But all I have learned is that every time you step out onto the course for an enduro, it’s going to hurt.

And it did. My time for the event was 7 hrs 3 mins 21 sec. Which is a little bit slower than the last couple of years, where I’ve been a whisker under 7 hours. I was 106th out of 187 in my category (40-49 men), and 303rd out of 525 in the 100km event.

But the time and the placing isn’t really the important thing, especially for pack fodder such as me. It has to be about the experience, the journey, & finding the motivation to continue. And on that score, I found yesterday’s event to be really hard. I’m not claiming sympathy from anyone, I choose to do this to myself.

My faithful readers with long memories will know that last year we had a ‘team’ of four. This year it was just me riding, and a work mate, Sholto, as my support crew.

It was a cool start at Preston Peak, south of Toowoomba. BOM reckons about 6 degrees Celsius. Didn’t see as many mates at the start line as last year, because the organisers have separated the categories. The oldies (40-49, 50-59, 60+) and the heavyweights (‘Clydesdales’, riders who weigh more than 95kgs) started at 7 am.

Most of the Daisy Hill Wednesday morning crew are in the 30-39 age group, which started half an hour later.

So off we went, about 250 elderly riders. And straight away up the first hill I could tell there was something just a bit wrong.

After cleaning up my bike the previous Sunday, I had put it in for new chain-rings at my local bike shop during the week. And for some inexplicable reason, the bike shop staff must have fiddled with the settings on the rear shock. It felt spongy. I looked down and saw that the platform setting, which stops the shock activating with normal pedalling, was off. So I flicked the lever back across to ‘on’ and kept riding. But it still felt different to normal. Softer, with noticeable pedal bob when I was out of the saddle.

Eventually after about five or 10km of up and down in reasonable heavy traffic, I took the opportunity to stop on one of the walking-up-the-hill sections to have a closer look. The shock had been changed to medium setting when I have had it set on firm for 12 months or more. How annoying!

Still I was feeling that the level of exertion was about the same as previous events, as I made my way through the Ma Ma Creek single-track section to the first checkpoint.

I fueled up and headed up the hill on the climb of the Razorback. A steady pace all the way to the top, and if I felt I was struggling a bit more than last year, it might have been down to the fact that last year I rode a super-light (borrowed) carbon hardtail, and  this year I was on my own bike.

Which was fantastic on the downhill sections! I made it back down to the valley floor of the Devil’s Tail downhill in no time flat.

I made it to the second checkpoint still on my schedule, about 10-15 minutes before the 50km (half-Epic) riders were due to start. And with hundreds of riders and their supporters all over the site, I simply couldn’t find Sholto, and he couldn’t find me. Oh well. So once again with a full hydration bladder in the back pack I set off for the second half of the event.

Once again I found the third 25 to be the hardest stage of the event. This time last year I struggled, and once again it was a hard slog on the steep farm tracks. I got back down to the valley floor on the road to Laidley Gap, where last year I found a good rhythm and got back into a positive state of mind.

But this time I had a never-ending stream of 50km riders passing me, all fresh and full of beans. And I was going slower and slower.

It was a real battle between my ‘head’, my ‘heart’ and my legs. The head was saying ‘you CAN do this, you’ve done the training’, just stay calm and pedal steady’. The heart was saying ‘look at everyone passing you … you are sooo slow … how long are we going to be on this road’. And my legs were just dying.

It was actually a relief to get to the steep part of the Laidley Gap climb, because mere mortals can’t ride it. Well, I certainly can’t.

Once I had struggled to the top of Laidley Gap, things actually started to improve. Another super-fun downhill on my super-nice downhilling dual-susser, and then I set my sights towards checkpoint 3 at Thornton.

No surprise to me that Sholto wasn’t there. I had already reasoned that if we missed each other at checkpoint 2, he would have waited for at least half an hour for me to show up. I only hoped he wouldn’t wait too long at CP3 and not make it to the finish.

So fortunately for me the organisers had plenty of water and fruit available. I still had one gel, and I scoffed down a banana and took another one for my pockets.

