Gravel Grinding; Enduro Specific Roadbiking?

Gravel ready for the grinding
Photo Marcel  van Schie

After a heart warming visit back home to New Zealand to make an honest woman out of Heidi (or rather her making an honest man of me!), then a work trip to Kiribati, I was about ready for a good old fashioned long ride. It just so happened that the trend setting crew at City Bike Depot had planned a trial run of a new concept in road riding: gravel grinding. While I say new, the truth is far from this as for years and years when people circulated the countryside on their penny farthings (or less endo prone safety bicycles), they didn’t feel the need a focus group derived moniker to label their excursion, the very description of bicycling was enough!

So it is understandable then that when gravel grinding started to trend on Twitbox and Instabook, I greeted the concept with derision. The cynic in me saw it is a way to sell another slightly different type of bicycle with fatter tires and vertical compliance. While I’m a staunch believer of the n+1 rule of bicycle ownership, the fact remains that you can ride whatever bicycle you like on whatever terrain, as long as you are willing to accept varying levels of sketchiness and comfort.

Hugh and his crew had put together a 140km loop around Bathurst,  4 hours west of Sydney on the dry side of the Blue Mountains. The area defied its reputation for boganism, with a possie of 15 riders happy to note that the picturesque quiet roads made for some very fine gravel grinding. Very fine indeed.

The bunch of grinders heads out of Bathurst early on
Photo Marcel van Schie

Heidi was aboard a perfect machine for the ride, her well loved Surly Cross-Check, with the only change from commuting spec being a slight drop in tire pressure on her 32mm wide Conti Gatorskins. With cross season coming up I decided some time on my Gates Carbon Drive singlespeed would be fitting, leaving on my 25mm Contis and the 64” gear, mindful that the distance could make a larger ratio overly arduous.  Sydney CX mafioso Rob P. opted for fatter tires and a monster 70” fixed gear, and as we hit the first stretch of gravel with a few skyward pinches, I swear I heard his knees groan in protest, later admitting to taking a number of tactical walks.

The bunch familiarizes themselves with the cue sheets, while Ollie waits for his Garmin to load
Photo Marcel van Schie

Starting at a local sports ground Hugh dished out a cue sheet, thankfully we had GPX backup after the paper melted in the morning mist. We made our way south as a merry rabble, the group amicably parting  when rolling over the stretch of gravel which caused Rob’s first knee trauma. We met this section with whoops of delight, but were shocked to find the experience of riding road bikes on gravel just like riding on the road, only more gravelly. It made a nice crunchy noise as our tires rolled over the rain hardened surface, a smooth and thoroughly enjoyable experience.

The collection of back roads which followed was a symphony of riding delight, cresting rickety old railway passes and darting past historic homesteads, all the while surrounded by the lush greenery of the surrounding farms. Most sections of road we came across less than a single car, which evoked a feeling as if we were in a bygone era free from automotive evil, ambling through the countryside fueled by pure riding joy.

So much natural beauty, even the local spider population were getting amongst it!
Photo Heidi Kahl

The course was not without its challenges, the Olive hill climb making for a particularly challenging stretch, its extended 21% grade teasing with surprising gravel traction, only to let up on standing. By the time we rolled in to Oberon with a mean pie hankering, the sit down was welcomed and we rehydrated with sugary beverages for the final stretch to Bathurst.

Hurtling down a particularly bumpy stretch through a patch of forest, my back wheel hissed with a pinch flat, and I fortunately managed to scrub speed without resorting to secondary braking. A quick change and we were back on the gravel, however the accumulated miles had started to bear their toll on Heidi. When asked which bits hurt, she replied everything, to which silence followed as we crunched the last gravel climb, eager for the downhill run back to Bathurst.

Heidi's post-ride lie down.

Finishing up in seven and a half hours, Heidi starfished on the lush grass of the finish line, quickly rousing herself before limbs stiffened for the ride to where we were staying. Exhaustion quickly faded as we reunited with our buddies and shared highlights from the ride. Both Heidi and I can attest to the joys of gavel grinding particularly in such a beautiful part of the world. But by all means don’t wait to get that gravel specific bike or even for an organized event. The singular thrill of riding skinny tires of gravel is there to be experienced, so drop out some psi, pack a sandwhich and take your road bike out on something sketchy!

Any bike is OK for gravel grinding! Except recumbent trikes, they are never OK.

