The Perfect Ride!

I've never felt anything so awesome, not even after I finished my full first Around the Bay or 3 Peaks Challenge. There were no mountains, no headwinds - just a pack known for dropping riders without grit. And I beat them twice!

At first, I just thought I'd do a pull on the rolling roads on Mandai Avenue. It seems that I kept creating a gap, so I decided I might might as well make it an attack. With a blend of smooth cadence and good form, I managed my momentum and never looked back. By the time I got to the first regrouping point at Mandai Shell, the pack was more than a minute behind. So I waited It seems like my heart rate stayed in the 180s throughout the whole effort.

The second interesting stretch was the narrow rolling and twisty sections on Neo Tiew. The front few developed a small gap and the chap in front of me couldn't close it. Terry said something like "ok Ben, all up to you" seeing how much 'energy' I had today. I just kept the pace - there was no need for a conscious bridging effort. This pack can't climb, despite their super-light Colnagos, Cervelos, Dogmas, and even a few Venges. By keeping my own steady, high pace, the gap simply closed with time.

Once we hit the 'highway', I was in second wheel. Not keen on being someone's domestique a second time in a pack where no one pulls, I hopped to the back. It was only towards the intermediate sprint point that I made an attack from 10th wheel. It was a good attack - only this skinny chap on a skinnier Cervelo S3 (yea, it looks awesome) pipped me to it. For the 1st time, I saw someone who knew how to sprint. It seems he's american - figures. Most Singaporeans can't sprint either. He was right on my wheel and made a good move. I kept pace for awhile but realised I couldn't keep up my cadence on the slight rise and ceded the sprint saying "Good one."

The most interesting segment of today's ride was after Neo Tiew. Since a few of us rolled slowly past the 2nd regrouping point, I thought the pack would follow. Apparently they didn't for a minute or so - all 40 of them - and Ivan, Nic, and myself did something of a TTT. Actually, I did an ITT - they chipped in once they couldn't draft the trucks anymore. I didn't see the point of trying. We went over the next few rises in the upper 30s, going between 38-42 on the flats. The mock-TT position I tried on drop bars was responsible for the portions ≥40. Soon, Ivan was dropped. Nic and I arrived on West Coast Highway. Towards the end, Nic was dropped as well. I just powered on, no looking back...

... Once I saw the end, I moved from 53x14 to 53x12, gave a yell (or groan) and sprinted for the end of the Highway. Rolling down the other side towards the coffee shop, I gave a big victory salute. The sprinting pack rolled past the line some 30-40s later, after I pedaled slow and looked back. If Kelvin was here today, I doubt he'd let me get off the hook so easily! :PP

I was all smiles for the rest of the ride and coffee shop banter. This was the first time I dropped this pack - and twice at that! Coming 2nd in the intermediate sprint and crossing the final finish line way ahead of the chasing pack was a revelation! It was an inspiring moment, and I'll cherish it forever!

From my logs, the averaged overall speed of this pack from June this year till 18th September was 34.7 over approximately 56-57 Km. It waxes and wanes, from as low as 33.1 to 35.9 on the 18th. This figure includes the multiple start-stop scenarios in urban Singapore. My average today, with the breaks et. al., was 36.2 Km/H. It's the fastest time I've ever clocked on this route.

I feel like I've really matured as a rider. I know what sort of pace I can push, what sort of cadence I need to recover in the bunch, and how I should approach tighter bends and rolling terrain, whether in Singapore or in Australia. Kew Boulevard and Beach Road have been the anvils upon which this strength was built, and pulling Tim and Rohan to the Best Time for the 2011 Around the Bay (135 Km route) sealed my confidence. I never knew I had that in me. Criterium racing, even at a humble D-grade, has taught me a lot about handling myself in a pack, knowing when to go, and fighting for wheels like I mean it.

Today, I feel like my mind has blended perfectly with my bike and body. Coach Bruce deserves the lion's share of the credit, with David Mckenzie's power-building program following behind, and Zuyi's aerobic conditioning regime during my 1st 3 months as a cyclist. Although I had to part from each under various circumstances, their teachings have undeniably made me what I am today.

Zuyi: "to build aerobic endurance of which I find you lacking" (I thought fuck you, I'll show you! It was a positive motivator)

Coach bruce: "Don't be obsessed with numbers", "soon you'll wonder what all the fuss was about" regarding cadence, and "it'll come to you" regarding sprinting. "I'm really pleased by how far he's come" when he met my folks for dinner before flying back to NZ. He believed in me, and then I believed in myself.

I did not have much time with Mckenzie but I remember calling him 'Legbuster' after 1 week of his program. It killed my legs; I couldn't ride the next day. But as I got on with his audacious program (I can't find a milder word that would fit), I gained confidence in the hills and launching multiple sprints/attacks/bridges from the pack.

