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| Sunrise on the salt lake |
In terms of strategy the 2012 Simpson race worked out
most beautifully. It took a while.
There were some nervous moments, but it all came
together in the end. You really can't judge these things until you see the
field, or more accurately until you see the field ride, but we had a plan,
stuck to it and it worked.
I had it firmly in mind that a Fatbike would win the
Simpson. From my experience in 2009 I could see it no other way. Fat tyres mean
you push fewer watts on sand. Ultimately those extra watts will break the
fittest rider on a thin bike.
It's a long race, won on distance first, then time.
Completing the course, getting 100% is no mean feat. It’s far from certain that even the strongest riders will get through. I've
seen stronger riders perish. You don't
want to go hard against people who subsequently quit; it tires you out for no
reason. Everyone always starts too fast on day one, even the experienced guys
and that's a problem. With the best will in the world you can't hold that pace
over 5 days. It creates unnecessary fatigue. The race is more about
conservation than initial speed.
Lynton, "The Hammer" is one hell of a strong
rider. I've raced with him before and you can never write him off. You can pass
him, leave him for dead but if you lose focus for just a second he awakes from
the grave, ‘Comes good’ in his terms and steams past you. I know from personal experience that
just because you can see the finish line doesn't mean that you've beaten him -
you need to get over the line and check he's not already there.
Lynton, however, is a thin bike man. He's been sceptical
of the fatties and their ample girth. It is hard to believe that a heavy fat
bike can be faster than a light thin bike - it's the "Light is fast"
"Hard tyres roll well" philosophy that's been preached for years. My
plan with Lynton was not to attack him on his home turf where he is strong. To
attack 'The Hammer' on hard ground would be to get smashed. If we were going to
pass Lynton it would need to be when he was pushing, and that meant in the soft
sand. Lynton had also fitted the widest rims and tyres he could fit into his
Scott frame. This was going to be interesting.
Murray took my bike up to the race with his Sydney
crew, saving me the hastle of flying with Fatty. A bag of race clothes, a bag
of camp gear and that was me done. The rear derailleurs, pumps and electrolytes
I ordered never arrived. (You need to actually place the order rather than just
load up the shopping cart).
Staying with Seb and the girls in Adelaide yielded the
traditional last minute race preparation of spin classes followed by copious
volumes of red wine. David picked me up on Saturday morning. There is no need for
a doorbell, you can hear Dave's exhaust coming down the street. The Landcruiser
was unchanged; a new set of tyres, a sat phone aerial on the bonnet, 30,000km
on the clock. David and I rub along pretty well. He's been my crew for 4 years
now, along with the good Trevor who couldn't make it this year. We camp in the
same way. No fuss. Over the years I've learnt to leave David’s stuff to David and not feel guilty about his attentive butlering. A
rider’s demands can be odd, one minute
you can't face eating, the next you demand soup and a sandwiches.
Rolling north we met Darron in Port Wakefield. Darron
drives the Mighty Musso. The SsangYong Musso has a reputation in 4WD circles as
not being the vehicle in which to
cross a desert. Loaded up with rider Mike Dalton, his son Liam and a Fatbike on
the roof, Darron was going nowhere fast, assuming he could get the thing
started.
We caught up with Murray and his Sydney crew in Coober
Pedy. Murray had a big entourage with 2 vehicles; Dave and Wendy carrying the
bikes on a Hi-lux ute, Snowy and Heather in a land cruiser. With Murray and
Kathy that made 6 in his party.
On Sunday morning Murray and I rolled out of Coober
Pedy on the fat bikes to blow away some cobwebs. It’s a 3 day drive to Purnie Bore so there is quite a lag between your last
training ride and the start. In the past that's something I've not accounted
for in my taper. With a raging tail wind we romped along. I'd like to think the
support guys were impressed by how far we got - 80km in just over 3 hours before
we stopped and waited.
Oodnadatta was the next stop and the last place to buy
fuel. I'm not sure of the future of the iconic pink road house after the owner,
Adam Plate, died this year racing a Lancer Evo in the Traga Adelaide rally. I
hope they will find a way through. We had big burgers all round.
That evening found us in Dalhousie Springs, scene of
the open water stage in 2011. Rob from water stop 3 confided that he thought he
was going to have a heart attack racing in the hot water. That's a shame,
because he was the only guy that I beat in the swim leg. As my swimming coach
once said, ‘Never get stuck behind a Pom!’.