Back out on the road for the climb to Edwards Gap. I was finding comparisons with last year’s race slightly odious at this point, but I still felt OK at the top of the climb, despite walking a couple of sections.

Then it was hey-ho for the finish. I worked quite well with a couple of other riders on the bitumen section of Mt Mort road, but I could feel the cramps rising in my quads if I pushed too hard for too long.

So I backed off a bit and turned into Old Hidden Vale for the final test. It was a hard hard granny-gear slog up the long hill which greets you on OHV. But once past that, I picked up pace, and was passing lots of riders on the single-track.

I was disappointed to discover that the new route through OHV this year cut out some of the ‘bouncier’ single track in favour of a flatter route on farm tracks. But there was still the last climb on ‘Escalator’, which I cleaned without walking, despite some very bad moments. I tacked onto the back of another rider of similar pace, and with plenty of calls of ‘track’ we were able to make it to the top and pass about 10 riders on the way.

So I rolled into the finish, hurting but relieved. I always had half an eye on the clock, so I wasn’t too surprised when the PA announcer called my time as 7:03 as I came over the line. It seemed about right … I finished last year still full of beans, but this time I had given just about everything!

Luckily Sholto was there and he found me, just as I was chatting to a couple of mates from the Wednesday morning crew. All of them did great rides … one was sub 6 hours on his first Epic, and another had improved by about an hour and a half from his first attempt. Impressive stuff.

So while in terms of performance I have stagnated (or perhaps found my true level), I still look on the 2010 Epic as an achievement to be proud of. That’s enough mtb racing for this year. Probably. Next year will bring new challenges, for both road and mtb.

Tewantin mtb from ademack on Vimeo.

Bruce & Andrew go for a ride in Tewantin State Forest

I don’t ride my bike into the city during rush hour because I’m “concerned with the environment;” I do it because pretending I’m riding down the gullet of a giant salmon on a spring day is awesome, and sitting in traffic for two hours listening to terrestrial radio and then trying to find parking sucks. Being human and doing what makes you truly happy makes the world better; being “concerned” yields two toxic by-products: religion, and smugness.

So if I advocate anything (which really I don’t, since who the hell am I anyway?), it’s doing what makes you happy.

BikeSnobNYC captures one of my key points about cycling advocacy. Being worthy and green and all that stuff is (probably) fine. But I ride a bike ‘cos I like riding a bike. It’s fun and I like having fun. Every day!

And just for fun, here’s a close-up from the first photo above. Scary!

OK, so you’ve not ridden a mountain bike in a serious race before? OK, so you’re in pre-season training before you go back to Europe. Fair enough.

OK, so according to you, you suck at riding single track. Sure, sure.

OK, so as part of your pre-season, you enter the Australian National Road Race championships, and solo off the front for seven laps of a 10.2 km course, just to get some hard kms into your legs.

And at the Otway Odyssey, against Australia’s finest and best prepared mountain bikers, you ride away on the fire roads to win by over five minutes.

And by the looks of this photo at the finish line, you would barely blow out a candle.

Judith Arndt, you rock.

(Those with long memories will remember Judith finished with a silver medal in the Athens Olympics road race behind our very own Sara Carrigan. On that occasion she was so angry about the exclusion of her partner Petra Rossner from the German team that she gave a single finger salute as she crossed the line, aimed at German Olympic selectors, apparently, but there for all the world to see. This is a woman with attitude.)

Where to begin with the Otway Odyssey?

Perhaps it began just after the 2009 Epic back in August, when I was looking around for my next challenge? Or perhaps it really began after a friend did the 50km version of the Otway in February 2009, and told me stories about how hard the hills were and how beautiful was the scenery and forest.

Whenever it began, I’ve spent quite a few months physically and mentally preparing myself for this event, which happened last Saturday. If you want to know more stats about how I went than I have ever seen for any other event, then here they are.

The stats do tell a revealing story. They show that I started reasonably well, and had a really tough time in the middle of the event, and finished strong (or to be more accurate, I finished more strongly than many of those around me).

But the emotions I experienced throughout the event are what will stay with me as a lasting memory. Early on the voice in my head was saying stuff like ‘stay calm’, ‘get your race face on’ and ‘work hard’. But it wasn’t long before my internal conversations were getting pretty down.

