Convict 100, Wiseman's Ferry

Life is Good!

One of the main reasons why I re-located to Australia from England was the climate. Initially, I moved to Sydney with the intention of sampling the delights of 'A' Grade Rugby League. After 2 seasons, and the first of two ACL knee reconstructions, I quit League and turned to boxing and Brazilian Jui-Jitsu. Later, I started competing at climbing and then, in November 2009, I experienced my first mountain bike race. The latter two sports are weather dependent and, as such, are well suited to Sydney's temperate climate. And how wonderful has this year been in that regard, with Australia experiencing its second-hottest start to the year on record.

Welch, 2013

So, as I emerged from my tent and my morning slumber, I was greeted by a simply stunning crimson glow above Wiseman's hills. The omens were good for the upcoming Convict race; a race I had never quite got to grips with in three previous attempts. Why, I'm not really sure. The normally manic first 10 kilometres are duked out along fairly flat dirt road and, with lungs bursting, riders are greeted by a brutal hill climb. This was a climb I had invariably failed to conquer. The Convict 100 course then follows long tracts of undulating fireroad, a more technical section of rocky step-ups and a little singletrack and a lot of very rough and fast descending. Then it's the Kayak bridge at the 68 kilometre mark, notorious for giving its victims an embarrassingly early bath. My first ever attempt nearly ended in disaster when the rider in front of me stopped dead half way across the bridge complaining profusely of leg cramps. When he eventually stopped moaning and remounted, I attempted to follow but, as I picked up speed, the bike swayed from one side of the bridge to the other and only good fortune saved me from an unceremonious dunking. But the worst is still to follow, with an endless climb that keeps threatening to end on each corner but then maliciously throws up another wretched ascent. Finally the apex is reached and the final fast, rough and rocky descent is followed by an extremely fast dirt road which awaits those with enough energy left in wilting legs.

Unlike the previous year, I managed to place myself in the first group behind the Jason English's and Shawn Lewis's. I would be setting off with my main rivals instead of leaving with the less competitive riders and having to constantly pass the masses ahead. Like last year, my warm-up had been for nothing, and as I listened to the strangely witty compere, I started to shiver with the sun still not yet radiating any significant heat. The start was not quite as manic as I had endured in previous editions of the race and when I looked at my trusty Garmin 510 my heart rate was still only 130.  As we hit the big hill, a few riders were ejected to the sides of the trail but most continued to plough onwards and upwards. A number of waterbars presented a few moments of anxiety but the climb was smoother and less rocky than in previous years and it wasn't long before I crested the summit. My first race goal had been achieved and I was feeling quite smug and content.

This was my first 100 kilometre race with just bottles - the camelbak is extra weight, meaning more chance of lower back pain and more sweating. I had long since stopped using a camelbak in lap races but had never quite calculated how to survive in events where it is not possible to pick up ready-made water bottles. I carried a 500 ml bottle in my back pocket and a 750 ml on the bike. If necessary, I would fill up at one of three feed stations. Although the sun had risen high in the morning sky, the temperature remained cool and the breeze refreshing and so hydration was to prove less of an issue.

Dave Langley, a rival in my age category, and who had successfully held me off in a race in Taree last week, now passed me and soon disappeared up the track and out of sight. Soon after the 50 kilometre feed station I was then caught by Ben Edols. I discarded my first bottle and began to step up the pace. Ben fell back and I focused on the riders ahead. Soon Dave was back in my line of sight and I was feeling strong. I made a move to pass and Dave was unable to respond except to wish me luck for later. My water was now running low as I approached the kayak bridge, but I was to pass up the opportunity to refill when I saw that no one was crossing the kayaks. I knew others would be ahead and we could work together on the bitumen road section that followed. 

Maxadventure, 2013

The long hill loomed and the riders with whom I had ridden across to the climb seemed to blow up leaving just two of to ascend together. I had built the climb up in my mind to be long, hard and painful. But it seemed to all pass so quickly; perhaps this was a form of reverse psychology. 

Once I had crossed the sand and water section I was back on the road where Wendy Stevenson was tailing two male riders in the 50 kilometre version of the race. I caught and overtook the group only for them to jump on my wheel until the first hill shook them from my coat-tails and I was left to ride on my own to the finish. 

I had broken my previous best by over 25 minutes finishing in a time of 4.33.52. I had conquered the first hill, had ridden without a cumbersome camelbak, beaten a number of my more serious age group rivals, had negotiated the kayak bridge with ease and had thoroughly enjoyed a beautiful autumnal days riding. And I had a cold beer thrust at me, not once but twice. Without doubt, life in God's Country is good. When you ride a mountain bike in such a beautiful setting life is great!

Robin, 2013