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WAY OUT NORTH

24hrs in the saddle

By EAT MORE LARD

April 1^st, 2017

TO UNDERSTAnd the light, you must first understand the dark

Dedicated to Mike Hall, the greatest ultra endurance rider of our generation. Vale, Mike.

“How are you feeling?”

… … silence.

“Tiff?”

“TIFF?”

… silence.

Then “I’m… so… tired…”

The Fleche Opperman All Day Trial (or "The Oppy") is a 24 hour team time trial held annually by Audax Australia. The Oppy is an event for teams of three to five ride with each team riding a minimum of 360km. The choice of route is entirely up to the team as long as it finishes in a designated location. The event is named in honour of one of the Australia's greatest cyclists, Sir Hubert Opperman, whose amazing endurance feats in the 1920s and 1930s earned him international recognition.

This year, I decided to sit on the other side of the fence and support the Oppy instead of riding (more of that in a coming post). Tiffany Winchester was riding the Oppy for the first time. This is her story.

how Did I end up here?

I blame this entire ride on Jem (aka: Eat More Lard). I’m guessing it was about October last year after I did my first 200km ride when he dropped the words “you know, we should talk about The Oppy” into a conversation. I remember laughing at him for even suggesting that. There’s no way, I said. I’m not that kind of rider. But somewhere along the way I became a little bit hooked on the endurance rides and he just kept dropping the Oppy into conversation. Like a seed. And just sat back and waited.

The Audax Warburton/Lake Mountain Classic 150km with Marty “The Machine” Grannas was then backed up with the Audax Alpine Classic (Buffalo sunrise 200km) with the zen master (Jem). A few mentions of The Oppy kept getting dropped into conversation, which I laughed at and brushed off. Seriously guys, there’s no way. I haven’t been riding long enough. You guys all have years of riding in your legs. I don’t even have 12 months yet. Maybe in a few years. Maybe…

Then at the end of January a few of us went and saw “Le Ride,” a documentary that pays tribute to Sir Hubert Opperman and the 1928 Tour de France. At the end, Rigs turned to me and said “So, I’ll send out The Oppy email tonight so we can get that team organised.” I looked blankly at him. What?

PREPARATION

After the email went out we ended up with a very solid team with good experience in the long rides – Marty, Rigs, Wade and Jacques. All had ridden at least 500 before and most had completed a 1200 recently in the guise of the Great Southern Randonneé. And then there was me. I had owned my first proper road bike since July 2015 and only really got serious in March last year. Jem offered to support crew the entire ride, which was brilliant as he would know exactly what we were going through and what we’d need every step of the way. My longest ride to date was 230 odd kilometeres in a little under 10 and a half hours. So I was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

I emailed the boys and asked what kind of training I’d need to try and fit in during the next few weeks with Marty finely summing it up:

“Tiff you'll survive provided you keep doing at least one 5+ hour ride per weekend, or failing that, several hours midweek. We aim for as flat a course a possible so it will just come down to managing having sore legs, neck, back, hands, feet and of course seat area, all on top of the mental fatigue from riding through the night seeing a tail-light or 3 in front of you and the small tunnel of light from the group's collective headlights.”

The rules for the Oppy are simple. They state a minimum of 360km must be ridden in the 24 hour period. That was going to be a big step up from 230 except, of course, it turns out we were going to ride 450 with an optional 50 on the end, “if we had time and felt like it”….

The OFF

By the time March came around, we were ready to roll. The route had been meticulously planned: each stop had detailed notes on food, toilets, and coffee options, the distances between stops laid out, the average speed of each leg calculated, and the time at each stop accounted for. A food/clothing drop off the night before confirmed that collectively we would have enough food to provide the catering for all the teams at the post Oppy brekkie in the van. Having no idea of what I would want to eat on a ride like this, I took all the suggestions of the guys and went for a ‘breadth rather than depth’ approach with a little bit of everything. The weather reports had been checked, double checked, and triple checked to confirm that it looked like it would be warm, dry, and little to no wind overnight, so near perfect conditions.

Saturday morning started off a bit cooler than anticipated as we gathered at the Woodend Clocktower, coffee in hand. My husband, kids, and a few of the Woodend Velos turned up to wish us luck, a group picture was taken, and we were off.

Very soon after we started I had a moment of panic. 500km. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. I CAN’T!! I very quickly had to swallow all those negative thoughts down and re-think the plan. The boys had broken it down into sections, so that’s what I’d do. My goal was to live in each moment, each interval, each segment, and not think too much farther ahead. The longest stretch we had planned was 55km. That was a recovery ride. I could do that.

