What goes up....

Round 3 of the GMBC Winter Series. A 30 km loop that took had us riding what seemed like every bit of trail in the park.

Like the last round of the series it was raining heavily in Melbourne this morning, my brain was running through a long list of 'better things to do' and another of 'why it would be bad to race', I drove on. By the time I reached the race start at the Kurrajong picnic grounds the rain had stopped and though cold was shaping up for some good racing.

Before the race Jim and I decided to work together, start at a moderate pace and pick up riders who had gone too early. Not long after the start, while I breathed hard to hold the wheel in front of me, I began to think our strategy had been forgotten by my stalwart companion. As the course started to slowly rise I hit my stride and started to work turns with Jim, we were dropped along a long stretch of fire road but still sitting pretty before the climb up the link track.

The black descent (run #4) delivered some relief to lactate filled legs and giggles to our faces, we even managed to catch up the rider in front. Our tactic was soon to end when Jimmy had a small mechanical, I pushed on feeling good on the bike, but the small pinches were starting to take their toll.

When I reached the half way mark on the stockyards fire road climb and saw the arrows not pointing up to the right but rather down the fire road to the left, I must admit I was relieved. I had lost a lot of time up the climb and I was determined to make it back. I took considerable time out of the rider in front of me but the occasional rise in the road sapped my speed and sadly I never quite made it across to his wheel.

9th Place
1:30.51
34 km
530m climbed (gained)
7268 heart beats
7 giggles
1 mono
2 tired legs
3 post race sausages.

See you at the handicap!

A tale of two Sidis

The weather Sunday morning was evil, it was cold it was wet and the thought of 3 races didn't fill me with joy, but head to Little River I did for GMBCs 3 stage race. Thankfully the weather cleared and although cold, the day turned out to be suitable for the racing of mountain type bicycles.



There were three races, I think this has been mentioned before, but it's an important fact and I want to ensure it holds firm in your mind. David stepped up to A-grade joining Ryan on the rigid, single speed, Ristretto. Jim and I decided the weapon of choice involved gears and suspension, but Ryan's a hard man and rigid SS is the hard man way. Darren and Prue rolled in later with the boys, chatting and taking photos it's good to see Darren out from behind the welding gun, sadly he couldn't be convinced to race.



The first race was a short time trial. Straight up the fire road above the car park, straight down twisty single track in the open field. 6 minutes later, heart and breakfast wedged firmly in the throat it was over. Ryan 7th, Me 9th, Jim 12th and David 18th.

Between races the large crowd of riders mingled and chatted, the event really had a good club race atmosphere with plenty of talk and smiles. Soon enough though it was time for the smiles to be put away and the elbows to come out again, all aboard for the XC race. The course climbed the old boulder climb, the quick pace did well to separate riders before twisting along the link track to the top ring road. Head down, bum up to the top of the black bermed/rock garden descent and finally down to the fence track. The highlight for me was the descent, each lap the speed increased until on the final lap I had to unblock my ears at the bottom.

Just over an hour and it was back to the tents to laugh and joke, some quick bike maintenance and refuel the body. Ryan 9th, Jim 12th, Me 14th and David 18th.

During the break the 2008 Baum Mont 24 hour team was discussed. 6 man or 4 man? Geared or Single Speed? Suspension or Rigid? Roadies allowed? The jury is still out, I'll let you guess who was suggesting all the hard man options.

The criterion was short, 15 minutes + 1 lap, with each lap taking a couple of minutes. Pre race everyone discussed a gentleman's agreement for at least the first lap, after all these years I still thought it might happen so lined up near the back. 3, 2, 1, GO and go they did! With my forks locked out it was time to take 'The Dog' for a run and see who could be chased down. Me 9th, Ryan 14th, Jimmy and David got lapped.



That’s a 2-1 win to Ryan, who invited him anyway?

Fun day, good turn up of great people and awesome trails. Sounds like a recipe for grins, now if only my legs would stop hurting.

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.

What's the difference?

People are always asking me: 'What's the one exercise I can do to get rock hard abs without having to spend hours in the gym or give up sweet, sweet candy?'

Ok they're not, but people have asked me if I've noticed much of a difference between steel and ti because I am in the rather unique position of having owned bikes from made from each, by the same builder, running the same wheels and very similar spec.