The week leading up to this ride was tumultuous - psychological burnout from training had set in. My body felt perfect, but I could not relish the thought of getting up at unholy hours to focus on cadence, speed, heart rate, feel, and a host of other 'cyclometrics' (punning on 'psychometric'). Even Alvan could see that. Thankfully, my personal woes were set right days before the ride. Having hung out too late with Ding, I decided to skip sleep and just ride a la ATB. Rock up, have fun, and just catch up with the nice bunch of cheeky old MAMILS I hang out with (Nic included). This afternoon, I felt like crap - and really was full of crap. Doctor said it was stomach flu, something I ate last night. Good thing it's after the ride!

I've rediscovered the fun and joy of cycling - and I intend to keep it that way! ;)

Cycling's Combative Mindset - A Search

Why does performance vary so much? I think it's psychological.


Sometimes I can sprint with good technique and speed, other times I sprint in a laconic fashion with a slower and lower turn of speed. Sometimes I go on a hard attack, full-on, determined to make it last - other times it's a half-hearted attempt. Sometimes the climb excites me and every pedal stroke makes me feel like a happy hound chasing a cat! Yet sometimes, I'm plain bored.


I reckon it's got to do with a state of psychological arousal, the sort when you're biting the handle bar dashing for the line - tongue out, crazy smile, and a cadence of 178 rpm. At least that's how I find it. In my Karate days, I remember that every trophy or medal I won was preceded by training under a combative mindset. Every strike, every move, every physical and mental initiation was made with the sole intent of landing a decisive strike. That combative simulation easily induced a high level of psychological arousal. You could feel it! The tunnel vision and hearing, heart pounding, every limb and nerve twitching to respond to the slightest opening - and that intense focus!


But cycling is different. You can't conjure an image of ramming your fellow racer. Competition and victory is indirectly won through crossing the finish line. You cannot inflict symbolic death, and the absence of this mortal component does not facilitate the do-or-die mentality. In fact, risking it all for that one decisive blow is foolhardy in cycling. Seasoned cyclists know that going hard early on a long climb is silly, as is sprinting early or attacking from the get-go. It requires patience and cunning - drafting the right wheel, forming breaks and cooperating.


In psychological terms, this requires you to simultaneously attend to multiple stimuli: the other racers, the number of laps or kilometers remaining, how you feel, to break or not to break and so on. It requires a certain patience, tranquility and detachment that doesn't encourage an aggressive, combative mindset. Fight-or-flight is a primordial, evolutionary instinct. Moving faster than the next guy isn't. Perhaps I am simply unaccustomed to sports without that mindset. The only visceral imagery I've successfully employed for cycling is beating one other racer across the line by a slim margin. It excites me, but it only works when I'm not exhausted.


My friends in Australia and Singapore all find my progress and endurance remarkable. One said "I don't think you realise you strong you are. You're like Jens Voigt", the super domestique who continues to astound the cycling world with his performance - even though he's 40! Perhaps it's a matter of experience and confidence. I could use a coach who can 'rubber stamp' my capabilities. Cycling does not have a structured and graded learning system akin to belts in Karate. It's hard to create a learning checklist and say "Ok, today I've learnt how to sprint. Tomorrow I learn how to climb" etc. It's like taking a shot in the dark - you feel the gun recoil, you hear it's report, and maybe you hear the bullet striking something. It feels good, but you have no idea what you hit. Maybe your carbon bike has a scratch now! In fact, my shot in the dark threw me into the face of a mountain on a technical descent and yes, the scratches are there!


So what have I learnt from trying? I learnt that long-term goals are essential because they guide your training, but short-term skill build-ups are hard to specify. That means I effectively know where I want to go, but I don't really know how to get there. I have had coaches before. Only one really helped me grow and he's since returned to New Zealand. I'm not quite sure what to do at the moment except to follow the same training plan at a more intense and challenging level. That will have to suffice for now.


But one thing I do know: I love cycling, I love my bike, I love the roads and the mountain ranges and the thrill of a criterium! I won't stop cycling, because I love cycling in-itself. It's become my lifestyle, a part of who I am, and I'll never give it up!

MUcyc Kew-cide

MUcyc 'Kew-cide' - (noun)

Suicidal intervals caused by 'cyclo-somatic' depression when bipedal desires are repressed.

An increasing recurrence during the end-of-term assignment season at the University of Melbourne.

MUcyc's Resident Jens Voigt

Or Bens Voigt, as I've become known as. I didn't think it was a big deal but the number of hits on facebook seem to say otherwise.


It all started during our Easter training camp. I turned up for 4 out of 5 rides, putting the mileage close too 200. A hilly 200 - Healesville, Dandenongs et al. I was just asking Holder about sprinting and somewhere along the line, he said "I don't think you realise how strong you are. You're like Jens Voigt", "super domestique?", I replied, and he said "Yes". Not an awesome sprinter or super-skinny climber, but still able to hold his own in a race.


