No one can ride a mountain for you. Be prepared to feel so tired that you truly believe you cannot go on. Be ready to admit to fatigue and, yes, dejection. There is no such thing as an easy ride up a mountain.
It's inevitable that in the lead-up to Karapoti that you're gonna have to do a reconaissance ride. Weeks ago, Mike had decided the time, and last Sunday would be it. As the day drew closer, all eyes were on the Wind Guru with trepidation as the winds were to be howling and the rain to be pouring. Mike kept his optimism high, as did JJ, while I was my realistic (read: pessimistic) self, predicting that the day could be a wet and muddy hell. Only time would tell. Rain heavy enough to wake me up fell during the night, and text tennis was being played between all in the morning. Mike and his crew (JJ, Jamie, Roger, Grant and his dad) were packed and going, while my crew (Magnus, Paul and Marty) were still debating the merits of risking drowning in an infamous Karapoti boghole. Paul, being the mental case that he is, predicted that the rain would be lighter in the mountains... Marty, Magnus and I derided him, with good reason. Paul should leave the comedy to his brother. As we got closer to the Akatarawas, it was teeming. But we were there, and with every chance that race day could be the same, we headed off up the gorge. It wasn't long, about fifty metres in fact, before we were covered from head to toe in mud. Now Karapoti isn't exactly know as a fun ride, it's pretty much all fireroad, and most of that is granny-gear climbs that seem to go on forever. Magnus got a flat at the bottom of the Warm-Up climb, and waiting for him at the top we were anything but warmed up. Next up was the Deadwood climb, longer and steeper in places, and at the top the rain was getting heavier, and we weren't even close to halfway. We decided to cut our losses and turned around and pinned it back downhill to the carpark, tails between our legs. Mike and his crew had decided the same thing and were already packing up by the time we got back, after returning via a shortcut. By the time we drove back to Welly, the sun was shining but the wind was nasty, so we weren't too unhappy about our decision. Well, I wasn't anyway, and somehow felt like saying "I told you so"... but I'd never do that. The plan is to go and have another crack this weekend, but with the Tour of Wellington winding up with a criterium in Lambton Quay on Sunday, it seems like watching others suffer might be the better option.
Xmas in January is a concept that's new to me. But last Sunday the Big (and Lady) Kahuna hosted our work xmas get together at his house up on the Kapiti coast. Both our stores got together for a barby in the afternoon, but first Simon from the Paraparaumu store took us on a ride around his local stomping ground. The Welly crew was represented by myself, Josh, Mike and JJ (Josh Junior) while Simon was the only Pram man. Ex-roadie sandwich-eating beautiful men were represented by Fraser. While I like riding, what I really wanted to see was the eels being fed just up the road at Ngarara, and I petitioned hard for us to abandon the mountains in favour of morays, but I was duly ignored. Natalie, Karen and Keisha got to enjoy the spectacle though, and by all accounts, it is a show not to be missed (or was it witnessed?) a second time.
It was good to get out and ride some different trails though, even if most of the 'trails' were either road or fireroad. There were a lot of long climbs, and the views of Kapiti Island were pretty damn impressive.
Everyone had a go at getting up this short, snotty rock face, well everyone except me (bad knee/taking photos...) and Fraser (too pretty/roady...). No one made it.
Josh was riding the shop test Enduro, and took on the persona of a rad all-mountain rider... well, at least the face of one.
We got to ride for about three hours, and when we got back to Kamp Kahuna it was a quick dip in the sea (brrrr) and jet ski-ing for the brave/stupid. The spa seemed like a better option. The rest of the OYB team and hangers on turned up during the afternoon, and as usual the Big Kahuna put on a great spread, some beers were consumed, and a good day was had by all.
