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REWIND

Back on the longhaul

By EAT MORE LARD

September 27^th, 2017

JUST SAY NO

36 kms? F**k off. The last sign said 36km and that was 6kms ago

The Sydney-Melbourne is a long distance cycling event organised by Audax Australia. This four-day event, which runs every four years, starts on the foreshore of Sydney harbour. It covers 1200km with 12700m of elevation gain through the Snowy Mountains and finishes at the Brunswick Velodrome in Melbourne. Due to the demanding nature of the ride, qualifying rides are required.

Tiffany Winchester shares her thought with me on the ride

Tiff: After The Oppy in March of this year I had promised my husband Max that there were no more endurance rides, at least not until much much later in the year (to prepare for the Audax Alpine Classic in January 2018). As you can imagine, riding/training for endurance rides can take up a lot of time and, between that and a full-time job, my kids were starting to forget what I looked like (or at least what I looked like out of lycra). So I agreed to go back to racing as it meant less time each week on the bike.

The racing season started out okay and saw me on the podium more times than not but my heart just wasn’t in it this year. I’d lost my mojo after the Oppy and was just going through the motions. It felt like I was racing because that’s what everyone expected me to do. I spent a lot of the season unwell, run down, and deflated. Signing up for a race became an anxiety trigger and my mental wellbeing suffered. Jem suggested not racing anymore and finishing off the season with the 3-Day Tour, as it was my favourite event in last year’s calendar, then taking a break.

My break, as it turned out, coincided with a five-week work trip in Copenhagen, Denmark, voted the world’s number one city for cycling. We brought Max’s bike with us, and I spent a lot of time riding flat roads into rain and headwinds, shredding my sanity, and blowing away the cobwebs in my mind. However, I still had no idea what I wanted to do and was mostly riding for the sake of it rather than because I loved it anymore. I needed a purpose so I wrote down a bucket list of rides. Something kept gnawing at the back of my head that I wasn’t thinking big enough: I was writing down goals that I already knew I could accomplish.

On the way back from the Oppy, Jacques had mentioned Sydney-Melbourne. I had dismissed it at the time but his words kept ticking away in the background, and, after much discussion with Max, I decided to write it down: it made me feel excited, nervous, and sick to my stomach. Perfect.

Jem: I don't believe in riding the bike if you don't enjoy it. If you aren't enjoying the way you ride, it's time to change. Tiff and I are ying and yang, I don't have a plan. Someone once said to me that if you don't have a plan when cycling you are just riding around. I replied that I like riding around. I like to feel I'm good at it. Tiff, on the other hand, needs goals and a plan.

Qualifying to not qualify

Tiff: A little research later, a social media post to make it ‘official,’ and, after a few messages back and forth to Woodend Velos, we had a few ‘members of the asylum’ who were interested in the ride. But the Sydney-Melbourne 1200 isn’t just a ride where you rock up to and hope for the best. The rest of the boys had qualified last year with the GSR1200 (see blog here), but I’d have to ride a 600km ride in two days before November. Jem wasn’t interested in riding the 1200 and wasn't likely to be able anyway due to work commitments, but he agreed to ride the qualifier with me, an offer I didn’t truly appreciate the magnitude of until much later.

After much to-ing and fro-ing, we finally settled on the Traverse of Central Victoria (TCV), which seemed fitting, as this was the route the Velos had ridden as their GSR qualifier the year before (see blog here). Max offered to drive us out and back, as well as provide dinner and support at the half-way mark in Bendigo. This meant we didn’t have to solo bike-pack the event, a huge plus and a massive support boost for me. One less thing to worry about. Despite some interest in getting a long one in the legs, life made its presence felt and the original crew of eight interested inmates dwindled down so that it was just myself, Jem and Sam on Saturday and just Jem for company on for Sunday.

Jem: I'd already said that I didn't want to do a 1200 so I had nothing to qualify for. I did commit to riding as support. How bad could that be, I asked myself. I think I was even looking forward to a longer ride again. Perhaps, I was delusional about how much fun it was last time. After all, the TCV was the ride I did last year that convinced me that a 1200 wasn't my bag at the time!

WIND, HOT CHIPS & THE LONG NIGHT

Tiff: The occurring memories for day one out to Stawell and back can be broken down into three things - wind, hot chips and the slog through the dark.

