Safari, Kiribati Style!

Expedition planning underway with local Amon taking the lead

Having recently started work for the World Bank based out of the Sydney office, I have been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to visit some far flung places in the Pacific like Kiribati.  As an engineer I feel  there is a great deal basic infrastructure can do for these developing countries, and anything we can do to help the friendly pacific people with their dire social, economic and environmental problems is a good thing. 

Before you dismiss these trips excessive junkets at the expense of the Bank’s kindly donors , I can assure you the pace of work while on ‘mission’ is frenetic, with 12 hours days and missed lunches not uncommon. The latter can prove particularly hard to bear for this particular glutton, although when it finally arrives, the rich deep fried Kiribati supper  certainly restores the calorie balance.

Occasionally though I’ll get an opportunity to escape the madness and visit a special location which really lifts the trips from mere work visits into the rarefied air of adventure. When this happens I can’t help but be stoked to be working for The Bank, as they are colloquially known.

Pride of the Kiribati feelt at our disposal

Whilst sea level rise is widely touted as the single factor which will spell the end to the coral atolls of Kiribati, water supply is perhaps a more critical issue, with the entire supply coming from a collection of thin freshwater lenses stored beneath the narrow strips of sand. The two issues are linked, with rising sea pushing salt water into the precious fresh water layer, rendering the resource useless. Here is an article giving a good summary of the nation's predicament. Currently the people of Kiribati only receive half of the recommended minimum, a mere 20 litres per person per day. Any measures to supplement this with capture of rain or additional groundwater are of crucial importance for the people of Kiribati.

Last Saturday under the guise of visiting remote rainwater collection and infiltration gallery sites we boarded the pride of the Kiribati fleet for the islets of North Tarawa. The safety of the craft left a bit to be desired, with protruding wood screws from the transom ripping one of our parties shorts (thankfully not undies), and a UV weathered life ring which I’m certain would have disintegrated on impact with the water.  Fortunately on this fine day the tepid waters of the lagoon were far from dangerous.

Captain at the helm

We’d heard atoll legends of international consultants being lost at sea for months after popping out for a spot of fishing, and had stocked up with enough provisions to keep us alive for days. A raid of the local store yielded numerous canned delicacies of Chinese origin, notably a spicy black bean ‘marine fish’, and pork giblets mixed with bamboo shoots. As one of our party pointed out, the former was rather odd given the abundance of fresh fish in the surrounding ocean.

Generally limited stocks at this North Tarawa store

In comparison to barren South Tarawa, where a dirth of organic matter makes plant life limited to coconut palms, the North is a relative jungle, with lush trees providing ample cover for post lunch napping.

Coconut fronds made for a prime napping spot

After inspecting a couple of roofs which we hope to use to collect water and fill large rainwater tanks, we jumped on the back of a flogged Toyota light truck and bounced and bumped ourselves all the way to the Northern tip of the Island at Naa. Here we found sites of some historical significance including in reverse chronological order the final Buariki battle of the savage Tarawa war (WWII), the site of the atolls historic leprosy colony, and the first European landing site.

Backside bruising truck safari

Wading back to the boat just as the sun began to set, we were treated to clear skies and an amazing display of astronomical illumination. I lay on the stern deck of the boat and stared up at the heavens, the boat carefully edging  south in the shallow lagoon, water lapping at the hull.

Sunet at Naa, Tarawa's northen tip

While the adventure didn’t involve bicycles or even a mountain, I was very fortunate to see North Tarawa, and will endeavor to return again when time and equipment allow on my next mission. A colleague has purchased a mountain bike for the princely sum of $150 and after a brief sortie to test its wading capability I’m confident that it’ll be up to the task of a North Tarawa round trip. Will keep you posted how I get on!

Next stop Australia!

 

Escape to the Blue ‘Mountains’

Bikes + Train = Fun ahead

Easter weekend dawned and Heidi and I took the opportunity to escape the madness of our new Sydney home to head for the hills. Hills is an appropriate description with the most extreme geographical projections in close proximity; The Blue Mountains only reaching a pitiful 1090m, a mere pimple by New Zealand standards.

Heralded by friends as one of the must visit places in New South Wales, the Blue Mountains have been on the must do list since arrival, so taking advantage of the great train service we loaded up with bikes with gear for the scenic journey into the ‘mountains’.

How's the serenity?

Heidi was riding her mountain bike for the first time in a while, the clammniess of Brisbane making her roadbike her go to steed, but took to the fat tires quickly, enjoying the even playing field that Ollie’s fully laiden pack created on the uphill sections.

After a lot of time on my El Commandante recently, I’d decided to air up the fat tires and take out my more travel endowed El Chucho. This would make me ready for any impromptu hucks that might eventuate, while also getting me get used to the bike which would be my go to ride for the Trans-Savoie Enduro race I’ve signed up for in France this August. While we weren’t expecting the Blue Mountains trails to rate highly on the gnarl scale, I wanted to be ready for any extreme detours that might eventuate.