Looking for a rhythm

Heading out of Woodend, we were fuelled, fired up, and ready to roll! It was sunny, the day was glorious, the rolling hills felt like bumps in the road, and lots and lots of chatter - which meant that the planned pacing went right out the window as we flew along at an average 30km/h pace, arriving at our first pit-stop a good 20 minutes ahead of schedule. All the were guys eating food. Already? I thought. We’ve only gone 55kms. Eat, Eat, Eat. Just eat.

Soon the main “climb of the day” was ticked off – Fogartys Gap is a short 1.1km pinch that stings with a 15% section near the top. As my heart rate skyrocketed, I started stressing about what that might mean for later. I could feel matches being burnt already.

I was struggling to settle into the ride, not sure if it was nerves, energy, anticipation, or what, but I was all over the place. I mentioned my difficulty in settling in to Jem, and he said not to worry about it: one of his recent long rides took him almost 3 hours settle in, and he assured me this was normal.

The Pattern for the daY

Time passed quickly as we hit some serious downhill sections, and we all started to get into the groove. We’d finished all the climbs of the day and we were finding a steady and consistent pace. Each section between stops was starting to follow a familiar pattern. The first 5km out of the food stop, everyone was full of banter, feeling energised. The next 90 minutes of generally straight and flat road, silence was the order of the day. The last 5km before the next stop, chatter again as everyone looked forward to seeing the “van at the end of the tunnel”.

As we rolled into Dunolly for baked goodness, sandwiches, chocolate milk, and coffees, we took a solid break in the shade. My feet were starting to feel a little overheated and sore so I took my shoes off to rest during our stop. It still felt a bit strange to be eating, after all, it had only been 90 minutes since our last stop, but the guys assured me to keep eating.

Flat with a side of flat

In the Macedon Ranges, there is little in the way of flat roads. Not so in far northern Victoria.

Flat also meant very little trees, no shade and no break from the slightly annoying wind which had risen with the temperature. In our longest stretch of the ride, Rigs ran out of water at the 45km mark, so I gave him what I had left in my water bidon. It was now 33 degrees as we ticked through the 200km mark with a hot wind in our face and nowhere to hide. Ice in the bidons rapidly turned to lukewarm water.

My feet were getting worse. I have had problems before and it wasn’t any better this time around. Every stop, I was ripping my shoes off, almost throwing them across the grass, as if they were some kind of instrument of torture.

Charlton was planned as our main dinner break and hot salty chips, potato cakes and cans of coke were the order of the day. “Do you want salt on your chips” was surely not really a question? Wade decided he felt like fruit puree so walked up to the local store, buying 4 large tins of fruit. However, upon his triumphant return, he realised that while Jem had packed the van with literally everything but the kitchen sink, this didn’t include a can opener. So back he went to find something with a rip off lid. Properly hydrated, salted, and fruited, I put my shoes back on, ice in the bidon, and off we headed.

INTO DARKNESS

I often get asked, “what do you think about” on these long rides. Surely it’s a time for great introspection and reflection, a time to let the mind free to wander, and to arise with great ideas and insights into the world? The constant pedal, pedal, pedal, the whirring of the wheels, the wind whistling past your ears all creates a trance like state, where your only thought is to stay on the wheel in front, not run into it, keep a constant cadence, and continue that forward motion. It’s like the mind becomes a void, an empty space where nothing happens. I call this my neutral mind, and for me this is what long rides are all about. During normal days my mind is a constant whir of motion: husband, kids, work, fitting in cycling, trying to justify those new wheels, that new kit… it never stops. So these long rides are a way to get my mind to finally be calm and to just breathe.

On the road to Boort we ticked over two major miles stones for me: we passed my longest ride ever with a whooohoo, and we passed over our (planned) halfway mark. I had entered uncharted waters and I had little to no idea as to how my body and mind would cope after this. I knew that it would be a slow degradation of my body, and eventually I would hit the point where the pain became less of a friend, and more of a monster that I would have to contend with. But mentally I was prepared for that. It’s never a question of comfort. You know that it’s going to hurt. But it’s just how to manage that pain that becomes the challenge.

