Surprise Present

Sometimes things happen that really make me think the concept of karma isn’t entirely flawed. One of those things happened to me this week when I received an email from my beloved husband entitled Mountain Bike for Sale. I was intrigued by this as we had agreed there would be no new bikes for me for quite a long time, well at least the next couple of years, unless I actually got off my butt and trained for something truly Epic. I’m not training for something truly Epic as I want to have the freedom to ride different stuff if the mood takes me, rather than long endurance rides come hell or high water. So what could possibly be in this email? A new singlespeed for my husband, perhaps? No, a woman’s cross-country bike. A bike made for racing. A 2007 Giant Anthem. As I read the list of parts on the bike I became at once both excited and apprehensive. Surely this quality of bike would be well beyond my means. And then I saw the price and immediately picked up the phone to make sure my husband wasn’t teasing me. It was a bargain.

Emails were sent, times were arranged and on Saturday I picked it up to take it for a few test rides. Simply riding it on around the lawn I knew I wanted it. By the time we got it home and I took it for a very very fast blast up Kennedy’s Bush Rd I was thinking of it as mine. It is light and fast, with lock outs on the front and rear shocks and a lot less suspension than my lovely Jamis. It goes up hills so well. I was grinning madly when I got home and looking forward to a proper ride up Kennedy’s in the mud.

The next day was sunny and again I got over excited on the road and zoomed up faster than ever before, too fast in fact because I was a bit pooped by the time we reached the dirt. Lifting the bike over the gate was so easy. Not the difficult and comedic struggle I’m used at all. Kennedy’s was very wet still and traction wasn’t great, but the bike felt good and was nimble so even we I started to spin out in the mud I could quickly change my line and find some grip. I almost enjoyed riding this bike up hill, but I was a bit nervous about heading down the wet slippery singletrack with less travel and unforgiving tyres. It went well enough and I was just starting to get the hang of the different geometry when a terrible stick-through-rear-derailleur-tragedy occurred up ahead and Michelle’s hanger broke. Thank goodness for soft breakable hangers. The derailleur seemed fine and was safely stowed in a backpack for the coast back down the hill.

The Anthem felt weird to me going down hill. I’m used to the squishy speedy descents the Jamis provides so I was pretty tentative on the Anthem. It was all good though and the Juicey 5 brakes were great, with good modulation and control. They were singing me an unpleasant song by the bottom so it might be time for new pads. It was a great ride, with the exception of the stick incident, and when I got home I transferred the money straight into the sellers account. So now I have 4 bikes, which does seem like a lot, but I love them all differently and can’t wait for race season to arrive. I can’t thank my lovely husband enough for this gift, it really has lifted my spirits immensely and given me more drive to race after this bleak, depressing winter.

Know thy enemy!

Last year, in a burst of keenness and 1 day after competing in the Wee McGregor race in Tekapo, I decided I wanted to ride the Godley Head track for the first time. I was feeling confident after a great race and had talked to a few people about it and thought it was within my abilities at the time. OH Ho ho! How wrong I was.

My main problem was that 1 day after doing my first even 40km race I should have been either lying on the couch or at the most sifting round Bottlelake, not taking on a new track that I didn’t know at all. I foolishly had in my head that because the track was at the top of Evan’s Pass it wouldn’t have any climbing and even though my hubby tried to warn me I was determined. Imagine my shock and horror when confronted with the first switchback up the hill and the realisation that I really needed to recover, not hammer my feeble legs up steep pinches.

It was bad. Very very bad. The sensible thing to do once I realised I didn’t have the strength required for the track would have been to just stop and go home, but I am pigheaded (shocking I know!) and forced myself onwards. Then I found myself confronted with what seemed a vertical wall of rock. Ha! No one could ride up that, except of course my hubby just had. I got off and dragged my bike up. And from that point on I was off my bike pushing more than I was on it. Sure I was tired from the race, but psychologically the rocks and pinches really got me that day and when the track levelled out I was in such a bad head-space I couldn’t enjoy the flowing singletrack and fun structures you’re rewarded with after the rocky gauntlet. In fact I couldn’t ride at all. I would have to say it was my lowest riding point to date and as I waited for my hubby to bring the car round to pick me up I truly hated riding for the only time since the bug bit me.

Why am I telling you this shameful story? Well it turns out winter is a great time to get to know this track. It’s closed at the moment so no one should be riding it and that means I can walk it without fear of annoying any riders. And that’s just what we did on Saturday in the glorious sun. I want to ride this track and conquer my fear, but I want to go into it with my eyes open this time, not with vision distorted by fear. The first switchback was as I remembered it, and I was surprised that the first big rocky climb looked as steep and impossible as my first visit.

