From Evernote:

Day 2

Another fantastic day though harder than we intended. It was about nine when we finally left the camp. Another great day of weather, sunny but cool air.

Rachel almost picked up four faults at Black Cliffe but the tide was low enough for us to get around after scrambling over a couple of rocks. The walk up to Buoy Creek was easy enough.

Note: Point Eric is the better campsite. We made the right choice in staying there.

The Chapman book suggests Louisa Creek as the next campground in his ten day schedule. Bruce at the airstrip had suggested Louisa River, some two hours further as a good stop before tackling the Ironbound Mountains. In the end we decided on an extra day and a visit to Louisa bay. Here we are, just one other walker.

Beautiful bay, very isolated and a great camping spot. We are at the northern end. The book suggests 'gather water from some unreliable drips'. In a scoop in the rock, dark but not a cave, a couple of drips could be heard. I looked around- nothing else. We're not going to have enough I thought.

Rac and I rigged the tarp under the seepage. We had enough water for a cup of tea in just a few minutes. 'how do you like your seepage?' I asked Rachel.

From Evernote:

Day 1 part 2

Fantastic first day. Mark flew us into the World Heritage Area in a 1977 Cessna 172. Once you're clear of the logging it's pristine wilderness as far as the eye can see. Mark kept us just below the cloud ceiling, climbing as we headed west. It's the smallest plane I've ever been on - had trouble getting my big boots into the front.

The airstrip at Melaluca is a fat white band on the flat next to bathhurst harbor. We dropped sharply to take it from the south. I was expecting a dirt airstrip to give a rougher landing but it was surprisingly smooth.

Had only found out in Hobart that we needed something to put our fuel in, we purchased two liters before the flight. That made for a session of hasty coke swallowing. Looking at the bottles now there is a coke coloured bubble of water at the bottom of one of the bottles.

I didn't expect the scenery to be as good as it is. A full moon rises over a bueatiful bay.

Horror. Another human being on our beach. 7:44 pm where did they come from?

From Evernote:

Tasmania Diary

23.7 kg for Darrens pack 16 odd for Rachel. Dry weight, no fuel or water.

Six am Saturday morning and the rain is pouring down. Buckets of water slap down from the patio above.

On of the reasons for doing the South Coast Track late in the season was to give La Nina a chance to fizzle out. That hadnt worked out for Australia in general and in Sydney the rain had come down hard all night. Sydney is a long way from Tasmania; maybe we'll be alright.

We are also overweight by about 14 kg. $10 per kg is the way that normally works out. This is our longest ever walk between food drops; 7 days straight so we have over 40 kg of gear. A lot of that is food and booze; about 12 kg of dried food and 3 of wine. We also have a (limited) amount of extra clothing to cope with the increased duration and possible bad weather- a spare pair of underpants and a jumper. I also have too many gadgets with a GPS and an a satellite tracker and a pair of binoculars.

Still, things will get lighter as we travel plus the first couple of days are not hard.

From Evernote:

Wacky Races

This year I have excelled in entering a diverse range of races.

Yesterday I completed the 6 foot track marathon, a 45km cross country run. In June I'll be doing my first Ironman (3.8km swim, 180km cycle and full marathon). Rachel has always wanted to do a marathon so in July we're off to Alice Springs for the outback marathon around Ayers Rock.

All that's a precursor the to Simpson Desert Challenge in October.

The Six Foot track entry came as a bit of a surprise. The entries open at nine and this year sold out in seven minutes. Despite having all the alarms set, sh1t happened at work and I didn't enter until 12:00 noon. That placed me at 102 on the veterans wait list. About a month out they reorganized and I dropped to 45 on the vets waitlist. I thought 'no way I'll make this' and so decided not to run. It's was a surprise to get the invitation at the end of February.

Physiologically, the 6ft is a good one to have in the bag. I reckon that success or failure in the Ironman will come down to the marathon: during the swim I can float with the tide, the cycle will be a lot easier than some of my training rides what with Tar-macadam as a surface; the marathon however will be something of a stinker. The 6ft is much more than a marathon, 60% more if you compare duration. It's good to think that maybe that's how hard the Ironman marathon will feel and yes, you can do it.

Incidentally, Ollie's running mates thought I was mad to carry a backpack and even madder to carry 3 liters of fluid. Maybe that's true, certainly it's become a habit for me to be self sufficient during training runs. I drank my 3 liters plus about another six cups of water and two of coke from the aid stations. For food i had the sports drink and a couple of vegimite sandwiches. Sounds odd bit the salty/savory vegimte was most welcome. I was fine for fluid and fuel - no dehydration headache, no hunger knock.

Setting out just to finish there was no need to push too hard at the start. Stupidly, I turned my ankle after the steps at only 20 minutes. It hurt a lot when I stopped for a pee but I limped off and soon managed to run through it and run straight. (note to self - contact lenses next time so you can see where you are going. It's too dark on that first section for sunglasses )

At the Cox's River we were on about 5:30 pace. I had already taken the decision to walk most of the hill. Working from my heart rate monitor I set a pace of 150bpm. If I could hold this walking, I walked. The first climb up to Mini-mini saddle flew by as did the second up to the pluivometer.

Six footers say if you can reach the pluviometer at 25km and still be smiling, you're home and hosed. That's true, though the long drag up the Black Range is where your aches and pains come out to taunt you. There are times in marathon running where things just hurt and you wonder what possessed you to enter the race in the first place. A couple of Km into the black range and my ankle started to make it's displeasure known.

At about 30km a couple of peels of thunder announced the arrival of a storm. The rain hissed through the forest, drumming off the peak of my cap. I arranged my Pertex top to keep the rain off my backpack. I didnt want to carry another kilo of wet cloth.