Enduro Hucks the Ditch

Ollie hooks a wooden berm on his way to finishing run #1
Photo Joshua Nicholson

From my remote observation post in Sydney, I’ve watched the burgeoning kiwi enduro scene with envy. Races seem to be popping up all over the country, followed by the inevitable wave of social media containing smiling faces at the end of epic bar clenching runs. Championed by pinners like privateer turned pro Jamie Nicoll, the scene seems to go from strength to strength. With ample shredworthy tracks and a growing disillusionment with the cross country norm of mass market gravel-fests and mind numbingly repetitive circuits, it is not really a surprise.

Shuttles make for good effort/stoke ratio
Photo Joshua Nicholson

So when the gravity enduro phenomenon hucked the ditch to New South Wales like a supercharged skippy the kangaroo, I was fizzing to get amongst it. The first round of Rocky Trail Entertainment’s Rollercoaster series was held at the trails of Ourimbah, a club built network consisting of all sorts of flowing trails, the perfect setting to introduce the masses to the fun format.

Lumpy tree and shredding rider
Photo Joshua Nicholson

The course started with a shuttle to the top of a gnarly downhill track dubbed CBD after the Sydney bike shop. It started with steep swooping drop into dusty berms, followed by sizable jumps that rewarded bravado rather than finesse, then a fast rocky section and an energy sapping final sprint over ladder bridges to stop the clock. This first trail suited bigger bikes, while the second run was a much flatter pedal fest that left those on downhill bikes suffering through waves of pedal bob and drowning in fullface perspiration. And that was only in the ride to the start! While a bit short at only 12 minutes of time at race pace,  the combined courses made for an ideal mix, with parts of the track favouring pedalling, and others just good old fashioned chutzpah.

Course for the day. Short but sweet.
Photo Joshua Nicholson

I hadn’t raced downhill in anger since the Trans-Savoie in France which was a mind blowing 6 days of riding which left me flowing natural gnar like Sam Hill (at least in my mind!). As such, my expectations of both the course and my own enduro pace were low, but I’m pleased to report I came out pleasantly surprised on both counts. I finished up 7^th equal in Elite, and on buckling over my bars at the second stage finish I’m certain I couldn’t have eeked out any more pedal strokes.  The other course of action would have been to get off the brakes, but the amount of time I’d spent with the scary/fun feeling of drifting my rear tire through corners told me that any less braking would have been to tempt fate!

This sign proved prophetic
Photo Joshua Nicholson

Perhaps the coolest experience was just hanging at the finishing tent and sponging up the buzz of everyone’s post-race stoke. While the potential for crashes is high in races downhill against the clock, it seemed everyone kept the rubber side down and lived to tell stories of saved nose cases, high speed punctures and brief off track excursions. With the event selling out with over 200 riders, there was plenty of stoke to go around, and you’d be hard pressed to find a frown amongst the sweaty faces.

So when work and time allows you can bet I’ll be strapping on the kneepads and saddling up my squishy bike, looking  to claw back seconds against the proper brave loonies who seem to float down the trails. Gravity endure is pretty rad and I’m stoked it has made it to Australia!

Newcastle Overnight, in the rain.

Only those with beady eyes were in the N-O know

Times have been hectic of late, with long work trips away from my Australian home and busy schedules whilst back making it difficult to indulge in the full scale adventures I prefer. This past weekend presented an opportunity to reverse the trend, with the second running of an underground road event dubbed Newcastle Overnight leaving from the harbour bridge at 9PM on Saturday night.

I’d learnt about the event in the best possible way; from a tiny flyer pasted to a sign on the harbour bridge bike lane. With no entry fee, nor prizes and the intrinsic reward which only bike induced sleep deprivation can bring, Heidi and I committed to the 170km ride north. Having ridden none of the old Pacific Highway route previously we were assured new roads and breathtaking vistas, that is we would have been if it wasn’t dark.

The preceding week’s weather forecast showed ominous signs, with rain most of the week and dark menacing clouds the go to sky decor.  Come Saturday I was 100% committed, partly due to the impermeable waterproof barrier offered by my Ground Effect Helter skelters and Rocky Goretex socks. Truly I could ride home to New Zealand along the bottom of the Tasman sea and still have dry toes and bum. Fortunately, Australia is largely a warm place so while the rain bucketed down an in monsoonal volumes (40mm over the duration of our ride), the temperature never dropped below 10 degrees so Heidi and I could avoid at least one of the three points of the Hangry pyramid.