We had made it over the top of the biggest hills, but the fire roads which followed had lots of short sharp hills that were just killing my legs. I was well short of halfway through the event and wondering how I could get through to the end. The first singletrack section had a long long descent (which was great fun) followed by a long long long climb (not so much fun).

By the time I reached the halfway mark I was occasionally contemplating pulling out before the finish. I knew that the race would go through the finish arena (Forrest football oval) twice (at 67km and 87km) before the 100km mark. And I was thinking that this race was simply too hard for me.

So the first time through the finish I filled up my hydration pack, ate some food, and didn’t give myself any time to think. I just got back on the bike and rode on. Only a couple of km later I was once again having a bad time, and I was off the bike walking up a hill that I would usually ride without a second thought.

But then over the next few kilometres something changed. It must have been a long flowing section of singletrack that did it. I got into the flow and I enjoyed it. I found that somehow I could ride up hills again. I could ride fast again. I could stand up and power over little rises, and not have to change into my lowest gear. Mountain biking became fun again. I started to pass other riders.

I got back into the transition area for the second time in a totally different mind-set. ‘Let’s get on and finish this thing’ was what I heard myself say.

And I did. The last hills still hurt like hell. When you’ve been riding your mountain bike for seven hours, every extra effort just means more suffering. But by that stage of the event I knew I was going to finish, and that’s what got me to the end.

A km or so from the end on a smooth dirt road, a fellow competitor passed me. I didn’t feel like chasing, but when we turned the corner into the football field, I rode up beside him. “Feel like a sprint finish?” I said. And so we smashed it into the finish, getting a good cheer from the crowd.

The overwhelming feeling that I have at the end of a mountain bike enduro is always relief at having finished. I always know that it is very far from being a certainty that just because I’ve trained hard and prepared well that I’m going to finish.

On my mental list of events I’ve done, the Otway Odyssey gets the tag of hard but beautiful. I reached my personal limit when it comes to hill-climbing. But on the same day I reached a new state of being “in the flow” on singletrack that I don’t think I’ve had before.

It’s an on-going adventure, this mountain biking stuff. The combination of how much fun it is and how hard it is, is what keeps me interested. I don’t know what’s next in mountain biking for me, but I’m sure those two components will be part of it.

My result:

Saturday morning was a great road ride with Group 1 of the South Bank bunch, down to Wynnum via Cleveland. The pace was on early, and we shed a couple of riders over Camp Hill. Then it ramped up further as we got a bit tangled up with a small group of four which was slightly faster than our group. Anyway it all mixed in together from Belmont out through Alexandra Hills.

By the time we wound it up on the Wynnum Esplanade I was feeling like my form was as good as it’s ever been. Got swamped in the sprint, but it was fun anyway.

On Sunday afternoon Bruce and I went for a spin in Daisy Hill quite late. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the trails were well-attended. Quite a few times we had to give other riders a head start on trails so as not to catch them halfway along a singletrack section. The Haro felt good, my timing seemed good.

So as quite a few of my friends take on Grafton-Inverell, I will be slogging up a monster climb on my mountain bike. It’s going to hurt, and its going to be great. You can’t have one without the other!

It’s only a couple of weeks to go until the Otway Odyssey. As I’ve been saying in emails to people, I’m slightly terrified. The course profile tells why …

But I am also excited.

So our wonderful back-to-the-70s summer weather has been a bit of a dampener on my training schedule. Last weekend was supposed to be a hard weekend’s training, with two hard rides on Saturday and a long steady ride on Sunday.

Well as it turned out, I got the hard training ride Saturday morning (with the SBB group 1 to Redcliffe and back, about 90-ish km), and that was just about it.

The second ride for Saturday was to be the first round of the Summer Cup, a cross-country mountain bike race being run by my mountain-bike club, the Southside Rats.

And it was belting down by the time we were due to start. I said to several people that I didn’t fancy the whole thing … getting covered in muck, with the very real prospect of either falling off and damaging myself, or damaging my bike.

