Taupo Cycle Challenge

Taupo Cycle Challenge

24 November 2012; 153 km

Solo (but staying with Iona, Helen and Andrew2 (riding) and Col and Mandy (not riding))

Most running or cycling events have their own attraction but I’ve never really understood those people that feel the drive to turn up at the same event year after year. Taupo is a little different though, mainly because it’s a fun weekend away with Iona, Col and friends, but it is also iconic (i.e. a great ride, good scenery and well organised).

The story so far …

Iona has done the event more than a handful of times and it sounded like a good day out in 2010 when there was space in their unit for an extra body so I thought I would give it a crack. There was sufficient warning to get a fair bit of training in but then I was silly enough to do the ride on a mountain bike. Admittedly it had aero bars, slicks and I’d removed all superfluous weight (including mud); but it was heavy and resulted in a fairly modest finish time. Still, there is some quiet satisfaction to be gained when you manage to overtake someone on a road bike.

The next year I was toying with going again but a work trip overseas intervened. On returning, three weeks before the race, it was a toss-up whether the necessary level of fitness could be achieved in the time available. However, there was a brand new road bike in the garage so the decision was made that if I could survive a loop over the Akatarawa’s, Paekakariki hill and Ngauranga then I would give it a crack. It turned out I could, so I did.

By the third time, you would think the; it’s-a-good-idea-to-start-training-early penny would have dropped. However it wasn’t to be. Training for the Abel Tasman run then a couple of week’s holiday in Australia meant that it was four weeks out before the road bike got dusted off. The test this time was a 115 km route from Wellington to Tawa via Makara, Moonshine, Whitemans valley and Haywards. Having survived this, an ad-hoc training schedule ensued including a couple more similar rides and riding up Belmont before breakfast for a couple of weeks. This plus a base level of running fitness would have to be enough to get by.

There was also something to prove. Year one was on a MTB so the time wasn’t flash; year two was horribly windy and arriving late for the start meant starting a long way down the chute and completing the ride with slower riders and no useful bunch riding. This year, I aimed to beat the previous time by selecting the appropriate start group (based on expected time) and turning up bright and early.

Getting there …

Extraction from Wellington on a Friday is generally hectic. Normally it is just the Friday traffic and work stuff. This time it is sad to be attending a friends mother's funeral in the morning. However, once the final work commitments are dispensed with I'm free to slap the bike on the rack for the drive north.

The trip is easy going. A brief stop at Foxton to support a friend's sister's cafe, a chat to the police in Taihape (a gentle warning to get supplementary plates as the bike obscures the one on the car); then comes that moment north of Taihape when Ruapehu suddenly bursts into view. It seems unlikely that a mountain can creep up on you but this one does. The day is summer but the mountain is most definitely still winter.

The volcanic plateau is reflecting the gold of the late afternoon sun and the volcanoes lurk spectacularly in the corner of the driver’s eye. There’s a bit of cloud about so it is not possible to tell if Tongariro is still giving off steam after its eruption earlier in the week. There is a whiff of sulphur in one of the gullies but that could be from a more local thermal area.

From Turangi the route joins the final 50 km of the cycle loop. This is an opportunity to study the road and work out where to “pop some gel” tomorrow. The car drifts up Hatepe hill a little more easily than the bike will and I’m in Taupo around 8 pm.

The Acapulco Motel is home for the weekend again. It’s more expensive then we need but very comfortable and the rooms have large spa baths with all the bells and whistles (including disco lights). Iona's friend Helen is doing two laps this year so she and Mandy head to bed early to be up for the 1.30 am race start. She plans to stop in for a rest and feed and Iona will join her for the second loop, sometime between 8 and 9.

On your marks …

Helen has disappeared quietly in the night whilst the rest of us get up at a more civilised hour and quietly go through our own routines. I’m down at the start by 7.30 and have an hour to wait before my group sets off. The morning is cool so I stand in a patch of sun in the chute trying not to think about toilets.

This is the time for ticking off final mental check lists although it’s a bit late if anything has been forgotten. Shirt pockets contain a light jacket, banana, three gels, a one square meal; and on the bike: 2 tubes, repair kit, pump and two water bottles (one with electrolyte). Let’s hope it’s enough.