Gawking at Govett's Leap

Heidi on tent setup duty

Arriving on Friday afternoon we set up camp, and realising on completion that 4:30PM was probably too early to go to bed, we went exploring down a promising trail from Perry’s Lookdown.

Dropping 600m in 2km, this trail posted figures which would compete with the epic descents of the Canterbury foothills for steepness, but alas the sections were too steep, too littered with steps and chest impaling hand rails to consider riding them. Or perhaps I’m just getting lame after too much time across the ditch where properly gnarly trails are as rare as kangaroo eggs.

I would have ridden this if I had my knee pads

The next day we headed further afield to explore some of the trails which were mentioned in local ride guides, namely Govetts Leap, Baltzer Lookout, Anvil Rock and Victoria Falls. Besides a sprinkling of singletrack made tantalisingly rowdy by some water erosion, the trails were largely nice flowing set of 4wd roads. Not too bad all considered, especially as every route ended in a spectacular lookout with a breathtaking outlook across the water eroded valley to towering orange cliffs. The exposure added to the vista, as did the blue haze which permeated the gum forest, presumably the source for this mountainous region’s name.

And this huck if I had a downhill bike

Wind took a toll on this cliff

My favourite parts of camping are eating lots of easy to prepare food, then going to bed at 7PM and logging a solid 12 hours sleep, and this trip didn’t disappoint.  Despite signage and the area’s reputation for ferocious forest fires, some fellow campers insisted on building camp fires, perhaps exercising some idiotic pyromanical gene which Australian’s posess.

Now that we’ve got a feel for the place I’m hoping we’ll be frequent visitors. Only two hours by train, they Blue Mountains are a great way to escape the city, a readily accessible wilderness experience just like in New Zealand. With a bit of investigation and hushed exchanges in the dark corner of bike shops we’ll hopefully find some trails which will justify a bit of hike-a-bike. I’m confident that somewhere in the vast network of trails I’ll find something which rides the fine line between death and elation that can only come from the right mix of gravity, roots, rocks, leaves and dust.  

GDT 2013: A touch of suffering, Australian style

The GDT route as seen from Trackleaders

The final 20 kilometres of the 2013 Great Dividing Trail Ride were some of the hardest I’ve ever experienced on a bike.

The cumulative effectives of my body’s failure to function in the hot temperatures (which approached high thirties for both days of the 384km ride) reduced me to a physically crippled wreck.

Riddled with cramps in the usual places as well as some odd ones (arches of feet, elbow and neck), the slightest rise forced an awkward dismount.  I propelled bike and body jerkily forward, doubled over with one arm on the bar and the top of my head pushing the other grip. An unorthodox and wholly inefficient technique but one that was necessitated by the world of hurt I was in.

With 10km to go I’d forced myself to stop and eat my last goo, a sickly chocolate concoction which promptly forced my stomach to evacuate the half digested day’s takings, which were thankfully meagre. On finishing my technicolour yawn I’d had a second wind, if that’s what you could call the asthmatic puff of energy in my otherwise desolate world of glycogen debt.

Knowing that the last 6km were downhill was supremely motivating and on passing Arran at the crest and chomping on his proferred salt tabs with only a slight gag, my mind’s bullying motivation which had pushed me thus far faded into the blissful hum of the sinuous descent.

Not to be outdone in the realm of fails, my GPS decided to kick the can in the final 4km, so I put in a call to organiser Ryan, first to dish out some harsh but fair anatomical metaphors, and secondly to get directions to the train station which was the finish.  I rushed there to buy a ticket home before the shivers set in.

The shakes of early heat stroke came with the same ferocity as the previous day. Arran who finished close behind later likened them to a seizure, which prompted the station master to ask Arran if he could move me. A caring sort they are in Victoria. But I wasn’t moving, not after the immense effort it took to get to the finish of the epic adventure that was the inaugural GDT.



Post race haze: no instagram required
Photo Ross Cairns



The weekend began with promise. Local legend and bikepacking afficianado Ryan had picked us up from the airport and the banter from the get go was off the scales (or rather on the scales for the weight weenies amongst us). It was great to put faces and personalities to the bikepacking community which till now had been virtual. In the company of other enthusiastic bike geeks we could let loose with the pent up gear-talk which we’d learned to bottle up in our home lives for fear of irrevocably ruining relationships with loved ones and colleagues.

The Bush Pig Inn where we gathered pre race was the single most Australian insitituiton I’ve come across in my short time here. The ramshackle pub had authentic curious and a rustic charm like it’d just swaggered in from the outback with dangly hat corks bobbling. The entrepreneur/gold prospecting/property developing proprieter even joined us for a drink to spin some yarns. Unfortunately the water slide was out of commission but Ryan promised this for next year.



Race start in Bendigo



While my preparations for the event had been light, with only a handful of rides over 2 hours in the last 3 months, I was backing myself over the long days, and fully intended to pull on my powers of sleep monster management to push through the course without sleep.