This photo really doesn't do justice to the steepness of this horrible bit!

But further on, through the rocks, I began to see the lines I could ride. Yes there are quite a few places I will probably have to walk in this rocky uphill, but there are lots of bits that are within my skills, and hopefully by the time the tracks dry out, within my strength. If you love riding rocky stuff, this is definitely the track for you, especially if you are one of those masochistic types that love climbing.



Once the track levelled out hubby and I amused ourselves by making channels out of some of the big puddles on the track and watching them drain in the sun. We really didn’t have the right tools for the job, but we’ll remember to take something more appropriate than a walking stick next time. The further I walked along the track, the more I wanted to ride it and when we got to the first structure I really wanted my bike. In fact by the time we got to the second and third structures I was aching to ride and having walked the Anaconda the previous weekend (sweet bermed heaven) I knew the reward for those initial moments of pain and anguish would be worth it.

As we walked back along the track to car in the fading sun we were both satisfied to see a number of the puddles we’d drain were drying nicely. We were less impressed to met 4 bikers who were obviously blind or believed that Track Closed signs didn’t apply to them. Grrrrr. For me, this winter walking wet tracks is great. We can earn some trail karma by helping the tracks to drain and I get to form an idea of the actual riding required, rather than going in blind and blowing up. Bring on more sun next weekend, and then bring on the drying weather.

More needles please sir, and a side of laughter.

This winter has become a real dog, a rabid dog, in fact, which has latched onto me and has given me a right proper chewing in the neck regions. This has left me suffering in both mind and body. Regular readers - the hardy few - will have noticed that there has been a long period of inactivity on this blog. I put it down to the metaphorical lock-jaw this cold and dark winter has gifted me and the creative centres of my brain. I've had a good few weeks of uber colds and generally feeling like a rather neglected and overused dish rag. Fortunately the recent sunny days have been a balm to this affliction and I've been dragging myself out on my road bike for sunny lunchtime rides. Mmmmmm vitamin D, so wonderful and nourishing.

None of these rides would have been nearly as enjoyable as they were without the wonderful skills of my divine osteopath. My gammy elbow is not well suited for the roadie, especially in the cold, and this has been keeping me off the bike till earlier this week. In the meantime my lovely osteo has been filling my arm and scar tissue with needles and they have really been doing the trick. While I don't quite look like this when "needled up":

I do enjoy the sensation of my acupuncture points activated. When I finally got back on my roadie after what seems like a couple of months of avoidance, to my great happiness and surprise I discovered that my arm is greatly improved and was almost as straight as my unbung arm. Fantastic! The best improvement is that after an hour of riding it only just started to hurt, instead of after 10 minutes. I've since been on 3 more hour long rides and while it’s definitely sorer than that first ride the improvement is significant.

Of course my osteo doesn't only provide me with sharp slivers of metal inserted into various points of my body, sometimes with added electricity, he also sorts out my muscular stresses and most importantly entertains me with an endless supply of hilarious anecdotes. I am not at liberty to share these gems with you, but I can say that upon discussing my recent uber cold and its accompanying hideous sneezes, I was gifted with a brilliant story involving a couple of broken ribs, a policeman's elbow, an effort at politeness and an epic and admirable moment of unco-ordination. My poor sore ribs were tested by the gales of laughter this story retched from me, but it was worth it for the vast improvement in mood that a long bout of laughter brought about.

Dangerous police elbows highlighted for safety, but also beware of the swaying hips!

Just to let you know that the urban myth that sneezing 8 times in row produces a sensation that is the same as an orgasm is a bloody lie. I was great afflicted with the sneezes for 2 days with my uber cold and the only sensation it produced in me was pain. Pain firstly from the intensely explosive sneezes throwing me to the floor and simultaneously ripping my throat out, and then later on by their insistent nature causing my ribs to feel like I'd crashed into a number of trees at high speed while downhilling. Stupid sneezes. At one point I was wondering if I'd managed to contract some strange hybrid of whooping cough and hay fever that left me with the dreaded whooping sneezes. I, and my ribs, have recovered and while I missed the last three night races due to my affliction and recovery period, I feel I am ready for hours of roadie training in preparation for the Molesworth and Moa Hunt and various other races I want to do towards the end of the year. Right now it’s just good to be in the sun, it feels like I've been in the dark way too long.