Murray and I put another hour in the following
morning. My little GPS showed its worth directing us out of Dalhousie. Without
it we would have ridden off in the wrong direction.
Picked up by our crews, we drove on towards the start.
The gibber plains, desolate rocks in 2009 now had a superficial hint of green.
A hundred kites circled lazily on the thermals above Purnie
Bore. I tempted them with Pringles from my hand, to no avail. Here was the
first indication of the change that 3 years of good rain had wrought. The sand
dune where I tested my Snowcat rims in 2009 was covered in vegetation. The kites were looking for prey of marsupial
mice that had homes under every bush. The mice were bold. Kaye awoke to find a
mouse staring into her swag. Graham had been bitten on the nose by one back
when camping here in May. That, and talk of snakes, made me decide to use
Trevor's pop tent, rather than my open swag.
At Purnie we signed in with Mark, the Race Director,
had the obligatory photo and caught up with old friends. Tomorrow the race, a
dawn till dusk affair, was on.
Finally, as a demonstration of their camping prowess,
Murray's support team prepared a lamb roast complete with roast potatoes and
all the trimmings. Dave offered me a morsel on the end of a knife. Fantastic - a
succulent savoury sensation. I returned to my camp for a Thai curry and a glass
of red wine. As the brochure says, this is 5 days in hell.
4:30am and a bleating fart announced it was time to
awake. The years have not been kind to the horn on Mark's car. My routine is
pretty honed nowadays. Number 1, drink a bottle of Gatorade. Number 2, scratch.
Number 3, open today's bag of race clothing. Shorts, heart rate strap.
Bapanthen liberally downstairs. Shirt. Is it cold enough for a wind proof? Pack
camp bag, pack race bag and push them
down to the end of the tent. Get out, down jacket on. Bags to the vehicle. Drop
the tent. Clear the rubber mats.
David has to be off at 5:30 so there is only an hour
from wake up to him leaving. Muesli, yoghurt, fruit. Coffee. Take the spade for
a walk. Carefully clean your hands. Normally we're done by 10 past 5. I hold
onto my coffee until the last moment.
There are 2 convoys and the second leaves at 7. I prop
my prepared bike against a car from the rear convoy, in this case Darron's
Mighty Musso. Backpack, camera, helmet, sunglasses and importantly, shoes.
Cycling shoes are hard and rub your feet. I try to spend as much time in crocs
to give my feet a break. Last night I put a "Basket of Comfort" in
Darron's car. This is stuff I'll use at the end of the evening stage, before
David arrives. Pringles, coke, malto-dextrin drink, crocs, wet wipes. If you're
not riding you're eating and drinking.
Mark leaves the camp ground first and pulls the race
officials in behind, Waterstop 1, Medic 1, Waterstop 2, Medic 2, Waterstop 3, Medic
3. Riders support vehicles fall in behind. The race director has to leave at
5:30 sharp to lay out the course. The convoy is so long it can take 5 minutes
for them to clear the camp.
Next, in the half-light comes the call to weigh in.
Riders are weighed at the start and end of each stage in order to monitor their
fluid loss. Meeting at the scales gives a chance to say a few words to the
other riders. There is banter and camaraderie. I'm a big primate but I'm
impressed to see Ronn has an extra 7 kilos on me, bringing him just shy of the
ton.
Our new sweep sets us off at 6:00. Just pre-dawn, it's
a cool day. The race settles down fairly easily. I'm thinking don't go too
hard, don't go too hard but to some degree that’s not the choice of one person and you have to go with the flow. You
might take a turn at the front just to slow things down. After 20 or 30 minutes
we take it back a notch. Even so, my average pulse rate is 145 for the stage,
way higher than the rest of the race.
Towards the end of the stage Murray develops Roast
Lamb Poisoning. In cycling circles it's a well-known fact that roast lamb,
particularly when prepared in a camp oven can result cramping late in the
following day. If you notice, you never see Tour de France riders tucking into
roast lamb from a camp oven. Murray's
cramps come and go, that is to say he keeps riding. It's a worry but I can't
help. He should have had the Thai Curry.
Lynton is clean on the waterstops. It shows his
experience. At the end of the stage he's put 6 minutes into us. I think that's
no problem as we have yet to see soft sand. Day 2 is the big day.