Rolling into Boort as the sun dropped over the western plains, everything hurt, not just my feet. I collapsed onto the lawn, feet up in the air and propped on the van. The guys asked how I was doing, and I was honest with them. I was in pain. It wasn’t just the feet at this point. That forward lean position, which had been okay up to about 260km, had taken its toll on my “lady bits” and I was starting to feel like I had been punched. Not saddle sores. Just bruised. I could see the guys looking a little anxiously at each other, as this wasn’t something that they could relate to, and I’m sure they were wondering how I’d cope with this additional challenge.

Lights were mounted, fresh kit donned and sexy high vis safety (aero?) vests slipped over the top. We all saddled up and got ready to go when we realised that there were only four of us on bikes. Jacques was not in a good place, and was not ready to move yet. We had time so there was no stress. After slowly finishing his drink, he approached the bike and rolled over to join us.

Total rest time planned: 20 minutes. Taken: 40 minutes.

As the sun set and the shadows of the bikes on the road grew longer, we said goodbye to the light and started to prepare for the next half of the ride. It would now be dark for the next 10 and a half hours and we all started off very quietly. I think we were all a bit worried at that point that Jacques might be done, but figured if we didn’t say anything maybe he’d sort it out on the next section. I’d done a few early starts (including one memorable 3am ride which will not be mentioned) but the idea of riding for the next 10 or so hours in the darkness was a bit intimidating.

Ah, the serenity

One thing that never seemed to get old for us was the “car up” commentary. Because it was so flat and the roads so straight, it became a game to see who could spot a car furthest out and then the count down on how long it would actually take for the car to reach us. Yes, the kilometres just flew past….

Unfortunately one of the sounds that began to break up the silence was the sound of Rigs retching behind us. The first time it happened, I just about fell off my bike, thinking something was coming up behind me to get me. To be honest, finding out it was dry retching wasn’t that reassuring. We slowed the pace and I pulled back to make sure he was okay. After assuring me that this was normal for him, he insisted we kept riding along. Still, it was mildly disturbing to hear your mate gagging away while on the bike, no matter how ‘normal’ he insisted it was.

Two hours later we rolled into Kerang and Jem started making the first round of coffee. Yes, making coffee because this was wasn’t your “bag of chips” style of support. There he was outside the toilet block – Jem likes to hang around toilets in the middle of the night in country Victoria – brewing coffee. To top that off, his amazing partner had made us the densest of dense cake, loaded with enough energy to launch into space. Later Jem would take orders in advance so that coffee and tea was ready at our later stops. Who needs the Skip app?

The coffee perked Jacques up enough that he snuck his ABBA CD into the van, and the two of us had some lovely karaoke moments into the banana mic. Marty enjoyed the singalong immensely as well, I’m sure he had just been waiting and anticipating this moment all ride. Rigs had moved away from the van muttering some excuse about ants. Jem looked ready to leave us all right there, but luckily for us he stuck around*. Loaded with sugar, carbs, and caffeine, we headed off into the night once more.

*I’m pretty sure that CD was frisbee'd into the Murray once we were out of sight

Saturday Night’s alright for fighting

Rigs was starting to decline quite rapidly at this point. He wasn’t really feeling able to take in any solid foods, and wasn’t able to keep anything down anymore. Downing an “Up and Go” unfortunately resulted in more up than go…. It was now nearing 1am, over 360km in the bank, and the fatigue was starting to gain on us all as we were now on the long stretch into Echuca.

The boys had promised a “3am karaoke party” which I had been eagerly anticipating to break up the monotony of the night. I watched the clock tick over the minutes as we got closer and closer to 3am. And then somehow 3am passed with no singing. No dancing. Nothing but a dreadful silence, the hum of the tyres the only interruption to the silence of the night. I was really starting to feel the fatigue at this point, and was still in a serious amount of pain. There was a moment where I thought perhaps I’d kick off the singing, but that moment passed and 45 minutes later we were in Echuca, a bit lost, and very tired. Unlike every other town we had passed through, Echuca was a hive of activity, with the 24hr McDonalds the hub of the town at 3am, average age 21. We slipped past, not wanting to attract attention, heading out of the centre in search of Jem and his van at the 24hr servo.

GOING DEEP

We were close now. Less than 80km to the finish and only 35 to Rochester before the “optional” loop.

We were all feeling it at this point as our group speed had dropped. Rigs had let us know in Echuca that he would be ending his ride once we hit Rochester, skipping the loop. He just couldn’t keep food in, and wasn’t going to be able to keep going on the little reserves he had left.. He had done the Oppy the last two years in a row, and both were over 500km, so he didn’t “need” to do another one but to get this far as a team and know that your mate wasn’t going to not finish the whole thing felt like a real shame. We weren’t in any mental state to offer him a coherent reason to continue and just accepted his decision.