Hangry pyramid infographic- pretty self explanatory

For those not in the know, this simple measure consists of cold, tired and hungry, with only a combination of the three yielding full blown hangry. Since our arrival to the warm climes of ‘stralia incidences of hangry have been significantly reduced, which I can only attribute to warmer climes. Certainly not less ambitious adventures with Heidi setting new standards of personal achievement and awesomeness at each outing!

Heidi + Shirley the Surly

Some 100 other nutters turned out just as the skies opened properly, and after sheltering in a gazebo and getting a low key briefing typical for this type of event, we caustiously rolled out into the roads which were awash with torrents of runoff.

Nutters, every last one of them

It quickly became apparent that riding in normal bunch formation was an undesirable affair, the spray of wheel-launched water directing a stream of gritty water directly at one’s face. I promptly gave up the bunch ride approach and drifted off the front, cautiously checking my GPS for turns till we were on the proper back roads.

Paper map was superseeded by less soggy GPS nav

At one point I missed a turn completely and ended up on the freeway, traffic screaming past at 110km/h. realising the error of my ways I was reluctant to backtrack into the four lane traffic, so had no option but to roll on till an opportunity to cross back presented itself. When it finally arrived, the GPS showed a tiny 50m gap to the old highway and blissfully quiet roads. What it didn’t show was the 30m drop in elevation over this short distance, nor the slippery boulders to be navigated, quite an undertaking in my skittery soled road shoes. Somehow I made it down unconcussed and with bike intact. I was then confronted by a final obstacle requiring bush bashing through vines and scrub in a style akin to that used on Chad’s fault, a particularly heinous vegetation entangled geographical obstacle in the Big Hurt ride. Emerging from the bush and clearing botanical samples from helmet and wheels, I rolled back along the course. From this point on the road was magic, with sweeping corners and mellow climbs that willed the legs to keep spinning, despite the descending mental (not to mention actual) fog.

These eerie markers apparently dotted the route, but I can't recall seeing any!

A nice surprise was the tea stop atop Mount White, where on consuming a muffin I was caught by the trailing bunch who seemed to be taking the whole ride rather seriously. Wanting to avoid getting sprayed in the face again, I made a quick exit and was treated to a solitary ride up the coast.

An amazing tailwind provided a welcome push along the final 60km stretch. I felt as though I was flying into Newcastle, the storm gusts giving pushing me onwards to the final destination.

Rolling up to the bathhouse at a stormy Newcastle beach and the fanfare was typically low key. Certainly no dancing girls in attendance, which seems to be an internationally consistent theme. Looking for the party I backtracked and found the only place open, a grimy Kebab shop with what seemed like a foot thick layer of half eaten wraps of chicken, beef or combination chicken/beef. Shivering on a door-step while I contemplated my next move, I had the company of homeward bound revellers, only one threatening violence. The rest were convinced my journey from Sydney was a fabrication, my GPS log quickly earning their drunken respect.

Searching for a place to warm up proved fruitless till I happened upon the train station and the blissful warmth of the trains. Nodding off in a carriage (thankfully the Sydney bound one), I awoke as the train was pulling away, checking my phone to see if Hieid had made it. Only an hour and a half back, she’d done exceptionally well but by the sound of her voice I could tell she was in a sorry state.  I jumped off at the next station and went to meet her. She was happy to be done with the ride and content to nap on the train after an artery warming McD’s breakfast.

Heidi purges water from her socks on the train ride home

Despite the rain I really enjoyed the adventure. The solitude and beautiful roads, not to mention the simple pleasure of a long bike ride after 2 weeks sans bike was great. Roll on the next (and hopefully less damp) adventure!

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!

Back on the horse at Hiddenvale

Ollie ponders the early break on the start line

After an extended break from mountainbike racing post Tour Divide, my thoughts about returning to the XC racing fold were mixed. On one hand, there is no denying the rush of a rowdy elbow to elbow mass start, and sheer elation of finishing up a ‘short’ race after an hour or two on the limit. But on the other, I rate the sheer adventure of bikepacking pretty highly in terms of riding joy. Cresting ridges and dropping into exciting unexplored terrain, all the while with the profoundly motivating requirement for food, shelter and survival at the forefront of your mind.