A former work colleague turns up and we chat briefly. He is a local cyclist and, as well as training on these roads, has done the ride before so pushes up the chute to get into a faster bunch.

And they’re off …

This year I have a simple plan; go out a little harder and try to get some early bunch riding. I bear my mental teeth in anticipation. But from the start it is apparent that I am still a little too far back down the grid. The first part of the course climbs gently but consistently and there is a bit of wind but not too bad. The bunches form but tend to be too slow and break up on the hills. Still, there is enough to lighten the load a little.

There's the usual mix of experience amongst the riders with some making bunch riding very difficult with unpredictable riding styles. Many riders however are pleasant to be around. Around the 40 km mark, head down and in a world of my own: a voice suddenly says from over my shoulder; “you’re on fire!” There is a moment of confusion during which a sluggish mind drags itself back to reality; what could be burning? How did it happen? Do I need to do something?? The voice enlightens me: “you’re cracking along; I’ve been bludging off you for miles!” I reply that I may just call in the favour and he obliges good naturedly.

A number of such alliances form and dissolve along the way but all the way down the spine of the lake any bunch that forms founders on the next hill.

The day is starting to warm up and despite the gentle to firm wind I no longer feel envious of riders that have shirtless sleeves as well as sleeveless shirts (apparently they’re called arm-warmers).

By the way there are a few sobering reminders; an ambulance scrambles past or a drink bottle suddenly appears on the road out of the bunch in front. Bikes lurch, people point and the cry goes up “bottle!” I’m guessing it wouldn’t be fun to catch a front wheel on one. There are also an alarming number of riders repairing punctures.

From about 70 to 90 km there is little bunch riding occurring due to a bit of wind and the last of the real hills. However, after the Waihi down-hill-scream, everyone knows it is basically flat for a long time so cyclists start flocculating into large clumps. This is the first time I have really ridden any distance in a peloton and although it eases the load it is a little intimidating. There is only one moment when I really think someone is going to cause one of those Tour de France style mash ups.

The bunch clips along to Turangi then I take a turn at the front from the SH1 corner. The buggers are quite happy to tag along without sharing the load though, and when we eventually catch another group I get boxed in and soon find myself at the back. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

As already stated, I am not an experienced group rider but have discovered a few things: don’t get stuck behind someone that varies their speed or line (e.g. stands up to stretch their bum or wobbles as they extract goodies from their pockets); if you’re leading and pull up to a slower group, pull wide early unless you want to get boxed in as everyone else streams past; if you’re on the left of an inexperienced bunch you pretty much lose control over your destiny; if people don’t take turns at the front the whole thing slows down …

Anyway, it’s good to ease off in the pack for a while but it’s not quite fast enough so I figure I’ll bide my time then get in with any bunch that breaks away on the Hatepe hill. However, at the first rise around the bluffs the bunch slows a little too much and impatience wins. I nip up the inside, off the front and knock on alone taking the chance for a drink and (at the predetermined point) to suck down a sachet of gel; euphemistically labelled “Lime.” It has the consistency of KY jelly and is relentlessly sticky if you get it anywhere but in your mouth. But it does contain sufficient sugars and other substances to give a boost and stave off the cramps. By now the pelaton has dropped out of sight behind and various landmarks herald the Hatepe Hill.

A few words about Hatepe …

The Hatepe hill is etched in the chronicles of the race. It is not particularly high or steep but it stands on its own and riders often get there in the heat of the day. Being wide and open it has a curiously depressing psychological effect and there are always a few people trudging up with their bikes.

The day is hot and sunny now but I fool myself that the gel is having the advertised effects and crank my way upwards. Near the top you come across the other oddly depressing thing about Hatepe; it doesn’t seem to want to stop, the slope eases and eases and at some indeterminable point it is first slightly flat and then slightly downhill.

The final stages …

From the top you know it's about 20 km to the end and there are only a few small obstacles to overcome. Unfortunately there are no bunches forming so it’s a question of picking off solos and pairs, resting briefly before chasing the next. An Australian keeps company for a while and provides some welcome respite.