Sometimes DFL doesn’t hurt

Last night was rather cold, but there was still a huge turn out to night racing. Unfortunately during the previous week those little imps the loggers had been at work installing massive fences and cutting down trees and there were changes afoot to the course. These changes were not suited to those of us rocking one gear as there was a lot more flat 4wd track in the second lap. In fact the second lap was predominantly 4wd track and it wasn’t really much fun. The course was also longer so it’s difficult to compare times.

Despite this I really enjoyed the race, my legs feel good and I had fun on the slippy wet singletrack. My strategy from last week let me down somewhat with the addition of more flat 4wd track and I wasn’t able to catch up with people in the last lap at all. However I did have company throughout these boring flat sections and it was most welcome. Firstly, because riding with someone else made me push harder, and secondly, because my companion was most amusing. Being a gentleman I insisted he finish before me as I was mentally prepared for the DFL (Dead Freakin Last) I received.
I was quite happy with it for a number of reasons.

Why last doesn’t hurt
Reason 1.
It is expected. Last night was the coldest night we’ve had so far and often the colder nights are the ones that whittle out the slower riders. There were about 20 less people there last night and some of those would be from my end of the field. Also with the change to the course I knew I would be fighting a loosing battle. Much like during the Hammerhead race, having a realistic expectation of getting last serves to blunten the trauma that may otherwise be felt.

Reason 2.
The race was successful in other ways. Last night I felt really strong throughout the race, and even better, I was able to push harder for longer when riding with my companion. I conquered nasty pinch climbs stronger, ran up Tip Hill faster, helped someone whose lights had failed and felt like I had definitely improved over the week. I finished the race exhausted and muddy and grinning.

Reason 3.
Fear of getting last can keep you off your bike. Last year, when I was fitter, I was terrified of getting last. It seemed like the worse thing in the world. This year I know I’m slower and that there’s a risk I’ll get last. If I let getting last be something I must avoid at all costs I’ll have to stop racing. I don’t want to stop racing. I find it one of the most enjoyable, satisfying, motivational and challenging things I do. Someone has to get last at every race and if that person is me occasionally I don’t mind.

Reason 4.
You stay warmer. On cold nights being the last one in means you don’t have to wait around for the prize giving. It’s sometimes underway when you get there. You stay warm from your efforts and then its time to go home with your bacon sandwich and dry change of clothes.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I’ll always be satisfied with last. In a couple of month’s time I hope to be getting back towards being fit again and then I’ll be expecting to avoid getting last like you avoid ebola (I was going to say swine flu, but apparently some people don’t want to avoid that). For now though I can read the situation well. On warmer nights when there are more people racing I don’t expect to get last, when there’s more singletrack and less 4wd track I don’t expect to get last and when there’s a new course I don’t expect to get last (I’m gifted with track brain). Next week I’ll see what the race gods throw before me and adjust my expectations accordingly and then I’ll ride my bike as hard as I can and be happy to be out doing something I love with a huge group crazies who like racing around in the dark.

Am I Bendy?

No, not really. Cycling tends to bring about a certain level of inflexibility in the pelvis regions. This being the case I was keen to sign up when my work introduced a yoga class one lunchtime a week. Fortuitously, this class falls on the Thursday so I get to do it when I’m nicely zombied out from racing the previous night. I was quite apprehensive about this for the first class, as I shuffled in bleary eyed and aching from the exertions of the night before. The class quickly filled up and I soon discovered that being tired was the least of the things I had to worry about. Doing yoga with your colleagues can be a slightly uncomfortable experience initially. For me there are 3 primary sources of discomfort.

What to wear
Obviously my business suits and high heels aren’t the best for yoga so some form of gym attire is more suited. However I generally like to wear quite baggy tops to the gym. Our yoga class spends quite a bit of time in that ever-favourite pose Downward Dog:
As you can see from the picture an overly loose t-shirt worn by an unwary student could easily result in all sorts of hilarious garment slipping action. Really loose clothes, nope, not for this one!

Face to butt proximity
This is the big one, so to speak. It turns out there are quite a few budding yogis at my work and the class is very popular. This means the our mats are usually quite close together. This is fine for poses like downward dog and other forward facing poses. You’re too busy concentrating on not collapsing, exploding, falling over and keeping breathing to notice what someone a couple of feet in front of you is doing. However not all of the poses face the front, some of them we face the side, and when we face the side the person in front of you is only a foot away at best. And when you are doing a Wide-legged forward bend this does not seem like enough room:
There’s a helpful animation of this pose if you click the picture. Now imagine you are leaning forward and the person in front of you is doing the same thing, a foot away. You face will not touch their butt, but it will be uncomfortable close. Luckily we haven’t had to do that pose much.