There's a lot of ink put to paper about frame materials and the difference they make to the ride. If you want to know what it means to a builder and an engineer I encourage you to ask Mister B himself. It's a refreshing thing to hear about it from someone who doesn't have an interest in keeping pages a-turning. If he offers you a coffee as you ask, accept. There'll be time for the explanation to gain momentum then, and there's some small entertainment value in watching the boys get fidgety once the cups are long empty and the torch-man is just getting into the details with you, each minute another away from the jig. Before long you'll know more than all the magazine editors in the world rolled together. It's a big part of what makes the place so special.


Cubano - Ti


Ristretto - steel

To be fair, the two bikes I mentioned aren't identical in every respect other the tubes they're built from. The fork on the new bike is longer at 100mm, and it has some slight geometric tweaks on ol' steelie (more on that later), but nothing so big or weird that I can't point to a few differences in the ride that are more than probably metallurgical.

Finding the words for those differences is where it gets tricky because the difference is subtle. In the simplest terms, the ti bike feels damped. If aluminium bikes are stiff and hard, and steel is springy (say it with me kids: 'resilient') and alive, then ti is damped. Smooth.


Cubano - Ti


Ristretto - steel

It felt almost dead at first after the Ristretto and I wasn't altogether sure that I liked it. I did like that it was lighter (even with the heavier fork) and it was definitely stiffer in the BB, but it doesn't have the 'living machine' feeling that steel bikes have. I think my steel bike was probably more fun for rolling around on short rides when conditions were good, but the ti bike thrives when pushed. It yields when things hit it but it doesn't bounce back, and the longer and nastier the ride is, the more that rocks. It holds a line a little better, but that could be the angles. A well built ti bike earns the material it's magic carpet reputation and if you're searching for 'the one', not having to worry about rust or denting ultra thin-wall tubes is pretty tempting.

The only problem is coming up with the Nellies. They can be something in the order of arm, leg, first born child, first daughter's virginity, and remaining childrens' college funds expensive. The problem with cheap ti bikes on the other hand, is that they won't even sink when you dump their busted remains in the river, but that's another story ... for someone else to tell. 'Think of it as an investment' as they say.

I'm not going to pretend that I know what's best for anyone else, and I continue to love steel bikes. A custom steelie is obviously where the value curve is friendliest in custom bicycle land. At the time I bought the Ristretto the coin toss for me was between off-the-rack ti or custom steel. I think that decision came out ok.

If you're tossing a coin of your own, try to wrangle some ride time on one of each. Baumteam members come in S, M and L and are friendly little critters, usually more than happy to lend you a bike for a quick spin at an event or out on the trail (just bring it back). If you're in Geelong or passing through, call the guys up and drop in. It all started for me when JB handed over a bike for me to take on a 20 minute spin around the city park before he had any inkling of how interested I was.


Cubano - Ti


Ristretto - steel



Cubano - Ti


Ristretto - steel

As it happened -- in pictographs!

It began like this:








Then, a few short months later, here's how it went down...

Neil building the new babies at Baum HQ:










All is quiet in camp on the Friday night.




Ryan winds it out towards the end of a lap.


This is the good stuff.


Yours truly.


Neil demonstrates the real-man's guide to race nutrition:

Carbo Cake loading.


Hydration.


Midnight tweaking (ok, more like 3 am tweaking).


The mid-morning mellow, this is where the crush of fatigue sets in, just before the last ditch GU and Red Bull caffeine charging and panic fires everything up before the finish. (I like how the odd shadow here make it look like Mr Hsu is wearing a man-bra.)




Jim, the happy bicycle man! "Riding bicycles is FUN!"


Mr Hsu teaches Neil how to perform "bike-fu" on nasty singletrack blockers who bring dishonour on your family.


Ryan cranks it in like a demon.


We missed third by how much?



The obligatory team shot. A huge thanks to Volvo for the use of a ridiculously sweet XC90. Whatever Swedish majik is welded into that thing works; we're all home alive after all.


Feebs and I had no such luxury.



But we did get a pretty wicked sunset.

New bikes; The Mont

I'll start at the beginning, since that's the proper order of things, and since the start is the reason this post is ever so late. The start – that is the delivery and the 'getting to know you' honeymoon period – is normally a slow finding of grace. There's some fumbling with buttons and 'ok, you go left, I'll go right', but the embrace develops and it gets gradually more exciting. There's time for playing around on gutters, slow rides down to the park for photos and sandwiches, playful romping around on the local whoops and twisties; but that's not how it was this time.

