Wombat 100 (or “Played like a Fool”)

So, the email goes out, “Who’s doing the Wombat 100?”. Before long the discussion’s in full swing. “How about accommodation?”, “Who’s driving?” etc. It all sounded good until Will started spouting some rubbish about not paying extra for the elite entry. With the team’s interests in mind I went and put my entry in, forcing the issue. This seemed to put an end to the argument and I forgot about it for about a month.

Imagine my surprise then, less than a week before the race, when the subject came up in casual conversation and I discovered that Ross hadn’t entered! “There’s still time!” I exclaimed, but he seemed reluctant. After some mincing of words and shuffling of feet he let on that he was considering some bohemian, social cross ride instead! “Huh?! Whatever man, I’ll talk to Will.” “Nah, Will’s not going either. He’s studying.” (Yep, you read that right...)
Panicking I called Rudzki, “Dude, tell me you’re racing on the weekend!”
“Yeah man, calm down, it’s gonna be great!”
What a relief! Rudzki was my lift, I would have had to drive!

Two days later Nick and I got a very business-like email reminding us about our obligations as the team’s representatives at this event, and the penny dropped; we’d been set up. Most of the rest of the team got burnt by this race last year (it was longer than advertised, which can hurt in an endurance race). Predictably Ross and Will wouldn’t want to do it again (not being hardmen) and I was a logical choice as the fall guy having not done it before. Nick was going to be necessary collateral (and was an easy target, being the indomitable hardman that he is), and getting the rest of the team on-board with the plan was child’s play. Hook, line, sinker.

I couldn’t stay mad for long though. Nick’s endless optimism, the weather forecast, the prospect of racing on top notch singletrack and the news that Adam Llewelyn (another Kingsville local and Rocky Mountain Slayer rider) was coming too, all served to put me in good spirits. Having opted to camp at the site (because getting up at 4:30am was clearly not an option) we headed out there on Saturday evening. Showing an uncharacteristic lack of discipline, both Nick and Adam ate dinner before we left which meant they were unable to fit any Maccas in enroute, putting them at a significant disadvantage in the competition to come. Having arrived, rego’d and set up camp, we discovered there’s not much to do in the middle of a paddock, except of course arrange playlists for extended hours of partying in the saddle, so we had no choice but to get ourselves an early night.

Playlist selection and bike maintenance are activities that can be undertaken in a dark paddock.

Sometime in the early morning it started raining, with vigour, and above the rumble of droplets hitting canvas you could hear an entire paddock of people simultaneously groan, roll over, and wish they were somewhere else.

As predicted by Nick, any discussions about what time to get up which may have been had the night before were rendered moot by the arrival of ‘the early risers’. Climbing out of the tents we were greeted with a conga line of red eyed people in cars, a well sodden paddock and a sunrise that promised good things for the rest of the day. Breakfast was eaten in silent contemplation of coffee and man’s elusive ability to create fire to cook it (ie, Nick forgot the matches) and aside from some brief discussion about what to wear we quietly got ourselves together and ‘warmed-up’ over to the start line. Despite having slept one hundred metres from the line, we’d somehow managed to miss briefing and be amongst the latest arrivals at the start.

The race started fairly sensibly, with only small amounts of jostling and healthy amounts of banter, and with little to no singletrack in the first few ks the field gradually stretched out into smaller groups. Buoyed up by sunshine and maybe a little adrenaline I eased into the race by trying to ride with my betters, and promptly found myself put in a box to contemplate a hurried breakfast eaten too recently. With nearly the whole race in front of me and already hating life I mumbled some very helpful commiserations to Andy Blair who was fixing a puncture and turned my brain off for a while.

Some time later I had managed some form of recovery and had found a rhythm of sorts, only to be totally demoralised by a flying Andy, who (given his friendly manner after the race) managed even to outrun my retraction of aforementioned condolences. Nevertheless, as a few more lengths of singletrack came and went I was once more on top of the world and happily settled in to spend the rest of the first 50ks listening to tunes, rolling around short bits of singletrack and rough, steep fire roads, ignoring the patchy rain and having a generally good time.

As I rolled through the feed zone at the halfway point I picked up my bottle and another bar and had to face the fact that I still had all the food I started with. I knew this wasn’t good, so despite the objections of my breakfast I got stuck into a bar. Shortly afterwards Jenny Fay rode past, triggering a series of events culminating in me foaming at the mouth with half masticated muesli bar flying everywhere, trying not to choke and watching her ride clear out of sight.

Jenny closing in at the half way point.

Well aware that the next twenty five kilometers or so was mostly amazing singletrack that I know backwards I calmed down, cleared my airways, popped a gel (one of the exciting caffeinated ones) and hoped I could get my heart rate back to a manageable level good before ‘the good stuff’ arrived.


That worked a treat. I’ve ridden the Wombat singletrack and surrounding trails innumerable times over the years, but I’ve never had the chance to race on it before. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the hour that followed is a contender for the most fun I’ve had on a bike recently. The rain overnight and during the morning had left the trails slightly greasy, but hadn’t robbed them of their characteristic ‘reward for commitment to turns’. In short, they were perfect.

The Rocky Element's slung nice 'n' low, you can't help but commit!

The motivation of racing drives you to hold a little more speed, push it a little bit harder, brake a little later, and to top it off my music player chose this point to play several Rage Against the Machine tracks. Say no more; I picked up something like five category places (and probably another five in the race overall) in this section, and I didn’t even feel like I was trying.

I love this bridge, it's a good blend of 'rickety' and 'not broken'.

Unfortunately, it turned out I was trying... with three quarters of the race done I exploded. I knew the feeling well, from there to the end it would be all about hanging on and “getting it done” as Nick would say. With the odd morsel of single track keeping me just nourished enough I managed to hold off the places I picked up earlier for quite a while, but finally they all came storming past me at once. Peter Malcolm did the gentlemanly thing at least and slowed enough to have a chat for five minutes before rolling away.

Black and white, like my view of the world at this point.

A few kilometers out from the finish I clawed back a couple of these guys and hopped on the back. We rode along with our heads down for a while, but as the end got closer I couldn’t just sit there any longer. Seeing a piece of single track approaching I figured I’d have a crack at dropping them. I squeezed past with elbows out, doubled a pair of roots to make the point, and disappeared.

Two turns later we were back on fire road with me looking like a total prat. To save face I had no choice but to tear myself apart on the front whilst pretending I was fresh as a daisy. The gloves were clearly off now and the battle for nineteenth place began, ending ten minutes later in a sprint finish. With Shane Roberts and myself recording the same time it could have gone either way, but unfortunately for Shane I had laid a trap hours earlier. My late arrival at the start of the race meant I crossed the start line at the back of the bunch, so the clock started a few seconds later for me than for him, giving me the win (well, the 19th win).

Daggers.

Nick took the above photo at the finish line, and it wasn’t until sometime after this was taken that I registered that he must have smashed me; he had already changed and looked fresh! Unfortunately it turned out that he’d smashed his elbow and his shifter instead and wisely decided that riding the second fifty kilometers with two gears and slightly less skin than he'd like didn’t appeal even to his hardman sensibilities. Well done to Adam for a respectable finish in the middle of a hotly contested Sub-Vets category and a solid demonstration that you really can just have one bike for everything.

The Slayer killed it.

It needs to be said that the few members of the iRide Rocky Mountain team who didn’t show up for this event (ie, basically everybody) missed out. The weather, course, trails, event management, competition and Red Bull chicks were awesome; I’d do it again without hesitation. I'll see you all there next year!