Every other Tuesday night, I put on my tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches, fill a Thermos with Earl Grey and drive the Rover 3500 to the designated home of one of my fellow members of our esteemed Book Group. As a big fan of the brilliant British television show of the same name, I was hoping that the participants and scenarios would be of the same ilk (i.e Dutch and Swedish footballer's girlfriends, transplanted Americans and frustrated housewives) but sadly instead it's more the domain of 70 year old widows, accountants, drama students and science teachers (who also choose the Rover as their preferred mode of transport). And much to my chagrin, most of them are there to actually read books and then discuss them. We each get to pick a book, so I was somewhat shocked yet pleasantly surprised when Doris (God bless her hand-darned socks) picked the 'Whizzkids [guide to] Bikes'. As we each need to have a copy of the designated tome to peruse at our leisure over the impending fortnight, and suspecting that Doris had dug up her copy from beneath dozens of Dominion Posts and English Womens Weeklys circa 1956, I knew I (and the rest of the group) would have a difficult task to procure our very own 'bibles of bike advice'. Luckily for me, I happen to be befriended by tight-fisted, unimaginitive and lazy friends, and it was to this end that Josh came up with a completely serendipitous Festivus gift for me. Yes, he had managed to find the Whizzkids manual! Actually, he didn't so much as find it, but had it thrust upon him by a flatmate, who in turn had stumbled upon it in one of Wellington's many second-hand thrift stores, no doubt buried beneath a pile of New Ideas of much the same era as Doris'. Displaying a similar gift-giving torpor as I myself am wont to employ (I'd given him the copy of 'Death Cults' that K-Man had left behind back in 07, and which had been buried not under old newspapers, but old free Real Estate guides from the previous two years) he had simply passed it on to me while passing it off as something he had actively sought-out and put a lot of thought into. Ok, he did tell me the true circumstances of it's aquisition and admitted to it being a "shit gift". But I saw it differently. In fact, I thought it was one of the best gifts I'd received in recent Festivus memory; much better than the tighty-whitey underwear from Mike, or the wind-up kangaroo that Josh had bestowed upon me last Festivus, which promptly broke after only one trip off the edge of the table. Plus I'd probably be the only member of my Book Group (besides Doris, of course) who would actually have had the good fortune to read it and would be able to critique its many helpful tips. After all, the WhizzKids professed that after reading their book, that I'd be able to "beat the experts at their own game". And as I am supposed to be one of these so-called 'experts', I look forward to beating myself at my own game, something I've miserably failed to achieve despite decades of trying. I can't wait to peruse some of the other titles in the series too, as I've always harboured a burning desire to be a detective or a magician. Maybe Doris has them buried somewhere....
Another year is done and dusted. Time to make resolutions and then forget about them, or push them to one side, or not make them at all. I usually go with the latter, as it saves the effort of actually thinking of something that I want to do in the new year, or more aptly saves me from thinking about all the aspects of my life that could do with brushing up. I'd rather just keep doing whatever it is that I'm doing, proficiently or otherwise. And it's not so bad, when I look back at the last year there's been a fair bit going on, and not much of it at all bad. The year started off about as well as it could when Josh and I headed up to Vegas for the New Year, and had some great rides with Ratas, who I was just getting to know. It would turn out that he's as sick and twisted as myself and a lot more rides and good times would be had. February saw the first of many bike purchases among our posse as Mike got a new Stumpy Expert which would eventually morph into a Pro and then an S-Works carbon, somehow avoiding a marriage break-up in the processs. Lots of new trails were revealed around the city, including Wainui, Belmont and a heap of singletrack tucked away in the hills on the way to Makara. I got to catch up briefly with my old friend/workmate Ebo when he was in town burgling the KOM jersey at the Wellington Tour. There were more new bikes when Josh got his Turner Flux, I traded my Tarmac for a Roubaix and the Stumpy was upgraded for a new model. Mike put his new machine through its paces with a great ride at Karapoti while Josh didn't have a day he'd like to remember. I got down with Kate and James and the crew at Summerset which was a good blow-out-the-cobwebs mission. If there were any cobwebs left, I completely drowned them in a weekend of many beers and no gears at the NZ Singlespeed Nationals in Vegas, where I put my new TriCross to good use after selling my trusty Langster to Chris The Courier, who stormed to a 6th place after consuming not much less beer than me. Josh got a new Tarmac and the late summer evenings saw a couple of Wellycats alleycat races which were pretty fun. Fun was not something I'd describe a three-hour sitting with one Henry Rollins as, more like a aural barrage to be endured, even though everything he said held us captive. Everytime I rode around the Bays, or on the trails with views like this, I was reminded why I love Wellington so much and why I'm still here. Winter started to set in, and Ratas somehow convinced us that getting up at 5.30am a couple of mornings a week in the cold would be a good idea, and though it may not have been good for our bikes, it seemed to do the trick for our fitness later on. Maybe Australia would be warmer, so off I went for a three week holiday, which coincided with Le Tour and getting some wisdom teeth out in between catching up with my family, friends and cats. I put the winter training to good use with some successful races at the Whaka 100 and the Welly 12 Hour, but managed to crash before the Makara Peak Rally and not get to race it for the second year running. The lay-off meant for more beer consumption, good preparation for Ratas' Festivus celebrations, a great way to finish up a pretty decent year. If 09 is as good, then it'll be not too damn shabby either. Happy New Year to all my friends on both sides of the ditch!
Festivus 08 turned out to be a great day. Ratas had it all planned out, a ride in the morning and eating, drinking and being merry in the afternoon.
Of course the Bays were calling, and the views of the city were great as always.
Karl was getting a little bit over-excited about the Pohutakawa trees in blossom. They do look pretty spectacular though, and apparently if they are in bloom before Festivus then we are in for a good, long summer.