As we peddled through the endless night, I found myself hypnotised by the lights on the back of Wade’s cassette, and my trance like state led to heavy eyes, which were slowly closing. Shaking my head to clear it, I kept trying to push forward, thinking it would clear up. Finally I called out “guys, I need help, I’m falling asleep.” Wade immediately started yelling “STAY AWAKE TIFF” which was initially useful until he stopped yelling, at which point I started falling asleep again! I’d pedal on in silence, until I heard, from what felt like a long way away down a tunnel:

“How are you feeling?”

“Tiff?”

“TIFF?”

I was just so damn tired. Fatigue had kicked in badly, and my body and mind had decided it had had enough. The guys kept asking if I was okay, and all I could say was that I was so tired. That’s all I had. Just enough to quietly whimper, and keep pedalling.

Marty dropped back from the front and came to ride beside me. The other three went on ahead, which was a good idea as it kept me away from their back wheels and added more wind in my face. We slowed the pace down and Marty started talking. I’m still not 100% sure what he talked about. Something about persistence? That he know I could do this? I’m sure there was a Jesse Carlsson reference to training Sarah Hammond during her long rides. All I grasped at that point was that he said that Jesse allowed Sarah a 10-minute power nap when she was too tired to go on, and I grabbed that thought with both hands. Can I do that? Please? Just 10 minutes. He kept talking and talking and talking and made me talk back to him until I finally could see straight as we rolled into Rochester.

Jem had pulled ahead of us to wait us out in Rochester but had finally fallen asleep in the van. It turns out we rode right past him and had missed the van tucked around the corner. It’s funny to look back and consider how beyond fatigued we were yet we were still trying desperately to make logical decisions as we looked for the van. Should we keep going and hope we find him? Pull over and call? I gave him a call, waking him up, and we agreed to meet a bit further on the road we were on. As we waited, I decided that the pavement looked like a great place to start having my power nap. Jem rolled up a few minutes later, and asked how I was doing. All I could get out was that Marty promised that I could sleep for 10 minutes. Immediately he dropped the seat back, got me in the van semi-reclined, and it was lights out for me.

Seven minutes later I woke up, ready to roll. Shoved an entire bag of Snakes into my top tube bag and prepared for the last 45km, with a drip feed of sugar. Turns out that “optional” loop was never really optional, Marty wasn’t going to let me finish with anything less than 500km in the bank.

IS IT TOO EARLY TO ASK?

Rigs was now in the van with Jem and we were back on the road for the last time. I felt like I had my second (third? ninth?) wind. This was the first time on the entire ride that we started seeing other Oppy riders. We passed other teams with a cheery “morning!” and a wave. As we headed west around that last loop I kept looking over my shoulder. “It’s coming” promised Jacques. We’d start to see the dawn soon.

Wade called back over his shoulder “How’s the pace?” “Just keep going” I responded. Just keep going. Pace is good. Just keep going. “What are you thinking Tiff?” Wade asked curiously. I then sang to him “Get it done get it done get it done done done.” I looked over my shoulder again. That dawn felt like it was never going to arrive. It was dark, so dark. We’d see and then pass another set of red lights and high vis vests, then complete darkness again. Another check over the shoulder, and another look down at the Garmin – had it stopped working? The kilometres were hardly ticking over. Looking over at Jacques to see how he’s doing, I realise that I can make out the features of his face. That sun was finally coming up!

Renewed with energy, we made another turn and were now heading back towards Rochester. With the sun rising in front of us, I looked over at Jacques again and he had a huge grin on his face. “Tiff, we are doing something really epic right now”. And we did this together. I tried, and failed, not to think about the fact that we were going to do it. We were going to finish this. I felt emotionally overwhelmed and my eyes started leaking. We kept on pedalling into the rising sun as turned onto the final run in to the finish.

Suddenly, I could see bikes and a lot of high vis. and the Oppy statue, ready to greet us at the finish. I passed everyone, saw Jem, and threw my hands up in the air with a big “YES!!!” before realising that I was far too tired to maintain any sort of balance so immediately grabbed the bars again. We pulled into the drive and got off the bikes. Jem came running over arms out, and I gave him a huge hug. Then burst into tears. We had done it! Hugs and photos all around and we were done.

Thanks to the awesome support from Jem, to all my fellow team mates - Marty, Wade, Jacques, and Rigs – and to my husband Max for tolerating yet another endurance ride. I promise I’m done for a bit.