To me, having raced so little, that was an epiphany. I should probably cease my apprehension about racing and just get out there. From my limited experience in criteriums, I know that those are the sort of races I love - the adrenaline, the intensive demands, the technical emphasis, and most of all, the sheer excitement! One hour of the most fun you can have with your clothes on!


Well, the Jens Voigt thing came into play when I organised a MUcyc Kinglake ride. I've done the descent down Kinglake many times before with no mishap. In fact, I've become quite comfortable on that stretch. But this was the first time I was doing it on fresh Gatorskins. I know from experience that Gatorskins don't offer as much traction as the GP4000 tyres I'm used to, but fresh Gatorskins with the hairy centre seam still there seem to be especially, well, hairy on the descents, as the locals say it. I leaned into the corner as usual but - F***! That's NOT how it's supposed to track. I remember seeing my wheel slide off the edge of the road, and the next moment the world was upside down with brambles criss-crossing my field of vision.


The guys stopped, all silent... then I waved and asked someone to pull the brambles off, especially the one across my neck. I dared not move with that razor vine across my throat. Once that was gone, I jumped up, dusted myself off, and looked at my bike. "Bike's fine" said one of the guys who found it a few feet away. The lever's a angled a little inwards. "You got the tools?" Tim asked. "Yea, I do" - then I jammed the bars next to my ribs and pushed the lever back into place. They laughed.


Tim: "Now you're really like Jens Voigt!" "Oh ya! Hey Michael, so you're the one who did this!" LOL! All in good cheer of course. 'Bens Voigt' became my new alternate monicker. We finished the remaining 60 Km without incident.


I had a sore neck when I woke up, with movements that felt wrong in certain directions. When I asked the pharmacist for something, she said she wasn't going to address that and told me to head to a hospital. The Royal Melbourne was - well - let's just say staffed with nice and well-meaning staff. 7 hours later, after a CT scan and X-Ray, I was released from that agonisingly cramped bed and neck brace. All's well! :)


Ms Cricket freaked when I told her not to worry. Which is sweet to my ears :)
Lovey-dovey-doo...!




[Retrospect]
Tim to Nic at the foot of Kinglake "And I was telling him how now I know why they call you Jens Voigt (now Bens) and he was like, 'wait till he goes for it, he'll go from Jens Voigt to Alberto Contador!'"


Now that's something to aim for... *fingers crossed!*

I wish I had a Sponsor

I used to think one's bicycle and components provided a quantum leap in one's performance. That was when I was new to the sport and saw how the stronger cyclists sported Pinarellos and flagship groupsets with carbon wheels. I was on a Polygon-branded aluminum frame, Shimano 105 gruppo and Aksium wheels. Soon I caught up with them, became faster and stronger than a few, but I felt like I could never equal them with my current equipment. In any case, the groupset, wheels, saddle and frame were irreparably damaged in a race crash - because someone in front panicked and took us all down while he got away scot free.


Then I came to Melbourne. People did the 3 Peaks on steel bikes. 'A' and 'B' graders raced and won on Giant and Cannondale aluminum frames with 105 gruppos and Aksium wheels. I realised that I didn't need better equipment - I needed the right sort of training, the terrain and time to do it, and the patience to understand that improvement came from consistent, progressive training. There is no overnight leap. Now I'm an aspiring D-grade racer. I want to consistently win B-grade races by the time I graduate (incl. Hons.) in another 3 years.


The racers on aluminum bikes I had in mind while writing the previous paragraph are in MUcyc. It's quite inspiring to see their results, then realise they were on sub-par equipment. Not that their equipment is lousy - far from it - but that they do what they do in spite of the field's carbon fibre frames and fancy kit. I told myself that I would get a Cannondale CAAD 10 in my current 6 Carbon Ultegra fails (it already has 4 cracks of uncertain severity). The CAAD 10 is aluminum bike that can contend with many carbon frames on paper in terms of weight and field-tested stiffness. If I were to get one, it would just be the frame - my current components are more than enough for amateur aspirations. An Ultegra 6700 groupset, FSA SL-K BB30 crankset, and Mavic's famed Ksyrium Elite wheels are more than enough for the aspiring racer. In fact, I specifically sought these components because they will be able to accommodate my aspirations as an amateur. These components will be on par with any frame an honest amateur racer could ever need.