Snoring in class
While unlikely, this is quite possible, given that I’m attending the classes in an already stupefied state. After all the exertion and twisting and bending and breathing and stretching of the class we always finish in Savasana, or Corpse Pose:
It is one of my favourites. The problem is it is very very relaxing, and we “hold” it for what seems like a long time. And the longer we hold it, the greater the danger that I’ll just dose off for a second. I can’t even imagine how horrifically embarrassing it would be if I did drop off and some sort of snoring noise escaped. Actually I can imagine, and I don’t want to have to resign my job so I best not fall asleep and start snoring in class.

So those are the three potential perils of yoga, however the benefits are fantastic. I always feel 100% better after class and even though it hurts my arm it also strengthens and straightens it. Our teacher is a gorgeous tiny creature called Katie who is great and makes the class fun, there’s no problem if you can’t hold a pose or bend just so. I’ve been enjoying her classes so much I’m going to start doing another one and I’ve put a link to her website in my sidebar. So while I may not be very bendy yet, I will be soon.

Singlespeed to the rescue, with a little help from Iggy

This is not a face to inspire cycling:

Unless it’s biking away from it as fast as possible. And these lyrics are perhaps not the most cycling friendly lyrics either:
I am the passenger
And I ride and I ride
I ride through the city’s backside
I see the stars come out of the sky
Yeah, they’re bright in a hollow sky
You know it looks so good tonight
I am the passenger
I stay under glass
I look through my window so bright
I see the stars come out tonight
I see the bright and hollow sky
Over the city’s a rip in the sky
And everything looks good tonight
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la

So when this was the last song I heard before pulling into the car park at Bottlelake I wasn’t feeling very inspired to race. Given that my last 2 races were utter misery and subsequent rides around the sand puddle haven’t been significantly better I wasn’t holding out great hopes for a triumphant comeback this week.
I did have a new plan though. The bouncy bike has been horrible so I brought the SS Betty in the hope that being forced to go a constant speed would be better than the pitiful gear dropping efforts of previous evenings. Betty was ready for action with a lovely new color coordinated, and, more importantly, super cheap chain for her duties in the sand.

After signing up and meeting up with others of a like mind I noticed the TVNZ One news van. Fantastic! I always look my best while cycling and with a ghetto light strapped to my head. Oh well, it was dark and even though I did manage to be in the front row for the race briefing I’m hoping not to appear on the news in any way shape or form, unless it’s a shot of my wheels and ankles “zooming” past.

As usual I stationed myself at the rear of the field for the start, there’s no point in being run over. After blowing up at the start in the previous race I resolved to just go at my own pace from the start and soon I was at the back of the field, but not dropping away from those in front of me. I managed to keep up with these other tail-enders along the 4wd track and catch up through the singletrack, but was slightly thwarted by tip hill where I got halfway up and couldn’t get round them and ended up running up the hill. Urgh, I loathe running, especially with my bike, but it wasn’t for long and soon I was flying down the other side. The sand up the dunes got me again, but as I whizzed along into the headwind on the track I realised that I was actually whizzing along and I didn’t feel like dying. In fact, I felt fantastic! At this point The Passenger by Iggy Pop entered my head as I thought it would. His morose voice became my internal monologue, but fortunately I could only remember a few words, so what was going through my head was:
I am a passenger, and I ride and I ride,
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la

This, it turns out, is a fantastic riding refrain. I kicked the tempo of the tune up to match my spinning legs and it was fantastic. I was flying through the singletrack before I knew it, loving every second. And then something amazing happened. I passed someone! And then another, and then two more! This was fantastic. I reached the cross-over and the cones were still out and I didn’t have to wait. Through the rough track past the logging was awful leg sapping, bumpy yuckiness, but then I was out on the singletrack again and catching and passing another person. Tip hill was never going to happen the second time round, but as I ran up it I noticed that I was going faster than I had riding my geared bike so life was good.