A wide band of Fatbikes finish together in second;
Murray, Mike Dalton, Graham and myself. Graham is a strong rider and a guy to
watch.
Stage 2, 49 km is a nice spin with a tail wind if
memory serves. Lynton again puts 6 minutes on us, taking his lead to 12.
Murray, Graham and I cross the line together in second place.
Day 2 and this is the big one.
In 2009 this was where I won the race - deep sand, heat and wind sapped the other
riders and I was the only one make it through. The stage starts with 32km of
big dunes. Alex and I found these great fun. It then turns north for 18km - we
stopped for a picture and watched 'The Hammer' roll past. Then in the soft sand
of the swale all hell broke loose. A blasting headwind came up. Our average
speed dropped to 12km/ hr. Alex couldn't
find any shelter behind me. I had to leave him behind. Later I caught Lynton.
Jeff Rooney couldn't get enough hot water down his neck. I kept telling myself
that the turn, marked on my GPS, would change things. Mint Juleps and Hula
girls. The grim reality was an abrasive inferno with soft sand on the floor and
stinging sand in the air. The route runs east against for another 30km of dunes
before a cruel finish. The GPS says 1km to go but there is a long loop around a
salt pan. The stage has always been
notorious for stopping riders.
Okay, I've spent the money and bought a Fatbike. I've
spent time testing, researching and refining, converting to tubeless, riding
100km circuits in the Blue Mountains. I've taken pumps and pressure gauges down
to the beach and bumped up and down dunes. Today, in 2012, I expected a bit of
payback.
Mark also anticipated a rough day on stage 3 retaining
most of the support vehicles in the rear convoy to pick up swept riders.
I spoke to Graham. I was convinced that this was going
to be a horror show. We were all joint second and a Fatbike would win this race
for sure. Given that assumption I offered Graham a chance to work together with
me and Murray. Why fight each other, fatigue and risk being swept?
In the event, the sand had gone. Funny. Some stages of
the 2012 race were carbon copies of the 2009, others were very different. This
was one of the latter.
I have a theory about the Simpson Desert, more
accurately a hypothesis. On this largely flat surface the wind blows the sand
around until it gets hooked up somewhere. In 2009, after 7 years of drought the
sand was caught on the dunes, in the wheel ruts or blown further afield (remember
the red dawn in Sydney in September 2009?). After wet years sand blows off the
dunes and tracks and gets hooked up in the vegetation. El Niño is back but it should be a few years before we get back to deep sand.
Regardless, there was not enough sand to slow Lynton.
The dunes were hard packed clay most of the way up with a couple of metres of
soft sand on the top. Lynton put some time into us on the water stops and
finished first by another 5 minutes taking his lead to 17. Towards the end of
the stage Graham was itching to attack but I counselled against this. What
would be gained by taking the race to Lynton where he was strong? The Hammer
would dish out a smashing. Besides, we'd bought our insurance. You can't ask
for a refund just because you didn't need to make a claim. The Fatbike Alliance
finished together in joint second.
Stage 3 took us just over 5 hours, an hour and a half
less than my time in 2009.
Speaking to Graham after the stage the alliance was
still on the table. Graham was undecided. He didn't want to hold us up but
still might want to go with Lynton. In the absence of strong sentiment I
dissolved the Fatbike Alliance; no commitments, do your best.
Stage 4 rolls north for a couple of km then drops away
to the south on firm tracks.
Graham messed up his start, had to go back for his
water pack then chase hard. It took him 6km to catch us. At the water stops,
free from the alliance Murray and I returned to our normal water stop protocol.
One in, one out, F off.
It's obviously top secret but you want the "trick
of 4" at the water stops. You need to leave with at least 1.5 litres but
however you chose to do that, be it camel backs or bidons, buy 4 sets. 4 camel
backs at $100 each? $400 dollars water bladders? Er, yes. Worth every
penny.
Refilling from a big bottle, underground pump storage
systems mounted on Fatbike frames, changing bladders in your camel back are all
losing plays. I guess the water stop crews could write chapter and verse on
this. Dump one, pick up one and F off - that's the way to go. You can lose 5
minutes easily on a water stop. That's a loss on other riders, if that's
important to you, but more importantly that sweep convoy is traveling at
12km/hr. That's 5 minutes per km pace. You can easily hand the sweep 3 km a
stage, 6 km per day by having a crap water stop protocol. Your legs need to
make up that 5%.
