakes. Then it was climb time Mk II. This time it was on double track up and across to Mt Nelse. Up another 10 km's and up above the tree line. Nothing but tundra, open space and a howling wind that pushed the temperature to 4 deg. F**k. It was sooooo cold that the snot pouring from my nose was freezing to my face. I had been ready for a chilly day. Was wearing a thermal under my road toad lycra, even had my arm warmers on but totally forgot about the wind chill on my shoes. Feet began to freeze. F**k. I was in race mode at this point and managed to get past a couple of lads. I quickly learnt that the protocol for overtaking was to grunt a message about the conditions as you wobbled past "tough climb ugg" "bloody cold arrgh". There was no idle chat. No trail side banter. Just a grunt then head down and back to business. The track had denigrated into two side by side ruts filled with evil granite rocks that had been sharpened by the devil himself. The ruts were so deep that unless you were dead centre your pedals would hit the top and then lift the bike up and over it's stroke. Ohhh f**k. Then came the mother of all downhills. aka downmountain. 24 km's of angry alpine slope. First up I was glad to leave the 17km climb behind. My legs were aching and I was contemplating eating a whole packet of Nurofen to dull the pain in my lower back. But I knew this was my time to shine. This was Yeti country. Perfect conditions for my 575. Steep, fast and rocky. I managed to pass a couple of riders ... and looked good doing it. But after 4 km's of this madness I was knackered and had another 20 descending km's to go. Down, down, down. Bump after bump after bump. Boulders, sticks, logs and more evil granite. There was no rest. No way of holding on differently to ease the pain. One finger braking. Then two fingers. Then the middle finger. My shoulders ached. My back ached. My legs ached. But the smile on my face said it all. It was crazy. Seriously crazy. Finally hit the bottom and had to negotiate the first river crossing. Now my feet would be frozen and wet. Tops. In all the madness I hadn't noticed the scenery change. The next 5 k's snaked it's way up and down the valley floor. It was lush and peaceful. Kept thinking it would be the perfect place to camp out for a few days. Truly spectacular. A short and punchy climb on Ropers Track popped us back out on the black top for a well earned respite from the rugged alpine trails. Three k's of silky smooth road later and I was chasing a couple of blokes along the single track down into Mt Beauty. It was fast and fun .... and down. They were road riders. All shaved legs, matching lycra and riding hard tail carbon weapons. Felt good as I called 'track' and waited for them to let me pass. Legs pumping and heart beating I was riding for pride now .. .I couldn't let those road toads get back in front. The feed station at Mt Beauty was a welcomed sight. 67km's into the race I was feeling tired but not worn out. I had arrived at The Big Hill Mountain Bike Park in just over 4 hours. I was on schedule. This time the jelly snakes were the first thing I stuffed into my mouth. A big smelly gloved handful of gleaming red, blue and green snakes. Then a peanut butter sandwich. Then some orange segments. It was good to stop. But I had to roll on. The more time I spent standing still the more I wanted to be still. A quick stretch and I was back on the bike and managed to pull out of the transition in front of the roadies. Ahhh got ya. Ahhh not for long. The track turned up hill and soon the shaved legs of the Dynamic Duo had disappeared into the dust.
The wonderful people of Mt Beauty are a simple lot. Good living country folk. Tell it like it is folk. So when they named it Big Hill Mountain Bike Park .. they were spot on. It was a big hill. And uphill it went. For 10 punishing kilometres. Up. And up again. Round the corner and up the hill. Up the hill and round the corner. At least there was a distraction to take my mind off the pain in my legs. The flies. Hundreds of 'em. And all swarming around my head. Well my mouth to be more precise. On the journey up that damn hill I ate a powerbar, a gel and maybe 15 flies. But the journey down the flies couldn't catch me. Nothing could. Smooth flowing single track with nasty obstacles thrown in - drops, ledges, bridges, log rolls.
It would had been awesome if I hadn't ridden from another part of the state to get there ! All was going well at the 90 km mark. I was fatigued but knew I was close. I had to keep going. Then the 'event organisers' (aka The Bastards) chucked in a wicked 5km granny grind back up the hill.
More flies. More leg pain. And then more whoooooo whoooooo single track. And then ... I caught up to the roadie brothers. Ha ha you clean skinned bandits ..... got ya. As I wobbled past I realised that one of them had popped a tyre and he was running the bike to the finish. (tough stuff). I could hear the PA so I knew I was close to the end. I glanced at my speedo to see 99.5 km on the clock. I could almost taste another helping of snakes .... then all of a sudden I was lying on the ground. A slow leak in the front tyre had diminished it's ability to stay on the rim. I had gone over the bars and ended up on my arse. F**k. Determined to finish I got up, dusted myself off, threw my leg over and rode the last 500 m's to the finish with a very wobbly front end. Wow. What a day. I felt great. My first 100k. Race time was 6hr 49 mins with a ride time of 6hr 35 mins. I was super stoked. I had completed The Alpine Assault. The trip back up the mountain to the Windy Peak car park was in a super comfy air conditioned coach. Didn't feel a bump. Smooth as silk. Only took 38 minutes .....