The deviation (35km) is the top of the course. From here, disregarding the uphill bits, it's all downhill. 200m from the turn I rolled my ankle again. Then again, and again. Billhooks! I was now limping quite badly, unable to walk or run. For the first time I had doubts about finishing.

Of came the pertex, off came the rucksack and out came the ibuprofen. I took 2 with little hope they would make a difference. I walked off, jogging where I could, wary of the rough bits of the track.

The track after the road is better, smoother and well formed. It's here I reckon that the milestones add in that extra kilometer.

A Scottish bumble bee threw his head back and screamed at the forest. Mr Crampy had bitten his thigh.

'Pain is weakness leaving the body' advised another runner. I considered this for the next kilometer but I couldn't get my head around it. As a source of strength or humor it left me unmoved. Meanwhile the ibuprofen, reinforced by a continuous stream of Anglo-Saxon expletives had restored my ankle to a functioning condition.

Down, down, down. That killer descent to the finish. Burning quads. Dicky ankle. Nothing could stop me. I was going to make it.

From Evernote:

Sunday - Softly, softly, catchy monkey.

With a new course and a different set of riders I've been thinking a lot about race strategy. This year it looks like fast riding out to the nuclear test site at Emu then sand after that. The fatback has an advantage on sand, but not the handicap that everyone thinks on the hardpack.

In addition, we have seven fat bike riders including some seriously fit people. While I'd like to win, I won't win soley on fitness or on bike advantage.

Choices in strategy would be go hard at the start and try to stay in contention or to take it easy and ride your own race. Each has pros and cons.

It would be a real shame to loose the entire race on the first day because you went too slow and lost time you could never make up. This could well be the case if the course turns out to be super fast and easy. By contrast if the course is hard and you burn too much on the first day the rest of it will be a ordeal; it might be hard to finish, let alone win.

The second plan is to go slow, look after yourself and ride at your own pace. This has a number of benefits; it's less painful for a start, you keep some energy in reserve to use if things get hard and if they do, your not competing in the early days against people you who fail to complete the course on later days.

Softly, softly is the more intelligent plan, it lacks testosterone but has applies more gray matter. I'll ride my own race, it's just the risk of being left far behind that scares me.

From Evernote:

Known Unknowns

Sitting here waiting for the cab I've set to wondering what it's going to be like. I've done the obligatory Google search for Anne Beadell highway and found an old 2006 Australian Geographic magazine with a map of the area and an article of the nuclear tests that took place in the woomera testing range. Strange to think well be cycling past 'ground zero' for a 10kt nuclear bomb.

Back on the race, what's it going to be like? The 4WD website exploreOz rates the trail 4 out of 5 stars for difficulty. That's the same rating as the Simpson Desert Rig Road. I think the dunes are smaller and the track narrower. After the rain we have had (and there has been some along the Anne Beadell) I think there will be plenty of vegetation that will make the track appear narrower still. This will limit the ability of competitors to do the Indian Scout trick, I.e. get out of a sandy trail and pick your way through the vegetation along the side. If there is sand on the track we'll all have to ride through it.

Corrugations also feature notably in the information I've managed to gather. There are plenty of stories of vehicles limping into Coober Pedy with damage from corrugations. On a fully rigid bike that could be interesting, though the suspension last year didn't really help! Sometimes a bicycle can pick a clear line through corrugations given it's so much thinner than a car. Still, I'm sure they will be a literal pain in the arse.

Weather is the last consideration. The Simpson is famed for it's dust storms. They are what built the dunes in the first place. We had two major storms last year and it was on these that the rest of the field had trouble. The Anne Beadell looks to have more vegetation and better weather so we should see less dust flying. I'm happy with that, especially if it's radioactive dust.

All in all then, what can we guess in foresight that we might know in hindsight? If the race had moved to the road you could quite easily say that the fittest guy with the fastest bike would come first. It hasn't. 600km is a long way off road whichever way you look at it. Add in soft sand and a remote desert location it's going to be tough. Same as last year, I think it's going to the simple things that stop people; not drinking enough, not eating enough, getting a puncture, pumping your tyres too hard.

From Evernote:

Mind over matter

Some people ask 'how did you manage to keep going?'. That's precisely the wrong question to dwell on.

Sure, you might wonder how long you can keep pedaling, how long you can endure the heat, how long you can push through the sand before it stops you but then you're focusing on the negative things, the very things that are going to stop you.

Personally, I like to realize that it's not serious. You can stop anytime you like. Compared with rock climbing, canyoning, mountaineering, caving there are no serious repercussions if you stop.

For example, even hill walking in Scotland incurs onerous liabilities; turn an ankle and you'll need to hope that a member of your party can get out. It can be four hours walk to the nearest road before they can raise the alarm. At best, it will take a couple of hours to mobilize the rescue services then potentially another four hours for them to walk back in. Without the right gear you'll be freezing cold in an hour, hypothermic in the next. Quitting on a Scottish hill will not be more comfortable than walking four hours on a busted ankle. It may actually prove fatal.

Compare that to the Simpson cycle. Quit here and an air-conditioned 4WD will be along shortly. The car contains all of your (likely) desires; water, food, shade, cool. Sling the bike on the roof and relax.

Once you recognize how easy it is to quit, it makes it easier to keep going. You can quit at any second, but have you actually made that choice yet? No? Well, recognizing that there is a certain level of discomfort at the moment, what can you do to help yourself? A sip of water, always a good start. Some food. Good. Have a look around. Is this track you've been riding for the last half hour really the firmest? What about that beautiful clay capped line three feet to your left? Dumkopft. There we go, far better.

Suddenly, you're focused on the things that will get you through.