On the subject of hydration I'm a back pack man. I
know some guys reckon they cause back and neck problems but I've never had an
issue. Bidons tend to jump off the bike. Back packs are better for "little
and often" hydration - you don't want to have your hands off the bars for
too long. Camel backs are crap to clean
and seem to always get cross threaded, so I prefer Source Systems bladders
(thanks for the tip Wayne). I'll normally add a sugar free electrolyte tablet,
just one, because I find it easier to drink hot water with a bit of flavour
than neck it down "eau natural" but the basic message is suck it
down, princess. If you intend to use fluid for fuel, i.e. add carbohydrates with
sports drinks think about it carefully. Firstly, hygiene is a problem in the
outback because you have limited water to wash the fur from your bladders (KSE
has a nice story about the impact of diarrhoea before a stage). Secondly, as
all the SDBC leaflets will tell you, sports drink, clean and mixed according to
the instructions, has the capacity to make you copiously and violently sick.
There is a funny disconnect here. Mike Dalton, a
triathlete for many years, correlates the rise of GUs with the ejection of
vomit from ironman competitors. In the old days, bananas, lollies and vegemite
sandwiches served just fine. With the advent of GUs he noticed an increase in
in DNFs and poor results due to vomiting. I think in extreme endurance events
there is a limit to how much sweet stuff you can consume. It may be
theoretically the best fuel for the body but what counts is what your body can
process, not what you deposit along the trail.
Murray, Lynton and I finished stage 2 together,
crossing the line as joint first 8 minutes ahead of Graham and 9 ahead of Mike
Dalton. That left Lynton ahead of us by 17 minutes and Murray and me in joint
second with Graham 3rd.
Although day 2 was very different to 2009, day 3 was a
carbon copy.
Stage 5 involves a run over the dunes, a ride around
the salt lake and some more big dunes.
The initial section was uneventful. We came to the
salt lake, beautifully white, refreshed by the rains of recent years. I took
some video as we spun on the hard pack beside the lake. Lynton, Murray, Mike
and I formed a group. Graham rode 500 meters behind but not closing. It’s great riding. This is one of the reasons you should ride the desert.
The rumble of tyres on the hard pack. Easy spinning at a good pace. The salt
lake. Beautiful. Is that water on the
horizon or just a mirage? To get your arse across the Simpson in any degree of
comfort is a challenge; to ride a bicycle across it is unique.
A perennial and persistent problem is pissing.
Generally, it’s worst on the first day. A wise
monkey has spent the 3 day drive to the start eating and drinking, a last fuel
and fluid load. This comes to a head (to use the nautical term) on the first
stage. You piss like a horse. The medicos, quite rightly, query your weight
loss but they will never see the unseasonal floral bloom that will grow
alongside the track in the coming weeks. On the second stage and on the second
day you settle into your fighting weight.
The consistent goal is to be as hydrated as you can
be. If things turn hot it’s hard to drink enough to keep pace
with your fluid loss. To maintain a full tank you need to drink at all times.
On cool days this leads inevitably to a surplus. This is a problem if you're
with a group, especially the lead group. Urination has to be negotiated, you
can pee any time you like but without a consensus you'll be left behind.
We agreed to pee on top of the first dune after the
salt lake. Mike, Murray, Lynton and I stopped to admire the view to the salt
lake while we took matters in hand. Mission accomplished, tackle returned to a
modest shroud of Lycra we were about to remount our bikes when Graham rode
past. This gave Murray and me a problem. We were second and Graham was third.
He was a threat to our position so we kicked.
We caught up with Graham and came past. We continued
to ride. The race director had placed water stop 3 after the dunes on the Warburton
track to ensure riders turned north rather than south. As we exited the water
stop we saw a distant rider descend the last dune and wrongly assumed this was
Graham making an attack.
This is where working together can really pay
dividends. I know Murray and he knows me. The head wind was atrocious. Murray
and I worked 5 minute turns. You could literally free wheel behind the guy in
front. I knew when Murray had picked up my wheel because I could hear the
ratchet of his free wheel. It was a long haul - 80 km for the stage. I can see
my heart rate on the Strava plot, 5 minutes idle, 5 minutes pushing 150.
Occasionally, checking the back door I saw a lone rider, far away. Had I known
it was Lynton we would have probably waited, but thinking it was Graham we
pressed on.
A horrible, horrible stage. At the end Lynton came in
4 minutes behind us. It had been tough. He wasn't smiling.