The Petanque was hotly contested and the skills were finely honed. The front yard proved to be a better surface than the back.
The Ratahi's back yard isn't exactly ideal for cricket either, but we kept the Kiwi/Aussie rivalry alive with the usual Aussie dominance prevailing, until I managed to injure myself (again) and had to administer some more hop-based painkillers. Of course the 'underarm incident' was dragged up during the game, by Claire who isn't even a real Kiwi!
On the way over I was following this bus, which reminded me of my cat Bolts back in Aus.
I'd bought a bottle of red in his honour also, and I wondered what the little fella was up to....
Well he was filling my seat and eating prawns apparently!
After my first, and only, experience with the institution that is the Karapoti Classic, I swore I'd never do it again. So for this year's race, I was only too happy to let Mike and Josh take the day off work while I dealt with the YJA's and FCS's, letting them endure the granny-gear climbs, the shin-deep bogs and the thousands of punters doing their best to make your day worse than it already is.
But as that day back in March unfolded, and even in the weeks leading up to it, I was more than a little curious, intrigued maybe, with the whole aura surrounding the race. Frequent texts to the guys revealed the heartache and jubilation that can encompass one's day out in the Akatawaras. While Josh had a race he'd rather forget (and which I've probably just facilitated in opening up those wounds), Mike had a storming ride, getting oh-so-close to the coveted three hour mark. It reminded me just how close I had come myself, and the voices in my head were telling me that I needed to have another crack. As I normally do when the voices talk, I quickly dismissed their ramblings as nonsensical gibberish, and went about my day.
With the deadline approaching for the latest issue of SPOKE magazine, Eleanor (our fearless leader and tormenter of contributors) appeared at work one day with an offer, or more like a desperate plea, for Josh to write a piece on the 2009 race. He'd have two days to write it, and as a bonus, he'd get a free entry. Probably still unable to sleep at night from wrestling with his DNF demons, or possibly because he has a slight disdain for being put under the pressure of an unreasonable deadline (coupled with a strong aversion to not being paid until months after the fact), he declined on the spot, and as I happened to be in the vicinity (and having been conveniently branded a 'staff writer') I was the designated sucker. I wrote the article, took the entry and tried not to think about the actual painful part (the riding).
Now I knew there would come a time when I would, indeed, have to start thinking about that actual painful part. And I've been thinking about it a lot, to the point that it is starting to dominate my riding thoughts, rather than just the usual "I can't wait to have a beer after this" which is about the only time I give credence to the voices within. Even the 'T' word has crept into my psyche... training. And training for the Karapoti always seems to involve that other horrible 'T' word, the Tip Track. Ian suggests doing repeats up it, three at a time. That's almost the total times I've ridden it! Ratas wanted us to climb it yesterday at 8am... of course we pointed out his stupidity and left him to acsend alone. But I concede that I'll have to face up to it sooner or later.
So the entry is in, there's no backing out, and the sub-3 is the goal. I'm entered in Pro/Elite class, the idea being in the first wave of riders gives you no traffic to battle with the later start of the age groups (and being so old, that's a lot of riders to wade through). There's talk of the major sponsor Merida loaning me a bike to ride, either for the race or a pre-race photo shoot, and the bike will be a Ninety-Six, a light XC weapon. Not sure which spec, but I'm hoping it's this...
My other thoughts have been to maybe getting a new Epic and tricking it out with my nice bits...
Or the Stumpjumper 29er is still in the back of my head too, I could build it up nice as well...
If money was no object (and it is) then I'd pony up for one of these (frame and fork only)...
Whatever bike I'm on, the only certainty is that I'll be suffering, and when it's done in under 3, I'll be able to walk away from the K word forever... or will I?
Getting old(er) can be a real bitch. Hair gets grey and falls out, joints creak and aren't as flexible as they once were, and youthful good looks wane and the ladies don't swoon around as they did before the creases took over your skin. Okay, so the last one isn't completely true, I'm still magnificent and chicks dig me! What's this got to do with riding? I'll just fight back the impending senility, and, oh yeah... one thing that really bugs me about the onset of seniority is the inability to bounce back from cycling-related accident injuries. As told in my last post, I took a bit of a trip over the bars last weekend on Makara's Trickle Falls, seemingly innocuous at the time, but rendering my knee a stiff, swollen, useless joint for a couple of days. No problem, I've had plenty worse than this before, and I presumed a few days rest would see me right to race the Makara Peak Rally on Sunday. But, the advancing years saw to it that I would still be feeling pain in the knee on even the flattest, easiest-spinning road rides. A late fitness test on Sunday morning forced me to let Josh take my spot in the Solo Open category, meaning it would be he who would suffer up, down and around the Peak, covering every sweet singletrack (and only the slightest smattering of fire-road and asphalt) in the park. The weather was perfect, about 22 but with that NZ bite to the sun which makes it feel a lot warmer, but doesn't fry your brain. I hung out and caught up with a few people, then went for a walk to get some pics and video (which I have no idea how to upload, but I'm working on it). God and Josh (that's him leading up Lazy Fern, above) finished second and third respectively, but Ratas didn't even offer an excuse for his own no-show, only to tell us later he was going carol singing with Claire... the end is nigh for that man. There's one in every crowd... Rich (Joe) didn't learn from his near-death-Santa-suit-experience from last year, and had a near-death-Capt. America-suit-experience this year. Proof that postmen are 20cents short of a stamp.