Something new for me on this race was a dynamo lighting setup from klites.com.au. Tapping into a Shutter Precsision PD-8 front hub through some electronic wizardy, I had 800 lumen of light from the handlebars with a claimed power loss of 5 watts (bugger all) at 30 km/h. Best of all it would run as long as I could pedal over about 10 km/h. Another benefit was that I could charge my GPS via USB while on the go, breaking the tether that had kept me reliant on longish stops in the Tour Divide last year. With the exception of a few teething problems the system worked great and I’m looking forward to working with Kerry to fine tune what I’m certain will become the go-to system for bikepacking.

 

Shutter Precision hub driving a tiny light head which packs an 800 lumen punch

Bike setup was my Tour Divide rig, without the aerobars and a fresh Rohloff hub which is through the break-in period and is starting to purr. If I was to do this race again I’d opt for a more trail friendly setup; suspension fork, tires with actual knobs (rather than the skimpy but fast WTB Vulpines). My Gates Carbon Drive worked well as always, with the dry dusty conditions requiring constant relubing for chain riders, while mine only needed the odd squirt from a drink bottle to keep noise at bay. Late into the race in my delirious state I squirted some Gatorade into the sprockets which yielded an awful  raspy noise so can’t recommend this lubricaition to any belt users out there.

On the trail early Saturday morning and we were right into some flowing singletrack that would set the tone for the weekend.  A good range of surface conditions from loose death cookies to dust filled berms that let off delightful roosts, the first stretch of singletrack was pure fun.

Restocking in Castlemaine Liam and I had a small gap, but into the rocky trail and disaster struck, with a sidewall cut on my rear tire, quite an accomplishment for Victorian rock given I’d not managed to do this in almost 2 years of riding on these tires in some of the harshest conditions Colorado, New Zealand and the Tour Divide could muster.

First tube in had a hole, worn through at the valve stem from the long TD miles, second tube held (phew) and by this stage the chase pack of Ryan and Ross had joined me and I set off in hot pursuit, just as the day was starting to get hot.

Epic drink stop in Daylesford, including a sit under a tree, but this next stretch to Ballarat was where I really started to fall apart. It culminated in an episode of heat stroke in Ballarat like I’ve never experienced before. Apparently your body draws all the blood to the internal organs, leaving your extremities cool, and some epic magnitude shakes result, completely at odds with the 30 degrees outside. I lay down and smashed back some fluids, put on my jacket and rode them out, the worst of them had passed just as Ross rolled  into town. Stocked up at McDonalds we headed out together, knowing that I’d have to be careful if I wanted to ease my body out of the hole I’d dug and get it to the finish 180 hard km away.

To this end we took the relatively soft option and bivyed under a delightful roadside pinetree, just the thing given I’d gone without mat in an effort to reduce the gear I was carrying. Bivy bag and sleeping bag liner proved a perfect combination for the warm night and this sleep helped me get through the night and rise for the next day with vim.

I was desperately low on kilojoules, but just couldn’t stomach food, with a solo Egg McMuffin a dismal breakfast performance compared with the height of my eating prowess in the Kiwi Brevet where I clocked the menu and racked over $45 (including free smiles) in hyper processed nastiness all before 10AM.

I have blurred recollections of an epic climb from Bacchus Marsh, an epic wrong turn by Ross who was too far ahead to hear my calls, and some mind blowingly good exposed singletrack that was an old miners route. More singletrack and some exposed roads and we were back at Daylesford. Only 50km to go but I knew to be wary, so snuck in a juice induced powernap prior to pushing out with an aim of finishing by dark.

Ross' photo message to organiser Ryan during the final leg says it all 

The rest became clear, one of the toughest sections of riding, not due to the course which would have to rate as my favourite bikepacking route and one that should be on everyone’s GPX list, but more just a battle between my decaying physical state and my mind which whipped it on.

But I made it to the finish and have learnt a few things about myself. Apparently I finished in 37 hours, perhaps 3rd place, but not sure the result really justifies the suffering I put myself through to get there.

The biggest thing I can take from the ride is a fantastic group of mates. Howard, Ryan and Marnie’s hospitality was amazing, gifting transport, beds and food and feeding me back to life. Ross who barely knew me, but was kind enough to help me through my dark post-stroke place, despite repeated attempts to drop him.  Brad, Arran and even the random dude who returned my jacket. It is a fantastic community and I’m looking forward to getting out there with these guys and exploring more of this amazing country.

Moreton Island: Land of Signs and Curious Creatures



Sunset over the Wrecks

As Heidi alluded to in an earlier blog, she’d had her fair share of following me on biking adventures and made a compelling case for a relaxing weekend in a place where inertness is embraced ; ideally a beach . Since our big move to Queensland, a quintessential Aussie beach camping trip was always on the cards, and when a weekend presented itself Heidi and I took the opportunity to board the Micat; a ferry with a disappointing lack of feline features, bound for the much lauded Moreton Island.