This time the start was a headlong rush. There was no time at all and we had to get to the dance even though our fascinators had yet to arrive and our hair was barely set. Neil and I arrived at the factory three days before the Mont 24 Hour to build and collect three span-fankin' new titanium Baum Cubanos, the first three evar. It was the end of one saga, parts having sat in customs limbo for an agonisingly long time, and the beginning of another.

There were hiccups, small ones, like ordering oversize stems and regular size bars (oops!). And there were amazing graces of timing and co-ordination which saw me intercept a new light mount, express posted to Benalla, on the way to the race. Neil collected the third XTR shadow rear derailleur in the country from the Shimano tent on the morning of the race and did a hell of a job of getting everything on our bikes straight and tight by midday.

When the gun went off at 12 o'clock on Saturday the bikes had yet to be ridden, the brakes were barely bled, fuck all of nothing was bedded in and— who can remember what pressure is supposed to go in these forks? Squish squish. A little less I think. Pshht. Holy crap, these things are amazing. No, not like that. Turn the damping up. Oh my god. Neil, Mr Hsu and I were good to go. Baum-shop ring-in roadie, Ryan, had never been off road much before. Nor had he ridden at night, but we got the vague impression that he could turn a pedal given half a chance, having heard whisper that his training partner in seasons past had the last name 'Evans'.

So it starts with the race. I won't talk about the bikes for now because it starts with the race. The track was face-meltingly fun. More or less flat and all-over-the-place swoopy. Whoops and berms everywhere, very little fire road, lots and lots and lots of singletrack and for the most part it was smooth. Not so smooth after 15 hours of pounding come 3 am, once the roots and rocks were a little more exposed and the braking bumps were deepening and shifting with each lap, but certainly no Reedsdale rock garden. In a word: fun.

There were some lessons. Mr Hsu learnt that ExtraLight's seatpost clamps aren't called ExtraTight for a reason. Neil learnt that alloy nipples aren't the place to win the gram counting race with Steve. I learnt that XTR disc rotors are very sharp, that Fox forks are imbued with The Lord's Own Goodness and that motor homes with gas stoves, double beds, showers and toilets are very much like the Hilton at a 24 hour race. Ryan learnt to ride dirt (and he learnt fast); and we all learnt that Thompson's micro-adjust posts don't need grease.



When my watch fired off at 2 am my eyes didn't immediately open. Instead, my brow furrowed real deep-like and a vile, visceral reaction to the sport welled up into a big lump just beneath my sternum.

Fucking... who does this sport? It sucks! Arrrrghhhhnnnnnnnnchchhhh. I clawed my way out of bed, not at all grateful that it was wider, warmer, more woman-filled and better insulated from the runway noise of the Canberra airport than everybody else's. 45 minutes later I was happily zipping along the trails, too warm for arm warmers, and calling out cheery thanks to the race marshals and people who let me slip past them.

When I rocketed back into transition to claim the slowest lap of the night, Neil asked me how the track was. 'The braking bumps are getting deeper.'
'Pfft. Pussy.' Two laps later, he rolled back in oozing blood.

Now, it went on and on like this well past dawn. Till 1:00 in fact, daylight savings time kicking in some time during the night. Roadie Ryan, who'd been well off the back during our trundling recce lap, layed down night laps which put me to shame. Day laps too actually. I got my mojo back and fell deeply in love with my new titanium affair. You're probably utterly sick of hearing about the race (we came 4th by the way, missed third by about two minutes which is a bitter pith given that we'd been as high as second at one point), so I'll get onto the bikes.

Or rather, my bike. Neil and Jim can tell you about theirs later on if they like. They're more or less the same in that they're painted alike, are made of the magic metal, are hand butted, sized to fit us like exquisite gloves and godawefully expensive nice.

We have differing wheels, brakes and miscellaneous finery. Jim, being the midget (supernaturally strong midget) that he is, has a frame butted to within an inch of it's life. It's quite sublime the way the tubes taper and wane.

Without further ado, here are the pics. I'll try to get out and take some nice ones, but for now these will have to suffice. Total weight for my bike is somewhere around 9.8kg, with pedals, steel bolts and a Stans-filled UST tyre setup.