But nothing lasts forever. I wish cycling wasn't so expensive. After 11,500+ Km in my 15 months of cycling, my basic Shimano pedals have worn out. The base-plate has been worn though, exposing the shell of the pedal body beneath it. I just noticed it today while cleaning my bike. The black paint on the exposed portion has also been worn through, showing the silver grain of the metal beneath. It must have been there for longer than I thought. These pedals were my 'learning pedals' from my first bike. They have been heavily scratched from falls, over-ambitious cornering, and foiled attempts at cleat engagement. To Shimano's credit, the axle hubs have never needed servicing and I only had to tighten the retention mechanism once. Now, before I focus on training again (tomorrow morning), I need to think of money because nothing lasts forever...


Shimano 105 5700 pedals - SGD $ 86.18 /pair
Worn pedals. This model is the cheapest from Shimano that have replaceable base plates.


Shimano RS 80 wheelset - SGD $646.54
My Ksyriums have odd braking surfaces - screeching despite professional servicing, and silver-coloured dust - presumably the rim's aluminum - rubs off on the green Swiss Stop brake pads. It is not reassuring. In a perfect world, I'd go for another pair of Ksyriums but these Shimanos weight about the same and sound like they do the job just as well, and cost $200 less.


Ultegra 6700 brakes - SGD $197 /pair
Cannondale made a big mistake supplying their frames with Tektro brakes. I've found that, under pressure, the brake arms actually bend towards each other rather than downwards. Aside from lost braking power - not assuring on descents - it also warps the position of the brake arms and positions the brake shoes in the wrong toe-in angle over time. From experience, I'm not confident about Shimano's 105 model either when the roads get wet.


Elite Custom Race Resin bottle cage - SGD $17.93
An old cage from a different brand broke in a crash (two in fact), and the other cages I've tried deform the bottle. The Elites are flexible and adapt to bottle shapes. The material allows it to bend rather than break on impact - it's like a semi-solid 'lace' that holds the bottle snug. It'll be a good long-term investment, as my current one attests to.


That's in excess of $1000 Singapore dollars. I'm just a student. I have no idea how I'm going to find that kind of money... I wish I had a sponsor...

Academia in Lycra

After a Melbourne University Cycling Club training ride one day, I realised I would have to turn up for a psychology lecture in lycra. It generated an interesting discussion on Facebook...

Benjamin

Turning up for lecture in cycling tights and helmet hair is NOT cool, 3 Peaks jersey or no.

9 hours ago via iPhone ·  ·  · 

• • 

    Jeremy stage one of being a serious cyclist, where kit into lecture ;-)

    9 hours ago · 
  • 

    Nic stage two of being a serious cyclist: learning how to spell 'wear' (not 'where')

    8 hours ago · 
  • 

    Jeremy spelling nazis out in force this morn lol

    8 hours ago · 
  • 

    Michael Stage 3 of being a serious cyclist: racing and training.

    8 hours ago · 
  • 

    Jeremy stage 4: beer, more beer, and prolonged durations of tapering

    8 hours ago · 
  • 

    Michael Haha tapering... I'll have to use that one

    8 hours ago · 
  • 

    Benjamin Stage 50 of cycling - become a MAMIL with a Ti sportive bike! :PP

    8 hours ago · 

The ever elusive definition of the 'Serious Cyclist' - one of the defining dilemmas of our cherished sport! :)

• • 
    

Melbourne Criteriums - "For fuck's sake!"

I did my 1st criterium last weekend on the 20th and my 2nd today. I have to admit it's EXTREMELY addictive! The thrill of jostling for your place, the hypnotic drawing of deep breaths, split-second decisions - it's like a drug!


The criteriums are held by St. Kilda Cycling Club (SKCC) at White St., south Melbourne. It's a pretty good course - the corners vary between wide swings where most people can pedal through and sharp, sub-90 degree bends where everyone's got to hold their line. Best of all, everyone knows what they're doing! My greatest worry was the possibility of wrecking my bike because of someone's misjudgment. That was how my 1st beloved race bike was ruined, and there was no way I would jeopardise this one - especially when it's my 21st birthday present.


Turns out these fears aren't important in Australia. People here know what they're doing - they've been taught how to race properly in the guided E Grade bunch before moving up the proper racing grades - D to A. No one undercuts on corners, everyone holds their line, there isn't any jam-braking by jittery idiots (which was how my 1st bike was destroyed). Everyone knows what they're doing, and race marshals riding alongside the peloton make sure everything works well!


Strategically speaking, my 1st crit was a farce. It wasn't the fitness that was the problem - keeping up wasn't an issue - it was my position in the pack. I placed myself in the pack of the bunch thinking it was the most economical position. After every corner, I had to work so much harder to regain speed because the back of the bunch tends to lag behind the front by a considerable margin. People were constantly trying to move up and everytime I held a god wheel near the front, I'd lose it because I let down my guard or stayed too far left on a corner, allowing others to overtake on the right.