In an small concession which accommodated my bicycle obsession, Heidi agreed that we could at least ride our bikes to the ferry, and guided (or rather misguided) by my Garmin GPS, we proceeded along a perplexingly complex path to the ferry terminal. I’d been newly reunited with the GPS after a shockingly long warranty stint of almost 3 months, and am certain Heidi and I could have got us there in far less time had we trusted maps and our internal compasses. All the satellites and electronic wizardry in the world aren’t a substitute for good old fashioned maps, and as we finally approached the sea with tell tales signs of dirty roadside lunch joints, seagulls and fishy smells we knew we’d made our destination.

Bikes strapped onto the Micat

We were joined aboard the Micat by a plethora of four wheel drives, each laden to the gunnels with enough alcohol to drown a Great White shark, amongst a collection of children’s play sets and ridiculous inflatable camping couches which stood in stark contrast to our minimalist setup that fitted into a backpack each.

We weren’t however completely without our own beach accessories as we’d brought along two snorkel and flipper sets which were regifted by a work colleague. Resplendent in neon green and blue, we strapped them to a Freeload and donned them to explore the shipwrecks which had been sunk in the bay for precisely that purpose. They proved to be a ticket to an exciting underwater world, and having never snorkelled before I was blown away by what the Island offered.



Ollie attempting to smile through the snorkel

On arrival, any plans of exploring by bike were quickly quashed, with a deep loose sand which offered such a poor riding surface that we pushed our bikes to the campsite and left them there for the duration of our stay, much to Heidi’s delight! With the scorching mid day heat starting to beat down, the beach was the only option and the cool inviting waters more than satisfied, while the aquatic life that swarmed in the shallow water was just amazing.



Scouts gawk at the Moreton Wrecks

Our snorkelling experience began with nervous hyperventilation, not trusting that the snorkels length would provide access to important oxygen. After this passed, we faced an issue with goggle fogging, and after working out that periodic de-misting was required, we could see clearly underwater and navigate the jagged, limpet clad iron wrecks with a degree of safety. On seeing my first fish my reaction was startled one, jumping out of the water and pointing furiously to the oddity to Heidi only a few meters away. She dipped her goggles underwater and had a similar excited response. We now understood what snorkelling was about and why people went through rigmarole of squeezing their faces into rubber masks and walking backward in ill fitting rubber toe-extensions to get their sub-water fix.

We spent the next hour circling the sunken hulls, swimming amongst swarms of tiny fish, gazing in wonder at large colourful characters which could have starred in Finding Nemo. This snorkelling proved to be the highlight of our weekend and I wholeheartedly recommend the experience if you get the opportunity. It was certainly made more pleasurable by the warm waters, and I can’t imagine it’d hold the same appeal in frigid southern seas. I only wished my camera was actually waterproof, rather than just pretend as I discovered in the Tour Divide, as I would have been able to share some of these underwater sights.

Tuckered out from snorkelling, we returned to the beach and lay in the sun, passing the time till an acceptable hour for first dinner. This was followed by a nap then second dinner, and I was quickly growing to appreciate the relaxing approach to passing the time that Moreton offered.

Heidi laxes out on the beach

It seems the tendency to bring a tonne of stuff didn’t escape our camping neighbours, who had brought a cow worth of meat and nothing to cook it on, having banked on a campfire which is banned under the island’s strict fire laws. As we drifted off to an early 7PM bed time, fuelled by a second dinner food coma, we heard them drunkenly rant about their dire situation. We were both too sleepy in our tent and bivy to offer assistance.

Camping in lightweight style

An interesting observation of Moreton Island we’d made was the abundance of signs, proclaiming all sorts of shouty instructions which stood in stark contrast to the laid back atmosphere that the island oozed. Ferry landings, speed limits, pet bans and fire restrictions were all proclaimed loudly, and while I didn’t find them offensive, it was certainly curious to see such that a place with such natural beauty needed so many signs to be enjoyed by everyone.

Signs for Africa

This island’s view on the signs might have been different however, as on a walk to an inland desert we found the sand starting to swallow a ‘use walking track’ notice into its dry sandy stomach.

The Island protested to this particular sign

One of the things I most enjoyed about my time at Moreton, was the chance it afforded us to sit quietly and look at nature, which was very close and supremely interesting. After dinner, we were visited by a gaggle of lizards which came to snaffle up food crumbs, slithering stealthily through he bushes and working in teams to retrieve their evening meal. In the morning, we watched a Kookaburra bludgeoning an insect to death on a branch, then swallowing it whole. We were only treated to this spectacle due to the cover afforded by the tent. To have time to just sit and look at nature was fantastic, and hopefully we’ll get time to do more of this on future touring adventures.