After raining all day and all night, Saturday morning started out dry and clear, a good omen for the day. The wet roads and windy forecast though meant for a tough start. That first climb/drag out of Bendigo was into a headwind and, with an average temperature of 4 degrees, it felt glorious on cold legs… but at least it wasn’t raining. The first stop at Dunolly was meant to be a quick 5-minute break, but with 54km of constant headwind we all needed a little break and I needed a coffee. And that pretty much set the tone for the first 175km.

The first checkpoint at Avoca offered up a selection of over 40 varieties of pies (including crocodile and camel) to discuss over morning coffee and we perused the menu in anticipation of what we might eat on the way back through later on. According to our planned schedule we were already 30 minutes behind our anticipated arrival time, but it wasn’t a worry. We’d had a steady headwind all the way in, it’ll be a tail wind on the way back. And at least it wasn’t raining.

Turning to the north we had a chance to use that tailwind for 8km. Fuelled by coffee, baked goods, and, frustrated by the wind, the Jem train took off with a look that I would get used to over the next two days: hands settled on to the hoods of the bike, elbows slightly bent and head cocked slightly to the right. Sam and I just held onto his wheel and our average speed jumped up by 9km/h. Flying… until the road curved to the west and we settled back into the grind.

Jem: That brief section of tailwind felt good. My legs felt pretty average all day - they weren't dead but aching for no real reason. I had been concerned about my ankle before the ride - I'd had a few twings in the area of an old injury - and perhaps I was subconsciously compensating with my position on the bike?

It wasn't really until Stawell that I felt ok, which is perhaps ironic seeing as it was a tough, tough 175km to get there. That wind was a killer and the long straight road out of Dunolly was especially painful. I kept telling everyone that that was going to be the worse section to deal with because of that headwind but really, I had no idea.

Tiff: After the turn around at Stawell, we initially made better time but the anticipated tailwind had turned into more of a cross-wind than anything and didn’t seem to be doing us as many favours as planned. A brief respite on the side of the road had Sam staring into space and Jem and I having a short lie down. I tried not to make eye contact at Sam as he glared accusingly at me, wondering where that promised wind assistance had gone. However, having perused the Avoca menu on the way through, we all knew exactly what we’d be ordering at the next pitstop: HOT CHIPS and gravy!

This became our mantra and got us through the next 40km. Between the occasional rally cry of “hot chips!” and a downhill drag, we flew along towards Avoca, at least until we turned south. Then it was a brutal drag back into a headwind that felt way worse than it did heading out. Jem seriously showed us how the train works, taking the lead and dragging Sam and I into town. I literally just hung on, gasping for air, and counting down the oh so slowly ticking over kms until we reached Avoca. I was done. Slowly getting off my bike, the boys asked how I was doing. Not good I said, then leaned against the toilet block and had a cry. I was absolutely shattered, and struggling to fathom how on earth I was going to get back to Bendigo, much less get up the next day and do it again.

Jem: Oops, I may have gone a little too hard into Avoca. Call it white line fever. Call it hot chip fever. Either way I wanted to be off the bike and in the cafe. Oddly, the kms out of Stawell (sad, sad, Stawell, if feels such a lonely place) had felt good. A little bit of crosswind, or at least no headwind, and some pleasant rollers for company had seen the distance clock over. The sun was out although it was never that warm. I didn't meant to break anyone on the run into the headwind but I was battling my own invisible enemy and it felt like the right response at the time.

36KM and counting. Again

Tiff: Dunolly to Bendigo is ‘only’ 54km, but the darkness is a funny thing. It makes time simultaneously compress and stretch out, and then you lose all sense of it. All our cycling computers were running on battery fumes, so we didn’t want to touch them to check on our progress. All we knew was that we had to keep moving forward with no idea on how fast or slow we were moving (max speed of 40km/h, average of 24km/h) or how cold it was getting (from 12 degrees to 1 degree).

Jem: That felt like the longest 2 hours of my life. Darkness is a blanket that can cover the world and hide the detail. When you ride in the dark, your world becomes this 20m cone of light. Out in the country the only sound is the hum of tyres and gears. You feel like you are flying but the truth is that you are probably not. Distance dragged and when I saw the second "36km to go" sign in the space of 6km, well, lets just say, I was not amused. I was cold and tired and a bit over riding on these rough roads. I may have questioned the parentage of a sign writer or two!