By now I knew I was heading for a greatly improved time and I pushed a bit harder along the beach and the 4wd track. Through the singletrack again and I passed one more person and then I was out and actually sprinting for the finish. It was good and when I looked at my speedo I realised I’d gone 10 minutes faster than the last race. Fantastic! Obviously I haven’t got 10 minutes faster in the last couple of weeks, although it would be brilliant if I had. Betty is made for this race, even though she’s ghetto and cheap. Being on a hardtail makes keeping the speed up so much easier and having these extra 4 pairs of wings helps too:

Today, I’m destroyed, which is great. I gave it everything last night and for the first time since my break it felt really good. I really felt like I was racing and I will be back for more for the next 4 weeks, even though the horrid course isn’t being changed. I love my singlespeed.
Singin la la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la
La la la la la-la-la la la-la

Hi, my name is Oscar and I’ll be your grouch today

It’s 8am on Saturday morning and I’m still asleep. Mmmmmm sleep, how I love you at the moment, I wish I could have more of you all the time. The significance of me being asleep at 8am is the previous night I’d agreed that 9:30am would be a good time to go riding up Rapaki and had asked my lovely hubby to wake me at 8am to ensure I had plenty of time to wake up and get ready. Unfortunately he was unable to keep track of the time once he got up and the next thing I know I’m being abruptly awakened by my phone announcing it has a text for me. Sometimes I truly regret my Invader Zim ringtones.

Through bleary eyes and with fog filled headed I eventually regain control of my limbs enough to press the necessary buttons to read the text and discover, to my disgust, that it’s a beautiful sunny day and 9:30am is the kick off for the ride, as I foolishly proposed the night before. I hate it when I’m the author of my own downfall. I flop out of bed and into the kitchen to remind my lovely husband to wake me at 8am. He is surprised and amused at his oversight, I am not. I am grumpy. Breakfast is quickly eaten and biking clothes are gathered in front of the heater. The many layers are donned and the search for a clean and dry headband commenced, in vain it turns out. No clean headbands, and sun glasses are MIA. I am grumpy.

My lovely husband attaches my bike to my car as penance for not waking me up while I fill my camel back with clean water, gather helmet, gloves, and shoes and then pile into the car. The call of my warm bed is still strong but I start the car and head off. I feel ever so slightly sorry for my riding companions, but it passes quickly because I’m grumpy. The spin round the road from scatter’s house is ok, but I’m feeling a little light-headed and am pining for my sunglasses. Up the seal on Rapaki Rd I manage to go quite woosey (the medical term) and ride into the gutter and almost fall off. Hmmmmm I am grumpy and a muppet. Guess which one!

After some emergency shoe-stuck-in-pedal-repairs for one of our small group at the gate and some bike swapping we’re off. I have no power at all. I will be riding slooooow. The sun is out, but we are completely shaded in the valley, but we’re also sheltered from the wind. Up we go and I go slow. But I go. It’s weird. I get in a zone where my legs just go round and round and while my heart isn’t racing, I can’t really talk, that may have more to done with grumpiness than exertion, and I am determined to just keep pedalling till I get to the top. We pop out of the shade at the track temporarily levels off and BAM! the wind kicks in. Typical.

The grind up the final section is unpleasant with a mixture of gusty cross winds and nasty head winds. I’m slightly less grumpy as the wind gives me something to think about other than how feeble my legs feel. I’m also glad for my heavy bike and frame as I’m not so susceptible to buffeting by the evil wind. At the top the wind is howling and freezing and another layer is quickly added before we set off up the road. The road ride is yucky and by the start of the traverse I’m very grumpy. We go straight into the Traverse and I’m nervous. This is my first ride back here since my break and this is the track I’ve crashed on the most, usually through the rocky section. My nerves block out the grumpiness and I flow along the track and smile. It’s good to be back. I completely stuff up the rocky section and have to walk it, but I don’t care. Along I go and it gets better and better. The surface is dry almost everywhere, and I’m loving it. The second half is even better and I’m grinning through the new bermed corners towards the end and we are at Vic Park.

Dun dun DUN!!!!

My first visit to the scene of the accident and I feel a bit sick looking at where I crashed. I do not ride Brake Free, but we make our way to the start of Sesame St and as I drop off the cattlestop I ask aloud “What am I doing?” I’m really nervous and completely nana it along the track and through the sweet corners. I stop and admire the wall ride and I long to ride it, but not when I’m this nervous. I get to the bottom full of adrenaline and stoked. Down Dazzas and my bung arm sort of collapses and I almost endo, I am grumpy and berate myself but make it down in one piece and happy. The 4wd track is rutty and wet and the drainage ditches are not fun. We come past Double Drop and I stop and look back at it and cannot believe I ever rode down it. Insane. On down the 4wd track and I get some air over the speed humps and I’m loving it and I know I want to shuttle again. Nothing else makes me feel this good when I’m this grumpy.I’m bloody tired when the ride is over and I’m still grumpy, but overlaid on top of that grumpiness is a thick juicy layer of happy. I love riding my bike, I love pushing my limits, I even like scaring myself trying hard stuff and I love riding with mates. They all seemed to survive relatively unscathed from their encounter with Oscar.