The camping trip afforded us the time to sit and watch nature

Packing up our camp and boarding the ferry, we were sad to be leaving after such a short time, but our lives back in the real world were calling and living on a beach watching lizards, fish and Kookaburras certainly doesn’t pay the bills. Fortunately we got to ride our bikes back home to Toowong, and were treated to a roaring tailwind that blew us through the port, then outer suburbs, then city with none of the navigational dramas of our journey out. Moreton Island was a thoroughly enjoyable adventure and one both Heidi and I will be looking to repeat in a different wilderness location in the near future.



Moreton diappears into the distance

Storms, snakes and sleeping at Mount Nebo

Heidi does her best cycle touring pose

Heidi and I are pretty much fresh off the boat in Queeensland, and so are taking every opportunity to get out and explore this new place where we find ourselves living. Given my obvious obsession with bikes, Heidi has graciously resigned herself to our wheeled steeds accompanying us on most holidays in the future. So in the interests of seamlessly integrating the pinnacle of transportation that is the push-bike with our holidays, we have decided to dabble with cycle touring.   



Ollie follows suit

We were familiar with the pannier laden exploits of tourists pushing their unprenouncable bikes across the endless headwind battered plains of New Zealand. They were often glimpsed from the seat of a car as we zoomed past with bikes strapped to the rack. Questions came into our mind like where they were going, where they were form, and what luxuries they must be carrying to explain the seemingly excessive baggage. My experience with touring thus far has been of the hasty variety, not really taking time to enjoy the scenery, but cramming in food and miles in an effort to make the next town as quickly as possible. My natural disposition is to want to do things fast, so to see if I could do slow touring was a bit of a personal test.

For me, it is a natural instinct to want to explore the high points of new places first, and I like the idea that standing atop a summit in a new place will provide an appreciation and view of surroundings that you simply can’t get from the flat plains. Mount Nebo was within striking distance of our new home, and so we resolved to leave early afternoon and push for a mountaintop campground, staying there a night then returning the next day. A sampler of cycle touring to see if it was something we could dig, and if I could refrain from turning it into a race, because not everything is a race.

The reality of Mt Nebo, a 40km ride from central Brisbane didn’t quite provide the expansive views we’d expected. A meer hillock by New Zealand standard at 538m a.s.l., the epic undulations leading to the mountain top were not to be underestimated. And at the summit, rather than a panoramic view of the sprawl below, we were enclosed in an eerie tropical tunnel with thickets of palms and twisted vines so stout I was half expecting tarzan to come swinging across the road in full cry.

Rocket booster panniers

For bikes, with my Tour Divide bike awaiting a new wheelset, so I opted for my singlespeed instead. Heidi’s Surly Cross Check eats this kind of ride for breakfast and we strapped on some Freeload  racks, dry bags and panniers to pedal off into the warm but not unbearably hot afternoon.

Gear wise we’d gone minimalist. We’d toyed with taking my uber light Z-packs tent but given the rain forecast and the likely dampness for the second person (me), we swapped this out for the Black Diamond Mesa. We took a cooker, pots, sleeping bags and mats, and enough food to ensure a food induced coma at our camp, just in case the hill wasn’t enough to do this.

The climb to Nebo undulates in the true delightful sense. As if the early civil engineers had playfully wielded their scale rules like paintbrushes, the road pitched up then flowed down in a whimsical fashion. Delightful, at least at first.

The view from one of the lookouts

We’d stop at viewpoints along the way to admire the views to the valley below. Often the road was perched atop a great cliff which afforded a sense of exposure that really added to the vista. I found these regular breaks (usually absent on normal rides), were a great way to embrace the touring mentality, and they certainly helped reframe the experience for Heidi. While I’d feared the hill would have been a sufferfest for her, she was still smiling at the summit, only requiring a single emergency snack stop en-route to our camp.

Heidi gets some emergency snacks

Arriving at the cross roads at the summit, light was fading and a storm was approaching, and after failing to locate our campground we flagged down a friendly local who pointed us in the right direction.

Even these directions weren’t sufficient for our navigational numptiness, and with the first heavy drops starting to fall we made a quick decision to stealth camp at a trail head, hoping that any enforcement officials would take pity on our predicament in the face of the impending storm.

And storm it did, with bright lightning flashes lighting up the sky and deep thunder rumbles echoing through the dense forest. I’d last experienced such epic precipitation on a ridge top in New Mexico, and fortunately the lightning never got as close as it did then.

Thankful for the shelter of the walker’s rest, we set up the cooker and prepared our food, a delicious green curry with a desert of giant jelly pythons.

Heidi chops vege by headlight

Dashing through the rain to our tent, we sealed ourselves in our fart sacks and dozed off, a check of the clock informing us of our early nap time of 7PM. A bedtime more akin to our grandparents, but perfectly respectable for intrepid bike tourers, especially with the thundering storm bearing down outside. There is something about being in a dry tent with a storm outside that makes you sleep well, and when the light finally woke us a 6AM, we’d both had a thoroughly good kip.