Tiff: Sam was perking up, as he knew this was his last leg of the weekend. The cry of “DOWNHILL!!” became our war cry, and once we finished the 5km drag of Lockwood road it really was all downhill from there into Bendigo. A quick selfie at the servo, the last checkpoint of the day signed off, a hug and good luck from Sam, and Jem and I headed back to the accommodation where Max was waiting with chocolate milks, pasta, garlic bread and beer. A shower and six hours of sleep felt like heaven.

SUNDAY Morning's alight for freezing

Tiff: It was cold. So cold. We had anticipated this going in so had brought all the layers, which was a tough call as we knew it was going to drastically warm up later on and we’d have to carry all the clothes with us. There was no escaping the fact that our first 60km was going to be near or below freezing and it was going to be a long day in the saddle.

About 35km in we came to a halt. ROAD CLOSED, detour to the west. We needed to go north and then east!. What to do? What to do? A look at Google Maps didn’t help as it confirmed what we had suspected: this would add kms to our day (and then again on the way back). Surely it can’t be that bad… and they won’t be working any machinery on a Sunday… we decided to chance it. The stretch of road was no more than 4km long. As it turned out, it was a good call – it was a beautiful gravel road, which added a marvellous break up to the day.

Jem: I'm glad I bought lots of clothes. Even by Woodend standards it felt cold. The legs were surprisingly good after a good sleep. The trouble I was having was with my upper back behind my shoulder. I hoped that I could just ride into it. When we arrived at the road closure, there was no way I was detouring any further than we needed to go and in the end it broke up the ride nicely.

Tiff: After the rollers out of Bendigo it was easy flat roads. Or, it should have been. In the next 40km to Rushworth I fell apart. There wasn’t any reason to: the roads were fine, it had warmed up to 8 degrees and my body was coping okay, but the mind is a funny thing. Somehow a small niggle in my left knee became my entire world and all I could think of was how badly it hurt. And once you start thinking about the pain… well, it wasn’t pretty. The funny thing is, I knew something like this was likely to happen. Max had asked that morning if he and the kids could come and meet us at the first checkpoint for a café date. I had refused. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see them, it’s just that I had an inkling that if they were there, I might just jump in the car and decide not to come out again. As it turns out, I was right.

On the way to Rushworth I started to question why I was doing this ride at all. Did I really even want to do Sydney to Melbourne? Why had I even signed up at all? If I wasn’t going to do it, then I didn’t need to complete this ride: we could just turn around in Rushworth and head back. Or better yet, I could call Max and have him come and pick us up. Tears started pouring down my face, and I quietly sobbed as I rode behind Jem. Negative thoughts kept spinning and spinning in my head, my knee felt like it was screaming at me, and my speed dropped. Slower, and slower, and slower… I limped sadly into Rushworth.

Jem: It's a long drag from Bendigo to Rushworth. 80km of not much, easily the longest single leg of the weekend. From about 50km out of Bendigo to Shep and back, the roads and straight, flat and rough. The landscape is monotonous. I didn't feel like I was living the cycling dream but at least I was in reasonable shape unlike Tiff. I had never seen her struggle and suffer like that before.

CINNAMON SAVES THE DAY

Tiff: Bakeries are wonderful things, especially on a Sunday morning. The locals were out, and looking at us slightly oddly, as we sagged our way in through the doorway. Jem headed straight to the counter to order and I put my stuff down on a table, fully prepared to sit down, head in hands, and try and explain to him why I needed to stop. But this lovely, very chatty lady came over and wanted to hear all about what we were up to. I pulled myself together and said that we had ridden in from Bendigo that morning. That was all she needed to kick start off a story about when she was young and her brother and her used to ride bikes with no brakes on the hills of Bendigo, and how much fun they had, and how joyful it was to be on a bike and… and… and… needless to say by the time she finished her story I had kind of forgotten what I was going to say. I went up to the counter, ordered two of the best cinnamon doughnuts I’d ever had in my life, got some caffeine in me… and perked up. Jem eyed up my last donut, and then went to order one himself… and another one for me. A 45 minute rest stop was had, and we were on our way again. No talk of stopping was said. Magically my knee healed itself, so we were good to go again.

As we rolled towards Tatura, my husband and kids drove past with a beep beep from the car, and between that, the coffee, and the doughnuts I was back to my old self again. Merrily riding out front, I looked up at the scenery as the hills rolled by and felt positive about the day ahead. Jem gave me a few minutes on the front, then he silently pulled in front of me again. No words were spoken and, with a slight cock of the head to the right, the Jem train headed onwards.