So there we were, lucky 13 minutes behind, but it had
shown that on soft sand we could move more quickly than Lynton.
Stage 6.
In many ways this was a carbon copy of 2009. A howling
head wind for the north coupled with high temperatures promised a brutal stage.
Back in 2009 there had been a lot of sand on the
track. We'd spent much of the stage 'Indian Scout', off the trail looking for
firm sand. Crashing through the withered and spiky remnants of vegetation
brought home the benefits of tubeless tyres and sealant. A puncture would have
been fatal. My arse was in tatters by this time, I was riding on two open
sores. When I caught Lynton he had the 1000 yard stare of a man deeply bonked.
I had a bag of lollies stuffed up one leg of my shorts and I got him to take
some sugar on board. We worked together into the teeth of the growing sand
storm. Behind my sunglasses I had to shut my eyes against the swirling grit. We
were the only ones to finish.
2012 had all the makings of a similar horror show.
Forty nine km straight into a hot, howling wind. The increased vegetation
negated the Indian Scout tactic but thankfully there was less soft sand on the
track. We set off in a big train, trying to get as many riders through as
possible. Susie was having trouble early on and I nudged her up the peloton.
'I can't ride at the front!'
'You don't have to, just stay out of the wind'
By 7km she dropped off the back and by 10km she wisely
canned the stage and waited for the sweep. In the Simpson you need to pick your
battles. Alone, in that wind, you have to be realistic about your chances. If
you're not going to make it save yourself for the next stage.
The train lasted in some fashion until the first water
stop. I regret saying 'take your time'. Lynton was ready in a trice.
'Hang on mate'
'Chris, Graham, are you ready?'
'Chris, Graham, are you ready?'
That bastard sweep has a V6, he cares nought for
headwinds. We pressed on without them. Waterstop protocol. Pure and simple.
Mike Dalton joined us and Murray, Lynton and I were
away. We left Graham behind. Later he started to feel unwell and got swept at
36km, finishing his chances of a 100% ride.
We 4 leaders crossed the line together.
Three days of racing, half the field still on 100%,
Murray and me in a good position as joint second, 13 minutes behind Lynton.
Our only problem was that we were running out of
track. What would day 4 bring? I'd driven over the dunes in 2009 as part of a
car portage when the race was redirected as the Warburton Crossing was closed.
Then there had been big soft dunes, but there had also been big soft dunes on
stage 3 that year, and those had vanished in 2012. Would there be enough sand
for the fatties to show their prowess? I guessed we'd find out, one way or
another.
Murray's team gave me a hot shower that night, using a
heat exchanger on Dave's hi lux. I washed off the dust and salt caked onto my
face and legs. If felt great. Being clean really helped me sleep.
At the race briefing the race director outlined his
plan for the following day. It was a comparatively short stage of 67km. He'd
place the third water stop a shade closer at 55km rather than 60. This, along
with a simple mathematical error hit Murray hard the following day.
Stage 7.
We left together and rolled north in a big train. The
going was easy and I took some video of the riders.
It was funny to reflect on my heart rate and cadence.
After all the exuberance of the first day I was now idling along, 110 bpm and
75 on the cadence. It wouldn't count as a training ride.
I watched Andrew Hellier as we crossed the salt lake.
He was still holding on to his 100%. Mentally I wished him well. He's been
trying for years. I hoped he would make it.
At the end of the lake the first dune appeared. Murray
and I came to the front. You can't afford to get stuck behind someone. We hit
the dune hard then kept going.
By water stop 3 we were quite tired. Ron advised 8km
to go. My GPS waypoints had been screwed from stage 5 and I no longer trusted
the device. We set off to finish the last 8km. Or it would have been 8 km if
Ron was at the usual 60km, rather than 55. 8 km came and went with no sign of
the finish. Murray started to fade. Mental or physical? The 2 are so connected
it hardly matters but I think the mental blow was the trigger. It's tough
going. When you expect an end to your suffering it can hit you hard when it
doesn't arrive. It's a trick they use in the army to get you to quit. I didn't dare trust the GPS for the same reason.
Murray was now quite clearly fucked. I stopped on top
of one dune while he pushed up. I waited 2 minutes.
'Leave me' he said.
'That's not the deal, I said. 'That's not what you
signed up for. I have no sympathy for you. You should have thought of that
before. Get on with it.'
