08 SS Nationals

The following story is of a man, a bike and a whole lot of beer. If you are offended by the absence of precision or performance I advise you stop reading now, this is not a story for you.

Photos can be found here.



Please direct any holes or inconsistencies in my telling to Mischa and the Bottles and Chains Gang. They put on a debaucherous weekend that must have taken weeks of hard work, thankfully they also providing me a place to sleep. Thanks also need to go out to the Hobart mountain bikers who shared their trails with us, I have reviewed my concept of hills and with your help found it lacking.

In the week leading up to the 2008 Australian Single Speed National Championship, I had an epiphany, I'm not hard core. I'm somewhere close to moderate core, and have been for a long time. I'm not sure if this enlightenment spurred me to prove myself wrong, or it was simply the need to get away after some solid weeks at work. Either way tickets and accommodation were hurriedly arranged with what felt like only hours to spare, then off to Tasmania I went for a weekend with my bike.

My Cubano was stripped down, cleaned and packed. The bike ready to ride, only weighed 8.8kg, but with the rest of my gear the box that contained it tipped the scales at 22kg, thankfully I booked with virgin blue, who have generous conditions for sporting goods including bikes.



I arrived in Hobart around 9:30 Friday night, hopped in a cab and proceeded to the pub with only a short stop detour to deposit my bike at some house I wasn't convinced was Mischa's. The pub was like most I've been to, full of Victorians, and fixed pool tables. Mum, if you're reading this, I only had 4-5 beers (jugs), and was home much earlier than normal (turns out Tassy shuts early).

I awoke after a restful nap showered, dressed and flew out the door to make it to a guided tour of the local trails, kindly provided by the local mountain bike riders. I should take the time to point out my current form leaves much to be desired, so when our transit route took us towards a dirty great big hill known as Mount Wellington, I was less than thrilled. 3 hours later, I'd ridden up and down said mountain and the one it had been hiding behind it, more times than my un-breakfasted legs desired. The lure of free beer and bbq had complete control of all my brain functions, it was on to the BnC BBQ.



The ravenous horde consumed the awaiting snags, showing no sign of let up until the hot plate was cleared. It took a couple of loads for the poor community electric BBQ to stop their hunger, just in time for the skid competition. I entered the lineup, nervously watching the track bike in front of me, concerned about the grip on my new tyres. I sprinted at the line, lent forward and squeezed the left hand. Past the mountain bike, past the track bike, on to the edge of the hill, calls of "stop" behind me convinced me to lean back and end a match winning skid a meter from the far fence. Triumphant i turned and watched Duncan Murry on his rigid, fixed mountain bike fly towards me, ending with his faced pressed on the fence. I had lost, I was demoralised an alone.... PROTEST! The judges heard my cry and took pity. There was to be a rematch... in the skate pipe/bowl.



I never stood a chance in the concrete lane, it's hard surface and my soft tyres bonded leaving me tens of meters short of Duncan's repeated runs. I conceded and stood back to watch the local kids ride the bowl, I was especially impressed by the young lad on the fixed push scooter and the 13 year old launching his $300 mountain bike out onto the flat concrete surrounding the lip.



The finish of our beer supplies signalled another mass trip to the pub where further chances to redeem my honour were on offer. 16" racing, drag racing, roller racing. I was in with a chance of this championship, I was sure of it.



16" bike racing in the parking lot was the awesome fun, I won my heat, was placed well in the semi but was taken out by a vicious t-bone. I lay lying on the ground as my competition rode around me, first blood was shed.



After the 16" racing was drag racing, I fared very badly as this event, my fuller figure was not suited to the clothing and was easy trounced by the slighter figures amongst us. I can't tell you who won, it was time to re-hydrate and eat. I also took the opportunity to drop the bike and camera back home to avoid late night shenanigans.

Once again the forces of evil prevailed against me in the roller derby, I copped the bike with the low gear in the semis, I span like a junior the bike was made for, but never made ground. Humiliated I retired with a quiet jug or three. In my attempts to drown my sorrows I began to accrue several buttons, maybe I was in with a chance after all. The rest of the evening blurs into the next morning, and I'm still unsure what time I finally got to bed.

Sunday morning, a quick shower, then a mad dash to town to meet the group and ride to the Glen Orchie MTB park. I made it after only drafting 3 cars and a bus. Breakfast consisted of some plain corn chips and a can of coke in the park before hopping aboard the bike and crawling out towards the race, it seems I wasn't the only one to stop late the night before, some had even (re)started drinking to ease the pain.

I will admit the will to race was low, on the start line I decided to line up backwards, throw some confusion in the mix. The megaphone siren went off, the riders went off, turns out my plan wasn't well thought out. I turned around, clipped in and looked up the road. It was about then that a cold wet can of beer was shoved into my jersey pocket. The last thing I wanted that morning suddenly sounded like a great idea. Into the first piece of single track one handed, past the dirt jumps and local kids "it's important to stay hydrated boys" I advised, trying my best to stay upright. I took the first bit of fire road as a chance to down the rest of the can, pop it in my pocket and prepare myself to claw back through the pack. I raced on feeling fluid through the corners and sprightly on the pedals.



Coming into the start/finish for lap 2 I threw my can out like a biddon and grabbed another. This time it was done half way though the next piece of single track. The flow was still there but the hills weren't as friendly. A descent towards the end of the track was a roller-coaster of nerves and speed, hard into the downhill corner, past the photographers, over the log, past the dude in pink and on to lap 3.

The can change wasn't as quick, I decided to drink it on the spot, give myself a chance to really attack the first piece of single track... stay ahead of the hydration curve. I continued like this until finally after 6 laps (of 8) I tore the side wall on my rear tyre during an evaluation of a new line on the course and decided that my race was done. At the start of that lap I had been presented with what I believed was the last can, and it would be stupid to risk dehydration without another. I emptied my jersey and found that as well as beers the marshals had given me several badges, I was still in the running for the title.



The final race of the weekend was 16" 4X, my efforts in the XC had won me a place, and I was eager to gain some points/badges. What follows was not pretty, clipless shoes skating on tiny pedals left me at the back of the field and running with the bike above my head. I took to the sidelines and began bargaining for badges.



The remainder of the 4X was an awesome display, some crashes had the crowd enthusiastic but the young man from Sweden? who gapped every field was an awesome site. Unfortunately not being Australian he was ineligible to win the day so Vietsy took out the honours.



I felt that with my racing, drinking and bargaining I had enough badges to win the overall title. 32 little black badges adorned my cap, I stood up to present my claim only to hear someone else continue to count past 50. They must have bargained better than me, so I donated my badges to one of the females vying for the women's title.

At the end of the weekend I had come away unsure if I was hard core, soft core or moderate core, all I knew was the trails were great, the beer was cold and the people were friendly. Maybe next year I'll be champion.