Packing up, eating breakfast and rolling out, we stopped to sample an Australian pie (nothing on Sheffield) and climb then descending the last few pinches to home in Toowong.

Heidi fearlessly tackles the steep descent

And shreds one of the numerous sweeping switchbacks

Arriving at 10AM we’d had an excellent adventure in a relatively small amount of time. Both Heidi and I really enjoyed the experience and are looking for new destinations as we speak. Safe to say that a few more sedate paced cycle tours will be in store!

24 Hour Race for a Supporter

Ollie thought it might be interesting for me to write about being a feeder/supporter for a 24 hour race to share my thoughts and observations.  So that is what this post is about.

When Ollie first mentioned going to Canberra for the National Australian 24 hour race he didn’t explicitly say that I needed to go with him.  It wasn’t till further in to our conversation about the race that I found out it is compulsory for solo riders to have at least one support crew.  That’s when I figured I was going to Canberra.  I was excited to be going away for a weekend and being a part of another adventure with Ollie.  But as the time drew near I started to dread the race realising that it required me to be awake and functioning for the same duration as the race.  Not that big a deal, I know.  But not your holiday weekend away, sun bathing and napping on a tropical beach which, by the way, we haven’t been to yet. 

After our exciting taxi ride to the venue and a good night sleep in our trusty wee tent we rose to a lovely morning in Canberra.  As Ollie started assembling his bike I asked him my final questions mostly about what should happen upon him finishing the race.  I suspected he would be super out of it. I was a little worried about packing up everything and getting him back to the airport. 

As Ollie mentioned we were in the line up with high profile solo riders.  They started to arrive and set up camp and I watched with curiosity.  Jason English had two tents and so many supporters I lost count.  I think they were mostly family, his mother checked in on me at 1am to say if I got cold to come down to their tent where they had a heater.  Isn’t she a nice lady.  I’m pretty sure it was his Mum anyway.   Other riders had their table brimming with food and sagging under the weight of what appeared to be thousands of drink bottles.  Because of our travelling situation we decided to take our food with us from Brisbane.  It didn’t look like much in comparison.  But Ollie was confident it was more than he needed.  Turns out at the end of the race he’d only eaten about half the food that we brought.  Also, most of the other solo riders had multiple bikes.   

Ollie is such a hot shot now with his tent label.  

Ollie being interviewed before the race.

The start of the race was very fast but soon appeared to settle and Ollie seemed to just be ticking away, sticking to his eating regime and getting work done.   At around 8 hours he started to fade and at 9 hours he pulled in to our pit saying he needed heaps of food and that he was falling asleep.  This is when the spread sheet feeding plan went out the window.  We pumped him with caffeine and stuffed his pockets with food and off he went again.  Previously when supporting Ollie at a 12 hour he requested coke and didn’t go back to drinking water for the duration of the race.  I didn’t think that would be the case this time, but I thought he might want a second bottle of coke and then go back to the water or Gatorade.  Little did I know that the caffeine had taken effect strongly and all he really wanted to was water.  Unfortunately every second lap he passed through the camp at an alternate place, so I wasn’t near the tent where I could just swap the coke for water.  Anyhow, he seemed in great spirits after that until 1am.  It was raining and his lap times where getting considerably slower.  I took advantage of the longer lap times and had at 30min sleep.  It was so cold I put Ollie’s sleeping bag inside my own for warmth.  Fortunately Ollie wasn’t having any problems staying warm on the bike. 

At around 2am I was almost back on schedule with the spread sheet feeding plan and was about to give him his first treat, a bag of snake lollies.  Instead though, he pulled in and said he needed a break.  WHAT!  You’ve been riding for 14hours and you need a break?!?! You gotta be kidding me. (Sarcasm)  He was going to lie down on the grass floor of our tent and curl up, but I got his Ground Effect bike bag and he laid down on that.  I covered him in his jackets to try and keep him warm.  He said to wake him after 10 minutes.  As soon as he lay down he was sleeping deeply. I could see his eyes moving beneath the lids and he was twitching.  I figured 10 minutes wasn’t long enough.  He had the lead by over an hour at this stage, so I wasn’t worried about him loosing places.  I was worried about him getting cold though.  I thought about using the sleeping bags... but he was so heavily caked in mud I decided not to.  After 15mins I woke him.  I tried to say something comforting and positive, but was unsuccessful.  I told him it would be easy once the sun came up and that was only four hours away.  He responded with a cheeky grin who’s meaning can be interpreted as “yeah, you go ride out there for ONLY four more hours, till the sun comes up”.  None the less, he didn’t procrastinate.  He got up and went straight back to doing what Ollie does best, riding his bike when actually it would be so much nicer to stop.  His mood was hugely improved after his nap and he continued on till day light without drama.