The excess layer I wore and the lack of a warm-up was another newbie mistake. The crits tend to start hard, mellow a little along the way, then pick up again as the final 3 laps approach. Talking to a former Grade A racer, he told me that you have to whack yourself on the warm up. He's right - once you're that warm, the inner layer of clothing isn't necessary and you're ready for the quick accelerations of the initial third of the race.


Today, I took his advice. I warmed up hard, staying just at the border of my lactate threshold while wearing a gillet. The removable gillet acted like a track suit - it kept me warm until I took it off at the start line. This time, I started up front and stayed there. When someone moved up on my right, I followed. I kept my placing, enjoyed a good draft, kept a lot of speed on the corners and was in the 6th or 8th wheel on the final 2 laps.


Then we caught up with the B Grade bunch who were racing simultaneously. The assholes blocked the entire race course. Whenever they caught us, we'd give way. When we caught them, they didn't reciprocate. The marshals were yelling, the D Graders swearing - "Keep left B Grade!" "For fuck's sake!" "We did the same for you!"


I lost sight of my bunch. By the time we were clear of the B Graders (who should perhaps return to E Grade), I realised my race was over. Literally - the marshal had stopped waving the checkered flag. I didn't even realise we had finished the last lap. The D Grade peloton was fractured beyond all recognition. "For fuck's sake!"


Last week, D Grade averaged 36.4 Km/H. Hamley said "That was a fast D Grade today", and we were often going in the low 40's. Today, we averaged 39.4 Km/H ! Hamley said "That's the fastest I've ever seen for a D Grade". In comparison, the average for the C Grade winner is 40.3 Km/H. Hmm, it didn't feel too bad on the body. It seems like the secret lies in keeping your pedaling rhythm, knowing how to take places and keep them - especially through corners - and sprinting out of them again.


And for fuck's sake warm up HARD!


Next week, I'll go for Coburg Cycling Club's criterium. I heard it's easier? The MUcyc guys were placing in every grade, with one winning B Grade.

Degani 3 Peaks Challenge 2011

Screw it let's do it!

My Journey Across the 3 Peaks

Victorian Alpine Region

235 Km

5334 vertical metres

Now that I've settled some of my schoolwork (it's never completely done), it's time to think about the 3 Peaks Challenge I've completed last weekend. I have NEVER cycled in any alpine region. The mountain I train on - if a foggy peak at 550m elevation can be called a mountain - had a much gentler gradient than anything I encountered during the Challenge. I can casually spin at 18-19 Km/H up the main climb of Kinglake, which apparently consists of a Category 1 and 2 section.

To be perfectly honest, I find the climb TO the main climb of Kinglake more laborious than the actual ride UP Kinglake. This is reaffirmed each time I tackle it... a grand total of 3 times so far. Most of my training was in Singapore where mountains don't exist, and my 'climbing' training consisted of one 100 Km ride against headwinds and a mild gradient in Desaru, Malaysia. There is no such thing as a headwind in Singapore, not after riding for months on Beach Road in Melbourne. I hear my riding buddies talk about wind - and I just stare puzzled...

Strategy

But I digress. I've found that the main challenge of the, well, Challenge, wasn't about climbing. It was about strategy and endurance. For me, the strategising starts with planning my gear. The weather bureau says it's 10-16 degrees. Yea right. With the sun out, it feels like 22 degrees, but at the peak of Mt. Hotham and Falls Creek you'll feel hypothermic dressed in gear for 22 degrees. I know I did on the 2nd leg when I left my winter gloves, booties and gillet at the midway lunch stop at Dinner Plain. Aptly named, I know. Just like neighbouring Mt. Beauty (a volunteer and resident of the said place said that). Coach Bruce... well, ex-coach now I guess... he told me that my initial 'dress code' wasn't right. A neck scarf might be fine for Beach Rd in winter, but I'll overheat on the climbs. I reckon he's right. I thought a jersey-n-gillet would be sufficient, but he said I needed a base layer too. I reckon he's right on that too. And I didn't use to say "I reckon" - I think I picked that up from talking to the locals. So, $100 bucks for 2 Sugoi base layers that were, well, quite 'sugoi' (Japanese for "incredible"). I already had Gatorskins and Ksyrium elites - Mavic and Continental are hot favourites in Melbourne - and the other gear. Coach suggested I get a 12-28 cassette, but I went an extra step and got a compact crankset instead. For reasons later made clear, most of the cyclists I talked to had both.

The 2nd aspect was nutrition. I know from experience that I should consume about 1 energy bar every hour or so. Bicycle Victoria recommended some funky formula per hour based on body weight, but I honestly can't translate that into bars/time. In any case, I found that eating a whole bar at one go makes me feel happily full for about 40 minutes, then utterly hungry. It's more satiating to chew off a third of a bar every 20 minutes - it keeps me sufficiently full for longer. By accident, I bought Winner's energy bars instead of the usual ubiquitous PowerBar. PowerBars tend to get squashed and loose their shape, resulting in one bite taking more than another while creating a sticky mess that's hard to handle. The Winners bar - which I admittedly bought just because it was endorsed by Aussie world champ Cadel Evans - was another story. It wasn't as filling, but it wasn't as gooey either. I could bite off even chunks without feeling like I'm chewing on a spoon of peanut butter. It's flavour was pleasant and natural, not synthetic, and it didn't cling to the wrapper (which came off nicely). Guess what? Bicycle Victoria was providing the same thing en route! How serendipitous!