But when the opportunity to race at one of ‘stralia’s biggest marathon MTB events came up, I couldn’t say no to a day in the sun. The Flight Centre Epic is held at Hiddenvale, about an hour inland from Brisbane. Turned out that my good mates at Ground Effect were an event sponsor, and kindly hooked me up with an entry.

Ground Effect -supporters of grassroots MTB and all round nice people

At a relatively short 87km, and with the unrelenting Queensland sunshine in fine form, I was assured of a fun day on the bike. After a month or so of devoted attention riding my Gates carbon drive equipped Ventana El Commandante, I feel like I’ve got the hang of riding it in the dusty and loose surface that seems to prevail here in Queensland. Races like this are a great way to explore tracks in new places. Taupo’s Huka XL, the Whaka 100 and even the Nelson Mammoth all thread together a seamless loop of the best trails, and what better way to ride them than in on go as fast as you can!

Andrew and Ollie talk race plans

Mr Andrew T. again offered up a ride to the venue, and Heidi came along to act as official photographer and chief supporter, proving exceptional in both roles, even holding back from eating post race sandwiches despite a ravenous hunger.

I’d thrown my helmet in the singlespeed ring, which was curiously lumped amongst the ‘special’ categories starting dead last, along with super oldies and clydesdales (>100kg). Some 18 ‘special needs racers’ had entered which is pretty good SS field, and I knew nothing of the strengths of those making up the class. Being a bit rusty on XC racing tactics I opted for the approach that you can only pull off if you’ve got the legs to back it up. While it is rare that a marathon is won on a start, it can be a bit of a psychological blow for competitors when they are gapped off the line, and this is what I proceeded to do, boosting ahead to the categories that had started earlier and using their proliferation as camouflage. Fortunately my legs were up for it, not even wavering when the climb moved from gravel road to singletrack and I was forced to ride proper offroad over logs, rocks and critters to pass the slower riding masses.

Seems like the endurance XC scene is massive here in ‘stralia, and with more than 2000 riders over the weekend’s events the scene is vibrant with the kind of buzz that seems to be escaping the NZ scene, especially with the popular shift to enduro and Super D racing of late.

The course itself was very well suited to singlespeeding, with the exception of a depressingly long 8km sealed road section which spun my legs into a dizzy mush, and a few knee poppingly steep pinches, the course was teeming with fun and flow.

A first loop of close to 50km was dispatched in a couple of hours, and while I’d been sitting comfortably enjoying the company of other riders and the sketchy loose surface, my efforts had caught up with me and a twinge of cramp struck as I rounded the turnaround point and headed out for the final 37km loop.

Fortunately the second loop offered up an even better array of singletrack that helped distract me from the growing disquiet in my legs. Whereas for the first couple of hours I was bounding up climbs with ease, the cumulative fatigue had reduced my cadence to a slow grind, as if pedalling through treacle.

A stop to refill my bottle and wolf down some lollies offered a brief buzz, but as the grind returned all I could do was dig deep and hope that my previous efforts were enough to hold off the posse of singlespeeders biting at my heels. As it happened, it was more than enough and I crossed the finish line about 5 minutes ahead of second to take a solid result and earn a well deserved sit down.

Crossing the finish line

The course conjured memories of Gunnison’s Growler, both in terms of singletrack delectability, length and the stinking heat. Fortunately the lung punishing altitude of the Growler was not at the Epic, and with no post-race sneezing fit I could enjoy a tall milkshake in the shade.

Ollie’s dust induced african american legs

While my body had performed admirably, only faltering towards the end, I felt my bike had served me graciously most of the way. Some adjustments to the carbon drive ratio on my El Commandante have meant I have been able to squash the back wheel into the seat tube, thus unleashing a bodacious level of flickability hitherto unheard of on a wagon wheeler.

Smiling post race. Note dust eyeliner. Very chic.

My Ground Effect threads were great too, plenty of wicking from my Road rage top helped with the heat. My Juggernaut shorts complete with leg vents (definitely activated for the race) are just the perfect fit, their tailored crotch quashing my fear of ‘baggie-snag’ and making them a realistic choice for racing.

Saddling up and riding at the Epic proved to be fitting re-entry into the XC scene. Far from being a bucking bronco it was a fun day out and I can’t wait to explore further afield and see what other ‘stralian races can offer!