At the end of each lap he would pass by the feed station twice, once on his way in from a lap and once on his way out for the next lap.  We used the first passing to swap drink bottles and pass food, the second for clothes or for me to quickly give him an update on where the competition was.  Later in the race we didn’t really need the second slot, so I’d just stand there at the side of the track trying to think of something to cheer as he rode by.  I found heckling difficult though.  So many of the standard ones I have picked up from fellow hecklers at bike races just were not appropriate.  “Put it in the biggie”  “Get off the brakes”, not really that kind of race.  “Good job”  “You go you good thing you”, so cliché.  Finally I decided to go with the “you know you love it”.  This turned out to be a winner even getting a smile out of him. 

During the night Ollie was riding pretty closely to a guy named Callum.  Callum’s father was supporting him and we were often waiting at the feeding stations together, chit chatting about our riders and general other stuff.  It was nice to have some company. 

I was slightly confused about the finish of the race.  In other 12 hours I’ve attended at the finish you need to complete a full lap before the 12 hours is up.  Not the case here, you only have to start your last lap before 24 hours.  Ollie was a little disappointed when I told him this and in all honesty he probably could have sat out the last lap and still won, but he was a good sport and did it anyway just to be safe.

There were two guys doing a running commentary and handing out spot prizes throughout the duration of the whole race.  At the finish line they were interviewing winners of prominent categories and as Ollie finished they pulled him aside and talked to him for a couple of minutes.  It was pretty obvious he just wanted to sit down but he humoured them anyway.  Finally they let him go and we went back to the tent so he could have a sit down.  He was surprisingly functional.  I sent him off for a shower while I washed his bike.  He instructed me on how to pack his bike, which wasn’t too hard after all.  Prize giving was prompt and speedy.  Then we were in a taxi back to the airport. 

So much drool!  While we were waiting for our flights Ollie leaned on me and promptly fell into a deep sleep.  When he awoke and sat up there was a small lake of drool on my arm.  Later we moved seats to be closer to the gate for Ollie’s flight.  We sat and again he half leaned/lay on me and fell asleep.  I was also very tired and set my alarm so I could sleep as well.  I was just dozing off in a seated position when a dribble of drool fell and landed on Ollie awaking him and me.  With so much drool and wearing our scruffy clothes from our long and tiring weekend we must have looked like retarded homeless people waiting for our flights.

Ollie at the airport in Canberra after his 24 hour race,
creating a puddle of dribble on the floor, rather than my arm. 

Mud, sweat and goo at the Scott Australian 24hr champs

Sunrise and set are always great times to ride the Scott 24 was no exception
Photo Sportograf

It has been a goal for some time to race a solo 24 hour in the traditional multilap format, so when the stars aligned and I had the opportunity to partake in Australia’s premiere event, I leapt at the chance.

In a way, these events are a more respectable form of mountainbiking, distinctly lacking in the hobo-esque characteristics of bikepacking. With a support crew to feed you every lap there is no need to hoard food on your bike and body, you only have the chance to accumulate a single day of stench as opposed to multiple days, and the shorter format means you don’t need to bivvy in roadside ditches.

But on the flipside, the repetitive nature of a lap course can be mental torture, as rather than the profoundly motivating prospect of an end of day destination, you must force your body to endure lap after lap of the same features, and this would prove to be one of the hardest parts of the race for me.

The support I had to get to this race was amazing, with personal supporter Ground Effect and co-organiser Sarah from Canberra Off Road Riders Club (CORC) sorting out an entry and even a personal marque on the prestigious pit row. When I plonked down my Tardis bike bag right next to international legends of the sport Matt Page, Cory Wallace and the indomitable Jason English I was aware the field was high calibre, and was stoked to be racing amongst it. My employer Beca also provided generous support to fund flights from Brisbane to Canberra, which was a god send given the short notice before I committed to the race.

Travelling with Heidi as number one fan and chief supporter, we arrived in Canberra to take the first taxi off the rank. On only his second day, the driver was pretty green and hadn’t heard of the Mt Stromlo venue, and had no clue how to drive us there. As if to up the stakes in ridiculousness, he couldn’t operate any of the three GPS devices in his car, and proceeded to speed whilst swerving between lanes and talking to his friend on the phone to get some directions. I guess I take it for granted that a taxi driver will know where to go, or at least have the nous to work it out, but when the vacant circling got ridiculous we forced him to stop and I grabbed the GPS off his dash to find our destination.

Taxi driver leads us on a magical mystery tour!

Safe to say that when we arrived we were happy to say goodbye and parting with a heavily discounted fare we left the taxi driver to his own devices (probably autocide).

Initial impressions of the venue were shock and awe. With a live band and a playing field full of tents with sponsor’s flags, the CORC team weren’t doing things by halves. After a greasy all day brinner (at 9PM) which contained my yearly allowance of vitamin B (bacon) I was ready for bed. Heidi and I pitched the tent for the first time since our holiday in the USA and I had a peaceful sleep, me twitching occasionally in anticipation of the ride ahead.