Of course, this is complemented by a steady swig of sports drink at least every 15 minutes. The powerade mix they provided was horrid... gatorade is still the best,  but it still got me through. BV recommended a bottle of water and another with a sports drink, but I prefer having both filled with isotonic fluid. It seems to help me ride better, placebo or otherwise. 

The 3rd strategic element was psychological. I wanted to arrive at Falls Creek relaxed and focused on the ride ahead. The schoolwork usually left for the weekend had to be done within the preceding week, the clothes and gear packed and waiting, the bike ready to go. The schoolwork refused to be compressed - I'm still a week behind on neural psychology as I write this, which is making me slightly neurotic - but everything else went well. This is the 1st set of clothes, this is what I'll change into mid-way, this cardboard piece goes on the top tube, this goes on the seat-tube, and... HANG ON! THERE's A CRACK ON THE SEAT-TUBE!?!? Ok, it looks superficial... *gulp*... let's just give it a fair go and see how it turns out. Flying off a mountain seems to be quite a nice way to die...

On the bus ride up to Falls Creek, I was still working on the synapse. No, not the Cannondale Synapse - although I ride the now archaic Six Carbon - I mean synaptic processes. Yes, I brought homework up the mountain. Thank goodness it was done by the time we arrived. I stayed at cosy Diana Lodge, where Blossom the border collie welcomed me with a happy wag of the tail. It cost half the price of the official accommodation packages, gave me a quiet room to rest and a homely dining area for breakfast. And they had my favourite - oats! In fact, everything seemed specially prepared for the healthy cyclist - oats, fruits, grain cereals, juices and... er, pancakes. Ok, almost ideal. Sure, we're all serious cyclists, but I wish I tried the pancakes...

The Day of Reckoning

I got a shock when I pedaled to the start line. There was low cloud - it was freezing. My hands were feeling the chill through my fleece-lined windproof gloves. On the bus ride up Tawonga Gap and Falls Creek I already heard "what-was-I-thinking" bubbling under what Freud would call my pre-conscious membrane. Tyna - who recently finished her 1st Ironman in NZ - and a few other guys (Mamils) from the Joyriders club in Singapore were supposed to come ride this too. And I was the only one at the start line - crikey mate! When the cold made its presence felt, what-was-I-thinking quickly morphed into screw-it-let's-do-it, which was the only reason why my unprepared comrades and I contemplated it in the 1st place. Team Global became a very small world indeed...

Tawonga Gap

I didn't see much on the descent towards Tawonga Gap because I was concentrating on holding a proper line on the damp road, fighting the shivers, and trying to overtake jittery guys who slowed too much on every bend. All I remember were flying lycra bums. At the bottom, I took off the full-finger gloves and put on a half-finger pair. Off came the gillet. Then up came Tawonga Gap. If it was a single straight journey uphill, it wouldn't be a problem. But the sharp turns and switchback - those I didn't have much experience aside from one trip up Arthur's Seat in Sorrento. I could've just stood up and breezed past it but I reckon it was too early for that. My motto at this point was "discretion is the better part of valor". Tawonga Gap was soon done, and I thought "hey that's not too bad is it?".

Mt. Hotham

The trip to the foot of Mt. Hotham is a blur to me. I only remember coming across that disgustingly this and unfulfilling yellow Powerade powder. Shielded by someone through drafting against a mild headwind - someone who didn't want to take turns even though I offered - I arrived at the foot of Hotham. My memory has another blank until clouds started popping up. I kept pace with two other young chaps at 12-14 Km/H. It got cold, and visibility was at times down to just 4 metres. Our lights were on and flashing, the lights in our head struggling to stay focused. Each of us stood up every now and then to stretch our legs although everyone else we past seemed content to sit. I've heard about altitude training but, in all honesty, there wasn't any perceptible difference in every inhalation. I was aware of being wet and waterlogged because of the damp fog and earlier rain rather than sweat. Towards the summit, I met a guy who climbed up on a steel bike. I asked incredulously "You're doing it on steel?", and he replied "Is there any other way? Next time I'll do it on a singlespeed." He's not as fast of course, but he wasn't that slow either. I counted 10 steel bikes in total. Somewhere near the top, I met a granny who finished it last year. She told me that it snowed, and 600 out of the 1200 participants or thereabouts didn't finish. She did, and she's back for more - wow! Tough Aussie stuff!