Murray never complains.
Over the next dune I saw the flag, 'It's there' I
shouted. 'I can see the boxing kangaroo. It's here!'
I made a point of cycling up. The race director was
filming. At the top I put my foot down. Below me was the finish line. All I had
to do was roll down the hill.
I could have left Murray but why? The sunny mornings
training on Manly beach when I was unemployed. That cold, cold day in the Blue
Mountains when I was nigh on hypothermic. Breakfast at Cafe Cee. Lunch on
picnic rock. Good rides. Good memories. It wouldn't improve my position.
I'm quite aware that I'm not the best rider in the
world, many guys are way faster, but I'll take my prizes where I can. I am for
example the first man to ride an Ironman on a Fatbike (to my knowledge). I like
the unique. At the first briefing back at Purnie Bore the race director
emphasized the challenge of the event over the race.
'Times are measured to the nearest minute, if you
finish in the same time I'm quite happy to buy you two trophies.’
Maybe we could
get joint first, it had never been done before. A joint first would be worth it
if only to see Mark eat his liver.
Still, I'd feel pretty silly if I lost because I was
waiting on a dune.
'Come on Murray!'
We rolled across the line together, wining the stage.
Handshakes all round.
David took my bike off me. 'Hold up!'
I took the GPS off the bars and pressed ‘lap’. The question now was how far in
front we were. Was it enough to put us in the lead? We needed more than 13
minutes.
I got some food, a carbo drink and sat down under the
shade of the Race Directors awning. Time ticked by. How many minutes did we
need? I thought it was 13 but now I couldn't get my head around the maths. Was
it 18? Waiting for Murray had cost 3. When did I remember to press the lap
button? Was it a minute after we finished, was it two. I couldn't remember.
In any event, being in the lead would give us another
problem. Lynton would be out to chase. I had a word with Murray's crew.
'He really went off in the last 5km, make sure he gets
plenty of food and water. We'll need to go again at 2:00pm'
Time ticked.
The CB crackled
'Rider coming'
Shit, shit. Too soon. Hang on, how far can they see
from the top of that dune? 1km? Perhaps 2. How long will that take? 5 minutes?
3 minutes. This was going to be tight.
When did I press lap? Maybe he'd have to walk up that last dune.
Shit, too soon, too soon.
And then Chris Turnbull rolled into view on his
Pugsley. It had been a good day for the Fatbikes.
Looking at my watch, it was showing more than 13
minutes. We should be safe now. Lynton was next to finish.
Keith poked his head around the corner of the van.
'You're five minutes ahead now.'
On the fourth day of five days, after 7 stages, the
Fatbike strategy had finally come good. 5 minutes was a narrow margin. I
couldn't help thinking 'Out of the frying pan, into the fire'.
Stage 8 promised more big dunes. All we needed to was
to stay in front to protect our uncomfortably small lead. Murray had his legs
back and was driving hard.
Riding big dunes is far more fun than grinding along
the flat. Way out, crossing the swale you need to look ahead and plan your
route. Is there an easy line off to the side or do you need to take it head on?
How steep is it at the crest?
As the track starts to rise, your speed scrubs. It's
time to think about gears. Clearing a dune is about balance, power and
momentum. Too fast and your lungs will explode. Too slow you'll get bogged,
wobble and fall off. The middle ring can be hard to push. The granny saves your
legs but can make you too slow. Whichever ring you choose you want to get it in
early and stick with it. As the dune steepens you need to pick a line, left
wheel rut, right wheel rut? Once you're in, it's hard to change. Perhaps you
can go up the middle if the crust looks firm enough. Maybe you can thread a line up the outside
between the track and the vegetation. As you climb the track steepens and your
pulse rate builds. The top is usually the softest and steepest bit. If you have
some spare it helps to spin her up to gain some momentum to clear the top.
'Use the downhills to recover' I yelled to Muz as we came
over the top.
Arms bent, arse high- it feels great to rest your
backside. Thundering down the lee side of a dune is a fantastic experience. Speed,
mass, momentum. The tyres buzz like a
swarm of angry bees.
'Don’t push too hard on the flat either.
If we win this thing it will be because we clear the dunes' and clear the dunes
we did. I think we walked 3 of them. Sometimes a stupid move just catches you
out. Embarrassed, you start running. Sometimes you just pick the wrong rut.