Jem: I can't remember the last time I had a doughnut. Does that make me un-Australian? Those cinnamon doughnuts may well have converted me though. In the echelons of Audax folklore, the Rushworth bakery is thought of as the Camelot of Victoria bakeries although without the outrageous accents and silly dancing. It is very welcome after the long leg from Bendigo.

It was not only the coffee, the doughnuts and the other (more!) food that went down well, but it had warmed up into a cracking day - knees and arms out riding weather. Once we had rolled around Waranga Basin, I had forgotten just how flat and straight the roads really were. It's a short hop to Tatura but by now I was spending more time counting down kilometres than is healthy on a bike ride.

SHEP for the WIN

Tiff: Heading out of Tatura, Jem got a bit ahead of me through a round-a-bout, and with a SQUAAACK!!! a magpie attacked. This wasn’t abnormal: we’d been attacked a few times already throughout the ride, and my magpie attack tally was now at 3. However, this particular magpie went straight into his shoulder. Whap! And then again! Whap! Then bonk, over she fell, and landed on the grass verge. I had stopped pedalling at this point and was just watching, I’m sure with my mouth agape, at this crazy bird attack. Jem hammered on the brakes, spun around, unclipped, dropped the bike… and started chasing the bird back into the tree! Needless to say I was near in hysterics, torn between wanting to get my phone out to take a pic and needing to maintain control of the bike as I was shaking with laughter. There is something vastly amusing about a tall lanky cyclist running in cleats (if you’ve seen the classic Tour de France Froomie run, you’ll know what I’m talking about). After a few choice words and some fist shaking, he got back on the bike and pedalled over. Following a bit of discussion about the effectiveness of the manoeuvre, I composed myself and we rolled towards Shepparton.

Having known we were coming, Shepparton had really laid it out for us. Closed roads, finishing banner, cheering crowds, it had it all. We made a minor detour so that we could ride through the finish*. Needless to say, no one rushed over with a trophy when we "finished", nor with free food, so onwards we rolled to the bakery. A thirty minute lunch stop sitting in the sunshine and we were back on the road towards Tatura**, then onwards back to Rushworth.

Jem: There were seven and a bit magpie attacks over the weekend, about par for the course this time of year, but the one at Tatura was the funniest. Magpies don't normally bother me and I tend to just ignore them and let them do their thing. This one, however, came out of nowhere and the second pass just bounced off my shoulder and landed on the ground. That was all the motivation I needed to chase the bugger!

I was dreading the final drag into Shep. I had remembered it being really busy last time and it had been drizzling and miserable. Tumbleweeds had been blowing down the deserted streets. This time was so different with the closed roads a bonus but, surprisingly, not all laid out for us after all.

*The Powercor Tour de Depot was taking place that day, so we got to wave to lots of families and kids as we rolled through Shep

**Surprisingly no magpie attacks this time through Tatura. I think Jem’s friend must have put the word out and they all avoided eye contact as we rolled through.

GRIT

Tiff: There must be something about the roads to Rushworth and this time it was my right knee that started acting up. Again, my mind went into that dark place where all you can feel is pain. This time it wasn’t just my head. I could feel the fluid building up in my right knee when I reached down to touch it and knew something just wasn’t right this time. I just couldn’t seem to put any power down at all without agony, so I was spinning up the hills using only my left leg. All the small descents were coasted and I tried to pedal as little as possible. Jem dropped behind me so that I could control the pace and I just gritted my teeth and kept at it. Limping and teary yet again we headed into Rushworth where it would seem they had run out of the magical knee fixing cinnamon doughnuts.

This time we were both hurting. Jem had taken the pull on the front for nearly the entire day,and I was using up a lot of energy trying to manage the pain in my knee. Both of our bodies had started to shut down on us. Jem’s shoulder was causing him difficulty in breathing and my swollen kneecap didn’t feel good at all. Things were looking grim. We only (only!) had 81km left to go and one more checkpoint. There was no discussion about stopping now, not even a whisper. A check-in with the SM1200 team to let them know we had reached Rushworth cued positive messages back from the boys to cheer us on. Brevet signed, we headed out again for the final push through to Bendigo.

