Tale of a Radioactive Crocodile Man
Rocky Trail, 2013 Unlike any other event on my race calendar, the prize awaiting the winner of the combined Masters and Super Masters age groups was simply staggering. A ticket to the notoriously challenging Crocodile Trophy valued at over $2500 was destined to go to the winner. For the uninitiated, 'the Crocodile' is described as 'the hardest, longest and most adventurous mountain bike race in the world'. Held in humid and mountainous Northern Queensland and attended by the toughest Mountain bikers on the globe, many of which, travel from European biking powerhouses such as Belgium, Austria and the Czech Republic. This meant the stakes for winning were raised to a level I'll probably never race for again.
Rocky Trail, 2013 Fortunately, most of the pressure was lifted from me because I was clearly not the favourite. That honour was bestowed on good friend and training partner Pete Selkrig, who even featured in the event advertising. Returning from a successful foray in Austria at the Trans Alp stage race, Pete was looking exceptionally quick and formidably strong on the bike. I knew that he would set a lightning pace at the start and I would just have to sit in and attempt to hunt him down. I expected to be chasing for most, if not all, of the allotted twelve hours of competition.
As we lined up to start, I eyed Pete close to the front and I pushed my way through the self-seeded riders to be perched right beside him. At least I was in touching distance, even if racing hadn't even begun. World Champion, Jason English spoke at the start, as is custom for such an esteemed rider, and one minute was called before the gun was to be fired. 'Eye of the Tiger' belted through the speakers, which was fitting, because just like Rocky, I felt like a massive underdog in this fight for glory. A surge of adrenaline was triggered and we exploded into the first corner and the short climb out of the event centre.
Crummy, 2013 Just before we entered the first section of singletrack Pete rolled to a halt - a mechanical of sorts, I assumed, but the race was flashing by and there was no time to assess the situation. In front of me was the fast-starting Michael Crummy which suggested I was in a good place at the head of the field. Someone came to grief on a technical ascent and the race behind came to a temporary standstill. As a result, to close the gap on those ahead, more energy was expended. But I knew Pete would be back chasing as hard as ever to recover his initial placing. Sure enough, it was half way through the ten kilometre lap when he came streaking by and soon disappeared further up the track. As I had originally envisaged, I was chasing.
Going through the timing tent, I was told to straighten out my number plate which the girls were unable to read to record my completed lap time. This posed a problem because every second counts in these races and with so much at stake I didn't want to lose several minutes re-fitting the number. I tried to do it on the fly but this resulted in tearing the attachment hole. The plate flapped limply against my cables and was now impossible to read. I decided to call my number every time I went through transition and offered a smile and a few jocular words. I hoped this would be enough for them to remember me and I could return to the business of tracking my prey who was probably many minutes ahead. The strategy worked.
Langley, 2013 Four hours had elapsed, and as I lapped Female Master solo rider, Wendy Stevenson, she updated me on the situation ahead. It was incredible news. Pete was only a few minutes in front and he was not happy. I was filled with renewed vigour and I pedalled with increased enthusiasm. At transition, another friend and track spy Dave Langley (riding in a pair and not in direct competition with me, for once) thrust up three fingers and shouted excitedly that the gap was only three minutes and closing. More inspiration. I knew this could take time and so I increased the pace but not so much as to put me in difficulty later. I have learnt that patience is a virtue in these situations. As I hit an open paddock area I was greeted with the sight of a labouring Pete Selkrig. So soon but so welcome. This time I surged towards him and was soon on his wheel. A drink of liquid and then I waited for a passing opportunity and a chance to pounce. The track opened up and as I swept past him I attempted to keep the power down. Surely he would follow but he didn't. I didn't look back. On entering transition, I passed Garry James who was off the bike and looking worse for wear. Another major threat looked like his day was done.
Nothing is guaranteed in racing mountain bikes and I knew I was leading but, as I had learnt last week, complacency can really hurt you. A health issue like the one that had befallen Garry, cramping and mechanical issues which later transpired were Pete's problem, or a crash can change the whole landscape. There was over seven hours to go and I needed to stay focussed. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but think of my beloved wife in England, who I knew was thinking of me, and the hours of sacrifice I was making this year in the name of enduro racing. I became emotional and then I noticed my laboured breathing and snapped out of the trance. I re-gathered myself and continued to ride as strongly as I could.
As night began to fall, I was getting word from the transition area that I was leading the Crocodile Trophy competition. 'Crocodile Man, Crocodile Man' echoed in my ears. The hours previously, several songs had pulsed through my head, not least and on several occasions, one of my current favourites 'Radioactive Man' by the 'Imagine Dragons'. Perhaps like Spiderman, I had someone been affected by radiation from the disappearing sun and morphed into the aforementioned Crocodile Man. I amused myself with the notion and then prepared for the three and a half hours of night-riding.
As night began to fall, I was getting word from the transition area that I was leading the Crocodile Trophy competition. 'Crocodile Man, Crocodile Man' echoed in my ears. The hours previously, several songs had pulsed through my head, not least and on several occasions, one of my current favourites 'Radioactive Man' by the 'Imagine Dragons'. Perhaps like Spiderman, I had someone been affected by radiation from the disappearing sun and morphed into the aforementioned Crocodile Man. I amused myself with the notion and then prepared for the three and a half hours of night-riding.
I recently acquired the new Exposure Reflex and Diablo and was amazed at the amount of light they produced. As Exposure claim 'I owned the night'. She was mine and so was the ticket. Racing through the pristine farm and bushland at night was made all the more pleasurable as each 10km loop ends riding through a pumping event centre complete with a resident DJ and large bonfire. This was enough to fuel the flickering fire that represented my remaining, somewhat depleted energy levels. I completed 220 kilometres and rolled to a halt where a posse of supporters surrounded me and offered congratulations. Pete was one of the first and he was extremely gracious in defeat, despite the obvious disappointment. Now the gruelling 9 day stage awaits me a mere week after the 24 hour World Solo's. This is definitely a race that I can now tick off the 'bucket list' and like it was with Rocky, it is a dream achieved against all the odds.
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Sick note to be used after the World 24 hour and Crocodile Trophy courtesy of Dr Holiday (aka Pete Selkrig)
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