Well, the second thing happened. I made it through almost a lap. But the bike’s now at Flashing Pedals getting seen to as a result.

And Sunday? The long steady ride was a washout. So if I haven’t done enough hard work before the Otway, then that’s just going to mean more pain on the day. I can cope.

New & shiny always catches my attention. In the past two weeks three of my friends have bought new bikes.

That’s not unusual really. There’s always a lot of upgrading going around, especially among the mid-life crisis crowd that I mostly ride with. As a sports-car substitute, a carbon-fibre framed road bike is probably cheaper and less hazardous to your health and your licence than say, a Lotus Elise.

And I love it when my friends get these new bikes. The buzz of it all. The excitement of making the decision to upgrade (or even the decision to buy your first serious road bike or mountain bike). The delicious agony of which bike to buy, which trick bits to get which will make the bike indelibly “yours”, tiny detail decisions about elements such as saddles, seatposts, right down to water bottle cages and handlebar tape. And the final thrill, showing off the new bike to mates on its first couple of rides.

But new & shiny only gets you moving for a short time, I think. Even the shiniest, newest, blingiest bike eventually becomes just your road bike, or your mountain bike. I have a beautiful road bike … its frame is made of titanium, for goodness sake. But do I even notice the Enigma when I’m riding 95% of the time? Not so much.

But even so, there’s something motivating about this newness & shininess. Perhaps its the commitment to training and improving your cycling that’s embodied in the purchase. Nobody wants to be that bloke who bought an expensive bike which now just sits in the shed, its flat tyres mocking him every time he goes to fetch a screwdriver or spanner.

So bravo to my friends on the new bikes! I hope to spend many hours riding with you enjoying your new purchases. And one day, but not anytime soon, I will rejoin the ranks of those who purchase new bicycles.

The road-bike riding bit, first.

Saturday, OMG-its-very-early. A group of the South Bank bunch meets at BWL’s place, loads into three cars and heads down to Canungra, for an assault on O’Reillys (Green Mountains is the proper placename, but its universally known as O’Reillys).

The ride to O’Reillys is about 35 km: 10km to the base of the climb, a steady 13km climb to the next landmark, the alpaca farm, then a plateau section before the road kicks up again through rainforest to the guest-house and Lamington NP camping ground.

By the time we gathered at Canungra there were a baker’s dozen, 13 of us. We made it as a group to the base of the climb, which is about 10 km along the valley heading south from Canungra. Then the climbs starts. The climb to O’Reillys is a very gentle gradient, maybe 4% average. To my surprise, nobody went hard, and the group largely stayed together. Three or four of the self-described ‘non-climbers’ were off the back, but they were always intending a slower ride. But the rest of the bunch went up the first half of the climb at a steady clip. From my admitted dodgy memory it was Rob and Shane who were setting the tempo, with Greg and Wes one wheel back.

So the pace stayed quite steady, and just now & then a rider would pop off the back and opt for a slower tempo: Desirae, Fitzy, Ian.

I looked around at the bunch, and Michael Cooke (an averred non-climber and big-gear grinder) said to me: “It’s just the G7 now.”

About then Shane went across to the front left of the bunch and upped the tempo noticeably. Not an attack, just a faster pace. Wes matched him, and then suddenly there were only three of us left: Wes, Rob & me. Shane’s increase in tempo had been too much for him!

Wes and I rode side by side, and I said to him: “We’ve dropped everyone, if you want to ease back a bit. If you meant to drop them, that’s fine.” Wes just responded with a smile, so we kept the power on.

After another km or two, I dropped back onto Wes’s wheel, with Rob on my wheel. And that’s way it stayed to the top, although Rob was detached from Wes and I for the last 500m or so of the climb, he got back to us on the flat section to the alpaca farm. After Wes’s strong work on the climb, there was no way I was going to sprint into the rest stop, so we awarded him the first KOM.

It had taken about 1 hr 15 mins to the alpaca farm for the leading trio. Greg and Shane were next in, and then the others came in over the next 20-30 minutes.

Eventually we were all at the farm and ready to move on to the next part of the climb to the top.