Where vehicles have left the track scalloped it's a
bit like climbing a rock ledge, you can throw your weight onto the front to
help lift the back wheel. Murray has slightly wider rims, whether through that,
tyre pressures or his beach training he was always slightly better on the sand.
I kept an eye on the back door. Soon there was no-one
to be seen.
'Take it back a notch, Murray'.
We completed the 40km stage in 2:11. Not a bad pace
over dunes. Chris came in next, followed by Mike Dalton. It had been a good stage
for the fat. Lynton came in 19 minutes behind us, making our overall lead 24
minutes. The Fat Strategy had proved its worth and our narrow lead now looked
defendable. In about 70 km of sand we'd gained 37 minutes. That's the power of
being Fat.
It rained during the night, not just a bit but quite
hard. I love being in a tent in the rain. I lay awake listening to the rain
fall on the canvas.
Day 5 dawned. The rain had stopped. There were 2
stages today (normally there has been only one). The last stage, into
Birdsville is traditionally neutral, a bit like the tour de France. That left
47 km, up and over Little Red. We didn't mention it but Murray and I were both
hyped. This stage would have more flat across Eyre creek and less dunes. We
knew we had to stay in front and there is always the chance of a mechanical.
We set off at a firm pace. Watching behind, there was
always another rider in sight. This served to drive us on. Making up 24 minutes
in 47 km was always going to be a tough call, but you can't enumerate your
avian creatures before they emerge from the ova. We kept on.
At 20 km things started to look more certain. Another
water stop and we turned south toward Little Red. Terry Flaskos caught us up.
Murray cleared Little Red, I got caught up near the top.
It didn't matter. Chris and Rumblefish
Ronn joined us. We rolled down the other side.
The rains have built a lake at the bottom of the
dunes, complete with water birds and everything. How do these birds get here?
How do they know there is water? Do they just launch themselves towards the dry
centre of Australia of the off chance there might be somewhere to land?
A diversion around the lake took us south then north.
Nearing the finish, Murray and I took a step back - we didn't need to win this
stage. Terry set off, with Ronn in pursuit. Terry had 13,000 reasons to win
that stage and I hope his sponsors are proud. He's worth every dollar. Heart of
a lion.
Murray and I finished joint 3rd.
Melanie had punctured twice and was in danger of being
swept. She was running home, pushing her bike. Race rules say that, between the
start and finish line only riders can provide assistance. A group of us went
back. I took her bike so she could run more easily. Adam tried to distract the
sweep. Towards the finish line, Ronn, bent double like an old man, made the
sweep wait while he crossed the road. Classic.
Melanie collected her bike and finished the stage.
The goal of stage 10 was for all the riders to finish.
It's 33 km into Birdsville along a wide dirt road. No problem, but a stiff
breeze. On the way word went out that this stage belonged to Lou. 74 years
young, if he can do it why can't you?
Buildings came into sight, the first since the dunny
at Purnie Bore. Lynton, Murray and I quietly dropped back. It had been one hell
of a ride. Lynton had a few tears coming into the finish. There is a sign on
his Landcruiser that says 'Unfinished Business'. He's been trying to cross the
Simpson since 2008. Now he can remove the U and the N. Job done.
The Birdsville Hotel beckoned. Murray, Lynton and I
crossed the line. The race was over.
In 2009 I joked that I finally understood four-wheel
driving. It's not about diff locks, tyres or low range gear boxes. It's not
about traversing slopes, climbing dunes or negotiating wash outs. It’s not about CB radios, snatch straps or vehicle recovery techniques.
These elements just set the stage for taking the piss out of your mates. If
they get bogged you take the piss, if they break down, you take the piss, if
they get into trouble, you help them out, then later, at the campfire with a
beer in hand you take the piss.
In 2012 I think I finally understand the Simpson
Desert Challenge. It's not about the bikes, the tubeless conversions, the waxed
chains. It's not about the dunes, the heat or the distance. It’s not about the riders, the support crews, the medics, the time keepers
or all the hard work that makes it happen each year. These elements are all
important but they only set the stage. The SDBC is really about the people. The
backdrop, the challenge, brings out the very best in people.
Some of the people in Birdsville had been there since
2009. Some were new faces. No matter. You have shown me your best side. It's
been a privilege spending time with you. My life is richer for the experience
and I thank you for it.
I wonder how much of our Simpson Spirit can be
transferred to our normal life. The world will be a better place if it can.