Meanwhile, another happening event that I've been unable to attend is the return of the UndergroundSuperDseries. Paul, Jim and Tryfan are up to their old tricks, getting the rabble together at undisclosed spots around Welly for some racing and drinking, not necessarily in that order. And in a move that may jeopardise the legitimacy of it's 'underground' status, DB Breweries have been enlisted to supply their Export 33 beer for all the rounds (good enough reason for me to get to the next round, bung knee or otherwise). Pics by Caleb, who dropped me off a sixer of said brew to review for the next issue of SPOKE. Chur!
Mini-Me Mike took on Taupo a couple of weeks ago on his Langster, and kicked its sorry ass! We had feared the worst for the little fella, after the 'tapering' phase of his 'training' had lasted the better part of three months. At least he was well rested, and the lack of gears and a freewheel didn't stop him posting a time of around 5 hours and change for the 160km. Karen, who had done a lot more training and who we secretly believed (and maybe just wished a little bit) might show Mike how it's done, rode a sub-6 hour circumnavigation. Well done those people! Read their reports on the big day out here.
I saw one of the best movies I've had the pleasure of viewing in a long time (well, a week, after one of the worst) on Sunday at the lovely old Penthouse Cinema in Brooklyn. In Bruges is one of those films that you want to see again right after walking out of the theatre. I'm not a Colin Farrell fan, but he plays a great character in this film, and the plot is tasty enough to keep you interested beyond the dark comedy which dominates. It's got sex, love, death, violence, and midgets, everything you need for an entertaining night out. It really is a 'must-see'.
A recovering DJ and musician and lifelong habitual bike rider, my world revolves around pedalling, writing, wrenching and swilling.... Born and bred in Newcastle NSW Australia, I have been living in the windy city of Wellington, New Zealand since January 2007. I came for the mountain biking, and stayed for the... mountain biking and road riding. I don't much care if you don't want to hear about it, I'm going to tell you anyway.
It's inevitable that in the lead-up to Karapoti that you're gonna have to do a reconaissance ride. Weeks ago, Mike had decided the time, and last Sunday would be it. As the day drew closer, all eyes were on the Wind Guru with trepidation as the winds were to be howling and the rain to be pouring. 
Mike kept his optimism high, as did JJ, while I was my realistic (read: pessimistic) self, predicting that the day could be a wet and muddy hell. Only time would tell. 
Rain heavy enough to wake me up fell during the night, and text tennis was being played between all in the morning. Mike and his crew (JJ, Jamie, Roger, Grant and his dad) were packed and going, while my crew (Magnus, Paul and Marty) were still debating the merits of risking drowning in an infamous Karapoti boghole. 
Paul, being the mental case that he is, predicted that the rain would be lighter in the mountains... Marty, Magnus and I derided him, with good reason. Paul should leave the comedy to his brother. 
As we got closer to the Akatarawas, it was teeming. But we were there, and with every chance that race day could be the same, we headed off up the gorge. It wasn't long, about fifty metres in fact, before we were covered from head to toe in mud. 
Now Karapoti isn't exactly know as a fun ride, it's pretty much all fireroad, and most of that is granny-gear climbs that seem to go on forever. Magnus got a flat at the bottom of the Warm-Up climb, and waiting for him at the top we were anything but warmed up. 
Next up was the Deadwood climb, longer and steeper in places, and at the top the rain was getting heavier, and we weren't even close to halfway. We decided to cut our losses and turned around and pinned it back downhill to the carpark, tails between our legs. 
Mike and his crew had decided the same thing and were already packing up by the time we got back, after returning via a shortcut. By the time we drove back to Welly, the sun was shining but the wind was nasty, so we weren't too unhappy about our decision. Well, I wasn't anyway, and somehow felt like saying "I told you so"... but I'd never do that. The plan is to go and have another crack this weekend, but with the Tour of Wellington winding up with a criterium in Lambton Quay on Sunday, it seems like watching others suffer might be the better option.
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