When you’re in pain, it’s easy to just focus on how much you hurt. So instead of trying to block it out, I allowed myself some time to acknowledge all of the parts of my body that were aching and took stock of my body. Feet, knees, quads, hips, bum, ribs, shoulders, arms, hands… all ticked off on my mental body scan. My neck wasn’t too bad as I had consciously kept it down for most of the day instead of straining it forward, which meant I probably missed a lot of the scenery at times*, but at this point in the ride I was grateful for one less niggle to deal with. After the scan was completed, I put all the aches into a room in my mind and shut the door. I also shuffled my bum back on the saddle by about two inches, which allowed me to take the downward pressure off my knees. It didn’t feel great on my bum, and I’m sure I looked awkward perched on the back of my seat like an ungraceful bird, but the relief from the pain was instant and allowed me to keep pedalling.

Jem: My shoulder hadn't gotten any better but it wasn't any worse either. My triceps were the focus of hurt. I've had sore and tired triceps on the mountain bike before or on some big days in the mountains with lots of steep out of the saddle climbing. This time was worse than all of those. I couldn't ride on the hoods with my arms slightly bent for more than 5 or 10 minutes and reverted to riding in drops with locked arms to take the weight on my skeleton and not the muscles. It wasn't elegant but it helped and at least it wasn't raining!

* Editor's note - you didn't miss much on day 2!

Done

Tiff: Hitting the detoured gravel section again became a focal point for the return journey, and again cheered us up. There’s just something about gravel roads that’s soothing to the soul, and riding alongside a yellow blooming field as the sun was staring to set was just magical. Even the magpies finally decided to leave us alone, and there was only one half-hearted swoop that we decided didn’t even count as a full attack. The sun was starting to drop and we knew we wouldn’t make it back before it was dark. 20km out and hot foot finally made its first appearance of the weekend. A quick stop to allow me to roll my feet around, don the high vis, turn on all the bike lights, and off we went for the final push. It was only seven km to the outskirts of Bendigo, then a nine km roll through town.

Rolling through Bendigo at night wasn’t exactly the highlight of the day (after hours without cars or traffic it was a rude awakening to be surrounded by cars), and without saying a word we both upped the tempo of the ride and cranked through Bendigo. As we finally neared the APCO, I could see Max standing on the side of the road and heard the kids cheering us on. We managed not to fall off our bikes as we turned in, unclipped, and stopped the ride, back where it had all started 36 hours earlier.

Jem: Ironically, the last section just flew past. Maybe it was the combination of the gravel, some rollers and the beautiful sunset or just a natural result of the "last 40km". Either way, although the body was tired, it was a fun last part and we had both overcome a dark place or two during the second day especially. I didn't realise just how much Tiff had suffered for a good majority of the day.

Final checkpoint: complete.

Side note: in the car on the way home Max asked if Tiff if she was ready to ride the SM1200 now. She said that she didn’t want to talk about it, and Max said it was the exact time TO talk about it.

Tiff: To be perfectly honest I’m not sure. Having my knees collapse like that wasn’t something I’d dealt with on the bike before and will need to be examined post recovery. Most importantly, I’ll need to figure out how many bakeries along the route from Sydney to Melbourne carry cinnamon doughnuts, because if I do this thing I think it’s going to take a bit of magic…

Jem: Even if logistically I could make Sydney-Melbourne, I'm not sure I would want to anyway. I get the "challenge" component but the time where I can be selfish and ignore the normal shackles of the world is precious to me. I don't intend to spent it watching kilometres and just getting it done so I can earn a sense of achievement. I have nothing to prove to myself. Give me a pleasurable touring ride - with enough time for lunch and beer each day - and a big few days in the mountains any time!

Tiff: Thanks to Sam for coming out on Day 1, and for the rally cries to keep the team going. Thank you to Jem for the phenomenal work you did getting me through this, and qualifying (yet again) for a 1200km ride that you don’t plan on doing. I didn’t truly understand what I was requesting when I asked if you would ride it with me. There are no words for the supporting role that you’ve taken on this year as my coach (not coach) and saying thank you just doesn’t seem like enough.

Massive thanks also to my husband Max for understanding my need for endurance riding enough to not just watch the kids the entire weekend, but to stay with us in Bendigo, cook dinner, and wake me up with a cuppa and a positive word (or three) both mornings. Knowing that he and the kids would be there at the finish kept me going through many a dark moment on Day 2 and they will never truly know how much they are appreciated.

Jem: I didn't really understand how deep Tiff had to dig to get through the second day. I had some niggles but most of it was in my head dealing with a ride that was not on the thrilling end of the spectrum. Tiff had to not only be mentally tough but had some real physical pain to overcome. Max and family were amazing. How good was it to come home to a beer and meal at the end of a 16 hour day one!