To Falls Creek

With Hotham done, it was now time for the descents again. With the full gloves and gillet back on, I headed down. Alone. For some reason, I hardly saw anyone else. Not that I'm complaining - at 80.1 Km/H (the maximum I've ever reached by, as we know at this speed, ducking down & NOT pedaling) at 4m visibility, it was probably a good thing. I quickly reached Dinner Plain - the midway lunch stop and clothes swap point - and I must say I really enjoyed the lunch. Pasta salad, a ham & cheese sandwich and a banana muffin sure hit the spot. The announcer kept saying we're half way through and shouldn't stay too long, and one of the guys in the clothing tent went "aww... shut the fuck up". We laughed! Feeling the sun on my back, I took a gamble and left my booties, full gloves and gillet behind. Then I lost my sunglasses. A Uvex Crow Pro - black gloss half-frame with black lenses. If you see it, please let me know by commenting on this post below. I seem to lose a pair on every BV ride, 1st during the Around the Bay 2010 and now this. Thankfully, the glare wasn't too bad as I headed towards Omeo Plain, and getting rid of the excess gear and water-logged kit made me feel a lot fresher and ride a lot faster.

"Argh... how long does this f******* hill last?" That was from one of the guys I formed a paceline with. There were 3 of us, the other two wearing last year's 3 Peaks Finishers' jersey. We took turns, until Mr. F******* Hill decided to pick up the pace and go at 38 Km/H. I decided it was a little too much for the terrain and waited to form another paceline with 2 other guys we passed awhile back. One great thing about the riders on a ride of this level is that they usually know what they're doing - and a volunteer I talked to later said that that was why there were relatively few accidents despite the course. Around swooping bends, they knew how to corner smoothly without nervous braking and kept as much momentum as possible. Each knew how start wide, approach the apex as they turned and finish wide again. There were 3 or 4 times when I thought I was going to crash (in my experience, Gatorskins don't provide the surest of grips and I didn't lean out as much as I should) but thankfully emerged unscathed.

Falls Creek was an utter shock. We turned left and it immediately hit 20-30%. At this time, I realised that climbing with a compact crankset and 12-25 cassette at 4 km/H wasn't enough to prevent rollback and standing climbing was something I neglected in my training. I decided to walk. Yes, I know! Horror upon horrors! It looks like some satirical Tour De France commercial! But, at the risk of using a Freudian "reactive formation" ego defense, I recalled that discretion is the better part of valour, and Johan Bruyneel wrote in We Might As Well Win that he made Lance sit on climbs. Apparently I wasn't the only one walking... Mr. F******* Hill said that he didn't remember such a sharp and sudden gradient last year. In any case, I walked at 4 Km/H and cycled up the more reasonable sections. I eventually caught up with guys I rode alongside on Omeo Plain. Imagine that! Oh, and I recalled how one guy up Hotham told his mate "Remind me how again how half of this ride is downhill?" Now I know why the other guys on the bus back used compact cranksets AND 12-28 cassettes.

That's It?

After another amnesic length of time, I started to realise the terrain changed. The tall trees were gone and replaced by the occasional shrubs and boulders. It was similar to my camping experience in New Zealand's Tongariro national park: one of the unpronounceable and impossibly difficult to spell peaks next to Mt. Ruapehu (fyi, that's Mt. Doom in Lord of the Rings) had a similar plateau at the top. Such terrain, combined with the rolling terrain around a large lake, led to the inference that I was at the top of Falls Creek. Now, big chainring. I went a lot faster and harder, but still with plenty to spare. I didn't know for sure it was the top, but I knew the cold was making me hungry and I've ran out of food having gobbled one bar at the base of the climb and consumed the other by the time I reached the top. In fact, having ditched my gloves and such, I was probably bordering on hypothermia - hands red and swollen, barely sensible, stiff to move in whatever little way they could, clothes wet and cold. Again, discretionary valour.

A photo point - look smart! Then I rounded a bend and - hey presto! Lights, cheering, buildings - it was the Finish Line! Out of nowhere, just as the sun was setting behind a peak! Hunker down for the descent in, dodge the jittery ones - and there! Name announced, Finisher's jersey collected. It seemed appropriate that a screw-it-lets-do-it rationale for registering should meet with a oh-that's-it-? finish. But I was glad it's over. I later heard that the police made some folks retire from the race at Angler's Rest - the stop before Falls Creek - half an hour after I left because they didn't want riders on the trail at night. Road bikes you know, not downhill mountain bikes. And so I ended my ride strong, with enough energy to ride home (walking up the sharp slope) to Diana Lodge. I heard some guy bonked and crashed into the barricade at the finish line. A warm bath and dry clothes was all I craved. And a buffet dinner! Alta restaurant, penne pasta in 3 sauces, roast beef and pork, fruits and - wait for it - FRENCH ONION SOUP! My favourite! Rob, the guy I was supposed to eat with, called the restaurant and they told me he felt very bad and went home early. No idea if he actually ate - the waitress certainly didn't see him, but he was all perky the next morning.