Ample serving of vitamin B



Sideways Ollie eats a banger

In between assembling my El Commandante, talking shcmack with new friends, briefing Heidi on my detailed feeding schedule spreadsheet and being interviewed by the Canberra Times  the morning flew past, and by the time 12PM rolled around I was well and truly ready to mount my steed and ride into the sunset.



Misty morning at Mt Stromlo

Un-pro Ollie does all his own fettling

It seemed my hopes of slipping under the radar were idealistic, with a commentator interviewing me prior to the star filling the crowd in on some of the more interesting parts of the Tour Divide. It is crazy what a small world modern electronic media has reduced the world to, and I often felt that awkward feeling where someone knows you but you’ve never met them. I was pretty stoked at the buzz it created though, and hopefully my presence and some of the yarns I spun will encourage some others to embrace their inner hobo and give bikepacking a nudge.

From the start, the pace was surprisingly sedate and for the first couple of laps yo-yoing my singlespeed on and off of the lead bunch were a blast, whooping and hollering as we took in some of the great singletrack which permeated the Canberra course.

Pretty sure I was making this much air. At least in my mind.
Photo Sportograf

To minimise the boredom I’d feared and maximise the space between riders, organiser Russ had strung two laps together, and he spoke about how they’d kept the average rider spacing at 45m, as they’d found any less really detracted from rider experience. A true testament to how well CORC run an even, with a great focus on giving the riders the best experience.

One of the best moves I’d made was to not have any time display on my person, and without the constant reminder of apparent dilation of time as the hours rolled on, my mind was clear and I found I really enjoyed the simple challenge of heading out and knocking off another lap, just focusing on one at a time.

Early on everything was going well with my riding, I was sticking to my feeding plan and steadily munching away at bagels, B&E pie (for more vitamin B) and bananas. But as the laps wore on my stomach protested to the point where anything more than a goo would raise a wave of discontented stomach acid.

Heidi tried her best to make the food she offered appealing

I’d feared the sleepmonsters which I’d experienced in Tour Divide, and they brought their leaden eye-weights about 9 hours in. Wanting to hit back with conviction I stopped and downed caffine pills and Coke and while this had the desired effect of keeping me awake for the next 14 hours, for the next few my heart rate was racing and mind circling in a way that is quite rare to my coffee deprived body. Fortunately it calmed down and when normality resumed I felt relieved to have escaped both the monsters and a heart attack.

Early in the evening the rain began to pour, and unfamiliar to the moody weather of Canberra I donned my Helter Skelters and jacket thinking I’d be able to ride through the sludge with impunity. Sure enough the very next lap the sun returned and all I succeeded in doing was getting sweaty and losing a bit of time donning my rain garb and then removing it.

The rain returned with a vengeance in the wee small hours, turning the second lap into a quagmire that became a true test of mental and physical perseverance. In some places bogs were wheel deep and only careful and lucky line choice could save you from a mud sandwhich. With motivation waning and questions about the point of it all rising in my mind like lumps in the sticky mud, I took the decision to take a power nap, curling up in the fetal position on my bike bag and catching a blissful 40 winks.

I’d asked Heidi to allow me 10 minutes, but she felt so bad at my shivering and muttering state that she let the clock run to fifteen, and even then on waking me I asked her if she it was sure I’d used all the precious time.

The tent village by night as viewed form the top of the hill
Photo Sportograf

The turnaround in attitude on the back of the nap was profound, and with only that tiny amount of sleep I’d reframed the race in my mind and started to feel stronger all the way till the first tendrils of light grew form the horizon. Once the sun had risen I knew I’d make the full 24 hours, and even managed to push hard in my final few laps to make the best of the cutoff.

I can attribute least some of the good sensations I had in those early hours to the exceptional performance of the belt drive setup in the muddy conditions. Running singlespeed with the Gates Centretrack setup proved to be a source for much internal smugness, only heightened by the crunching, chain-sucking gnash of derailleur gears as the wimpy cables and chains of other riders succumbed to the bog which consumes conventional bicycle transmissions. The design of the mud ports effectively cleared all the mud from the belt and the system ran silent and smooth for the duration of the ride. I’m stoked to be able to use the system especially when it performs so well in difficult conditions.

So by the end of it all I was pretty tired, and although a bit wobbly on my feet Heidi remarked at my surprising coherence. Catching a plane for work the next day was always going to be tough, and still know I’m feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. I feel guilty for demanding so much of my body for it to stay awake and it can certainly rise to the challenge, but for some reason it still wants to keep riding, 2 days later which is less than ideal at 2AM with work the next day.

So after dabbling in the 24 hour race format I can say that they are a pretty enjoyable experience, especially at a well run event and great course as at the Scott 24. An awesome support crew who will even have the sympathy to let you sleep for 5 more minutes was just the icing on the cake. I’m definitely keen to race a few more and with the scene as popular as it is here in Australia I’m sure the opportunities will present themselves. Who knows, I might even throw on a Rohloff and race for the world title at the same course next year!