When you do something for the first time it’s best to ease your way in. Start with baby steps and all that. Best to learn to walk before you run. There are plenty of clichés that convey this solid advice and the logic is simple – start small, become accustomed, get a feel for what’s going on, and gradually increase the difficulty as you gain experience and become more adept in your chosen pursuit.
So it’s probably not a bad notion to hold when starting out in mountain bike racing. Regretfully, I can’t tell you for sure because my first race was a 12 hour solo - the 2010 Cateye Moonride, in Rotorua on the 8th of May. Now, while 12 hours of racing isn’t as bad as it sounds, it’s still quite bad.
The trip started early Friday, or was meant to. The standard delays did their thing, but we still got out of Wellington in fairly good time. University got the axe so we could get there in time to get a little bit of low-key riding in that day. As the proud owner of a stylish and powerful automobile, I was lucky enough to be behind the wheel for the duration of the trip. This was the cause of great fear for my passengers, which led to a lot of sick pleasure for myself. Sometimes it’s very satisfying to give someone a ‘slight’ scare. I may have taken the concept a shade too far, but we all got to our destination alive and possibly better for the experience.
Several of us went up for the event. Two brave friends tackled the 24 hour category, whilst I was going along to race with another friend in the 12 hour. My carload consisted of the 12 hour friend, a 24 hour support person, our support person, and a mate who was going to Rotorua for a 21st.
We arrived mid-afternoon and after setting ourselves up at the backpackers we went out for a bit of a skid. It was my first taste of the kind of single track Rotorua has to offer, and I was taken in from the start. Beautifully crafted, flowing, and consistently attention-grabbing, the single track was everything the aspiring mountain biker could hope for. Although we only got out for a lazy hour or so, the ride left us feeling pretty damn good about life.
An integral part of preparing for a race is to get a balanced and nutritious meal the night before. We decided we had better load up on the good stuff, and couldn’t think of a better place than Valentine’s for some all we could eat action. It turns out Valentine’s is pretty bad, and it also seems we can eat an unhealthy amount. Special mention goes to the deep fried section, which consistently over performed by being the only section to attract a queue for the entirety of our meal. Top marks. The average body shape of the clientele made it clear why the deep fried goodies were so popular. Points were also given to the guy at the table next to us, who got savage on a heaped plate of prawns.
Afterwards, a trip to the supermarket quickly highlighted that the food required for 12 hours of riding was not inconsiderable, and cost about as much as a week’s food for the canny shopper. Following this, we headed to registration, picking up our pink solo caps. Then we headed back to a different supermarket to really make sure we were stocked up. Part of this stocking up involved a trip to the liquor store to get a bottle of Grant’s, to satisfy any post race festivities. It also involved a creepy manikin groping us on a couch made out of beer boxes. Back at the backpackers, some last minute preparations rounded out the evening. We were in bed early enough, but shared a dorm room with two others who weren’t so timely. This made sleep patchy at best.
So it’s probably not a bad notion to hold when starting out in mountain bike racing. Regretfully, I can’t tell you for sure because my first race was a 12 hour solo - the 2010 Cateye Moonride, in Rotorua on the 8th of May. Now, while 12 hours of racing isn’t as bad as it sounds, it’s still quite bad.
The trip started early Friday, or was meant to. The standard delays did their thing, but we still got out of Wellington in fairly good time. University got the axe so we could get there in time to get a little bit of low-key riding in that day. As the proud owner of a stylish and powerful automobile, I was lucky enough to be behind the wheel for the duration of the trip. This was the cause of great fear for my passengers, which led to a lot of sick pleasure for myself. Sometimes it’s very satisfying to give someone a ‘slight’ scare. I may have taken the concept a shade too far, but we all got to our destination alive and possibly better for the experience.
Several of us went up for the event. Two brave friends tackled the 24 hour category, whilst I was going along to race with another friend in the 12 hour. My carload consisted of the 12 hour friend, a 24 hour support person, our support person, and a mate who was going to Rotorua for a 21st.
We arrived mid-afternoon and after setting ourselves up at the backpackers we went out for a bit of a skid. It was my first taste of the kind of single track Rotorua has to offer, and I was taken in from the start. Beautifully crafted, flowing, and consistently attention-grabbing, the single track was everything the aspiring mountain biker could hope for. Although we only got out for a lazy hour or so, the ride left us feeling pretty damn good about life.
An integral part of preparing for a race is to get a balanced and nutritious meal the night before. We decided we had better load up on the good stuff, and couldn’t think of a better place than Valentine’s for some all we could eat action. It turns out Valentine’s is pretty bad, and it also seems we can eat an unhealthy amount. Special mention goes to the deep fried section, which consistently over performed by being the only section to attract a queue for the entirety of our meal. Top marks. The average body shape of the clientele made it clear why the deep fried goodies were so popular. Points were also given to the guy at the table next to us, who got savage on a heaped plate of prawns.