Obsidian Skies

Walking back to my room, I took the time to reflect upon how far I've come. The announcer at the Finish line was certainly right when she said "Congratulations guys. You've done what very few in their lifetime would ever do". I only started cycling 15 months ago. I've completed the biggest ride in Oceania, on my own, with little relevant training in the way of alpine climbs. I took a deep breath and savoured the fresh, chilly mountain air. Unsullied by city lights, I saw the moon's half-face illuminate the obsidian sky. It's the first time I actually saw the Orion constellation in full strength. She called me that, my special someone, because I she thought I was strong. What a good night's sleep I had.

In the morning, we packed our bikes into the bus and sat on the sag wagon trailer talking about the ride and figuring out how the bikes were loaded on. Some bloke had just woken up while we were all waiting and ready to go. Most of the guys rode slightly more than 235 Km as measured by wheel revolutions, but I got 234.10. "That's because you took a shortcut mate". Uh huh... ride straight mate. Anyway, a volunteer came up and we talked. I thanked him, an old chap named Jeff, for all the work he and his colleagues have done. The logistical demands of setting up stations across a 235 Km alpine route must have been gruelling - the task inducing fatigue as the sun drew across the sky - and then the packing up. They weren't paid, these volunteers, but every one of them was warm, friendly, and all smiles. Thanks Jeff, I really appreciate you guys being out there for us. As we all sat there, I took the time to take a good look around. The trees were white, appearing ossified to my untrained eye, but en masse on the hillsides they looked like a fossilised coral reef from Noah's days - leafless branches like coral ferns in barnacle white. It appeals to a very basic instinct. Is it aesthetic? Is it Darwinian? The evolutionary theory of art would approve. I took a picture of the scene, remembered the grandeur of the ride and the warmth of Falls Creek village before I boarded the bus.

One last look, one everlasting memory.

Kota Tinggi

 

Extended lunges, deep stances, bouncing knuckle push-ups - the usual exercises encountered when training with Karate-do Goju-Kai Singapore. I thought I'd be beat after that, seeing how I've been away for 9 months. Not so. I still had enough left in me for a 120 Km ride to and from Kota Tinggi today!


Coach showed me the route. I surprised him by bringing his fee unannounced, as I usually do, because he tolerates my endless questions and queries. "You're a good man you know that? That's what they'll say in New Zealand." Gee, thanks Coach. Apparently he had done some military training in that area before, hence his familiarity with the area. It used to be a Kampong, now there's no trace of anything remotely reminiscent of that lifestyle.


The route was easy. The round trip was 120 Km, but it was reasonably smooth compared to Singapore's. However, there are many large potholes that require quick dodging. By large, I mean at least a vertical fist deep - the sort that WILL send you flying or at least break your fork. I couldn't avoid one and nearly lost control. The loud 'crack' made my heart jump. I thought I broke a spoke, or at least burst the front tyre. Thankfully, Mavic's Ksyrium Elites managed to hold it together and the Continental Gatorskins remained steadfast despite the gravel, cement and glass i rolled through. I can see why the Mavic-&-Continental combination is so popular in Melbourne. That leaves one last question... Is the fork of my Cannondale 6 Carbon intact?

I ended the ride feeling freakishly fresh. The Accelerade and Gatorade probably helped a lot, but I like to think that my fitness is improving too. All portents point to that: a higher Max HR, more responsive HR variation (it changes quickly when I push harder or ease off), and that 'souplesse' pedaling. It feels like the bike is riding itself. Yes I know it's a good bike - even the mechanic at a shop said it was great when he tested it - and it won Cycling Plus UK's Bike of the Year award for 2010 with a score of 10/10. But hey! I pedaled!!


Coach said my progress was decent: "I'm pretty impressed with your progress". *shrugs*, maybe it was the easy pace. He also said I wrapped my bar tape up "pretty good actually". As long as I keep improving - and someone who knows what's what say I am - I'm happy. Take it step by step. Next up, the Degani 3 Peaks Challenge in Victoria's Falls Creek alpine region. 3 mountains, 5000+ vertical meters, 235 Km. Sounds like fun! :D


After that, I'll start racing. Coach says I should start in Category C but the guys in the Melbourne Uni club recommended starting at the lowest grade - D. Discretion is the better part of valour. Get it? D-iscretion? Nevermind...


Right then! Hard club ride tomorrow, intervals the day after, and 70 Km on Saturday and Sunday with an average  in the high 30s. Sounds like it'll be a god week ahead! ;D