Once again in a bunch we set off, very steady. Soon after, a couple of riders not part of our group came past us. We let them go. Then Ray, from our group, found the pace too slow, so he set off on the attack. Eventually I went to the front of the group to set a slightly faster tempo, which dragged Greg, Rob and Wes along as well. Soon we had Ray in our sights and reeled him in. Then the slower of the two riders who had passed our bunch.

The wall just before the top of the climb is probably only 400 metres long, but its a steep one. I estimate 15%, but Dazza tells me his Garmin had 18% showing at one stage. Rob and I hit the climb together, and halfway up he surged past me. But the road turns a corner about two-thirds of the way to the top, and Rob had burned his matches too early. I got him at the corner and took the lead and the ‘stage’ into O’Reillys, with Wes about 20 seconds back in third.

Not that it was a race!

A quick coffee and an energy bar (or pie or sausage roll, depending on who you were) and the group was ready for the descent back to Canungra.

I took a couple of pix on the descent, but then rode hard to be with the boys at the front as we got to the start of the long downhill from the alpaca farm back down to the valley floor. Wes and Rob kept driving on the front, so I let them go. Darren also drove past me on the Felt. Then about a minute later Greg comes alongside, uttering his mantra “must catch Felt … must catch Felt”. He was followed by Ian.

I was coasting rather than pedalling, and was happy to let them go. By the time I reached the valley floor, the lead group of five was out of sight, but I thought they would probably cruise along for a while at least. So I drove hard and got them in sight. A couple of kays at full gas and I rejoined the lead group. Soon after that, the pace went up again, and we were driving back to Canungra at 40+ km/h.

And it stayed like that in our group of six back to Canungra, where the whole bunch eventually got in and enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and a quiet drive back to the big smoke.

I made it back home around mid-day, and spent the afternoon on light chores (taking lots of stuff to the waste recycling facility).

And then it was off to the W-League, with Brisbane Roar taking on Melbourne Victory. As this is a cycling blog, I won’t bore you with details, but I had a fun evening with Emma and some of her mates watching the Roar girls.

Next morning (once again, just-slightly-too-early) it was mountain bike time.

I was a commissaire, or a trainee one at least, for the Brisbane South Mountain Bike Club’s four-hour event at Karingal. Results are here.

So my role included walking a lap of the 7km long cross-country circuit, to ensure that everything was in order (it was). And then supervising the start, with the chief commissaire (Gillian) and the race director (Wayne). And then dealing with any emerging problems, such as a laser skirmish group crossing our race track, or signage which needed adjustment. Just keeping an eye on things.

Well the event was a great success, as Gaz’s video above shows. About 220 riders on a hot Sunday morning in November. No major crashes, lots of friendly fun, and some great close racing. The Daisy Hill Wednesday morning crew were all there, “racing”, or at least participating in the fun.

The two leading solo men (the two Andys, Mallett and Fellows) were less than 30 seconds apart after four hours of racing. The mens pairs were also super exciting, with the awesome duo from Redback Cycles in Warwick taking the win.

And once I’ve completed my race report, I’m a fully fledged MTBA commissaire. Cool.

However, by the time I had completed my commissaire duties with a sweep lap of the course, I was running late for the last scheduled activity of the weekend.

My long-ago work colleague Mardi Lumsden and her band The Rising Seas were playing at the Powerhouse. I raced home, had a shower, jumped in the car with Nette, picked up Dean & Steph Winchester and we made it to the venue while Mardi was still only on her first song. Whew.

We had a fine time listening to Mardi & band putting out some melodic, quirky pop-folk. Mardi writes songs that are about going, finding, changing and becoming. The lyrics make you think while her voice makes you smile. It’s a beautiful combination. Go to Mardi’s website and click on the Facebook link to become a fan.

After Mardi had finished playing, we hung around the Powerhouse, went for a walk in New Farm Park, and then made our way back to West End for dinner at Caravanserai (which is always superb … sebze!).

For me, I don’t recall ever having a better weekend while barely leaving Brisbane. By a mysterious coming together of events, I covered my three main circles of friends (roadies, mtb, church/family … there’s lots of overlap between them) in one weekend. How good is that!