Afterwards, a trip to the supermarket quickly highlighted that the food required for 12 hours of riding was not inconsiderable, and cost about as much as a week’s food for the canny shopper. Following this, we headed to registration, picking up our pink solo caps. Then we headed back to a different supermarket to really make sure we were stocked up. Part of this stocking up involved a trip to the liquor store to get a bottle of Grant’s, to satisfy any post race festivities. It also involved a creepy manikin groping us on a couch made out of beer boxes. Back at the backpackers, some last minute preparations rounded out the evening. We were in bed early enough, but shared a dorm room with two others who weren’t so timely. This made sleep patchy at best.
Rising early enough, we tucked into an athlete’s breakfast of croissants and bananas, washed down with steaming mugs of special blend – only the finest coffee for us. We went over the bikes, loaded up the car, picked up some last minute necessities, and then got out to the venue. At this stage we were starting to run a little late. Even more worryingly, our crew-woman was somewhere en route from Tauranga. This meant we weren’t able to go through the procedure with her, something which proved irrelevant as she did an excellent job. Last minute preparations involved the ever-unpleasant lubrication of the perineum area – bad to do on a cold morning but even worse to watch.
While lining up I was feeling fairly nervous. I had no idea what to expect. To make matters worse, there was a two kilometre road section at the start. This was in order to thin out the truly huge pack. It was unfortunate for me as I was riding a single speed, which meant that once I got up to speed I was unable to change into a ‘harder’ gear in order to go faster. The road section left me in the unfortunate position of being well out the arse of the field when we hit the single track.
I won’t go into too many details about the race itself. There is no way to truly describe a twelve hour race to someone who hasn’t done one (although a damn fine effort can be found here), and no need to describe it to someone who has. Basically, it was good to start with. Then it got worse. Then it was less bad again. Then there was a spell of awful. And finally, it was dreadful. Then it was over.
There were a variety of little dramas throughout the day. When passing, it is good form on the passer’s behalf to warm the passee with a cheerful “on your right/left”. At one stage, I heard a request to pass on my right, and began to move left accordingly. However, the pillock passing me may have spent some time locked in a freezer at some stage because he was actually on my left, meaning I almost hit him. I understand that people sometimes get their sides mixed up, especially in intense situations such as racing. However I didn’t understand the need for the torrent of abuse heaved at me. Apart from this, people where generally very courteous.
I also had a bit of a mare with the whole light set up thing. I had never used night lights before – never mounted them and never ridden with them. It took me three laps to finally get them set up so they weren’t pointing either a foot in front of my tire or into the trees to my left. Unfortunately for me, they also ran out of battery before the race ended, meaning I had to complete the majority of one lap with only the safety ‘get-home-now’ mode to guide me. This mode is about as bright as a normal handheld torch, and should have given me reason to slow down. It was a reason I ignored and I paid the price. While trying to pass on the outside of the track, I hit a stump hidden in the undergrowth and was sent sprawling. The physical damage was minimal, but it was something I was emotionally unprepared for, leading me to slowly ride back to the tent village to call it a night. I was deeply disappointed as I would like to have tried for another lap, but I guess that’s how racing goes sometimes.
Prize-giving also proved to be a fiasco. I was called up on stage in second place, which I knew wasn’t the case as at least one person (my friend) was ahead of me. I mentioned this to the organiser at the time, and then went to speak with him afterwards, but nothing came of it on the night. It turns out there were problems with the electronic timing system and I was actually seventh with 25 laps of the nearly 8km course. This is a result I’m fairly happy with considering it was my first race – around 200km ticked up isn’t a bad day out. My friend in the 12 hour category ended up fifth. This was a fine result for a couple of clowns on single speeds.
To treat ourselves we headed off to Dominoes for a large pizza and garlic bread each, which disappeared into the void. The possibility of hitting the Grant’s was mooted and rejected in favour of a long hot shower and a hearty nap. Both were exquisite.
The next morning I woke up early and went for a wee stroll around Rotorua, although I quickly wished I hadn’t. I ended up in a manky little ‘cafe’ at about 8.30 in the morning, eating croissant and chips and watching the early morning street theatre. Two rather large fellows were strolling around the street. One of them was awfully keen on a fight with anyone walking past. The standard chest slapping and challenges surprisingly didn’t attract anyone early on a Sunday morning. That kind of thing only happens in Rotorua (I hope).
I headed back to the backpackers to wake up my friend. We somehow found ourselves in conversation with one of our dorm-mates, who turned out to be a bit of a crawler. He seemed convinced he could have facilitated a sexual rendezvous with another human being the night before, had he not been so highly inebriated - a suspect story to say the least. We quickly excused ourselves and loaded the car, grabbed a coffee, and then met with the girls - who looked like they had been through a big one the night before. After the necessary McDonalds stop (in which one of us was served a burger with a big burger bun top and a small burger bun bottom) we hit the road.
The trip home was smooth apart from a stop in at KFC. The weirdest part was when I discovered my friend had been secretly taking photos me driving both ways. Not normal behaviour. It was with great relief that we arrived in Wellington, the trip had definitely reached its natural limit.
Overall the trip and the race were both first-rate. The company was great, the event was well-run, and our support person was aces. In fact it was all so good that I’m already contemplating my next 12 hour race – I’ve developed a bit of a taste. As far as an introduction to mountain bike racing goes, it couldn’t have gone better.