The road takes a long easy roll off the top of the hill (oddly it always seems to be a head wind here) then plunges suddenly down to the lake. Aussie and I clip along but the bunch in the distance seems to be doing the same speed. Figuring they'll slow on the airport rise, a bit of effort is applied and sure enough, the stragglers are there to be mopped up on the rise and a large bunch forms as riders drop down into town.

Now there are only two small rises to go and riders abandon any pretence of allowing cars to pass. At the first rise, the bunch slows just enough to slip into the front third for the run up to the next. This is the time to keep well clear of the left. There’s just enough space to squeeze up the yellow middle lines and pull to the front at the brow. There is a little confusion with some slower bikes and I don’t look to see if anyone is on my tail as we head down to the water front.

It seems an awfully long way along motel-mile to the finishing straight. Not keen to be sucked back into the mess of bikes, it is time (as they say) to “leave it all on the road.”

The last few features of the ride flick by: the tiny rise on the water front; increasing numbers of people cheering the riders; the first of the shops; the start of the crowd barriers; the right angle bend into the finishing straight; a bus … “What the #$@%?” … it just manages to lumber out of the way, then it’s the last few hundred meters and, not a moment too soon; the timing strips. The crowd is gratifying generous with its applause for all riders.

The aftermath …

I never quite get used to that little period at the end when you realise it’s all over. There’s the mix of emotions whilst you run the physical checks to see if you’re going to be sick, collapse or otherwise embarrass yourself. Fortunately all systems are go, so I grab some pineapple and an ice block. Someone from Dad’s church introduces himself (Harris?) and I hope that I have observed the necessary social niceties (and that I hadn’t cut him off in the pack).

Taking stock; I’ve eaten half a one-square-meal, a banana, a gel pack and drunk about 1.4L. Not really enough and lucky it was cold for the start. Next time I might carry a little more water; maybe get one of those back-of-seat double bottle holders.

I find the long way back to the motel (i.e. take a wrong turn); fill up the spa bath and stretch cramping legs amongst the bubbles. Mick Jagger urges me to get offa his cloud and I text my satisfaction to all in sundry.

Being the earliest to start I have plenty of time to get clean and wrinkly before Iona texts; firstly that they are at Licorice café (40ish Ks to go) and finally that they’re back.

Helen pulls in and is surprisingly chipper; you wouldn’t think she had even gone around once. However, that is a story that Iona should tell. So over to her …

Iona and Helen’s story …

Helen and I set off at a time unfortunately unremarked by either of us. Dropping in to the Caltex for Helen to swipe her transponder, we proceed round the back streets to join the course at the roundabout on SH1 (or is it still SH1 now that there’s a bypass?).

Helen’s feeling fresh after a shower and breakfast despite having cycled since 1.30am, with only a stop at Turangi for coffee and a banana smoothie (courtesy of Mandy’s delivery service). Having seen the sky lighten as she negotiated Waihi hill, she had the pleasure of sunrising lake views as she powered up the lake side for her first shot at Hatepe.

Now she’s keen to get some miles under the tyres before we hit the main crowds. It’s pretty clear going as we miss any start groups on the first hill and head west past groups of excitable kids and a strange selection of red-clad cheerleaders, obviously from one workplace- maybe it’s their community service plan? The enduro and relay riders take a slightly longer route so we enjoy the relative solitude and the cool morning air on the hills that take us to the highest point of the course in its top western corner. I even have a chance to take the lead for some of the distance.

Re-joining the main route just past the first relay transition we come across the first of many slow bunches and Helen’s impressive overtaking skills come to the fore. Shaming everyone with her yellow enduro cap, she pushes through and past them on every hill, and skims round the outside on the downhills. I can keep up with her easily enough but it requires constant concentration keeping an eye on where she’s up to whilst avoiding the back wheels and wild conversational wobbles of those directly in front of me.

One of the things that makes Taupo such an entertaining ride is the social encounters on the way round. Everyone’s labelled with their name (or at least the one they’ve chosen for the ride) and their domicile. It’s hard to resist the temptation to cry out “George Bryant! Fancy seeing YOU here!” as you pass random strangers. One chap asks if I’m related to Aidan but doesn’t’ want to pursue the conversation further…wonder what THAT’s about?! Helen tries to engage a man riding the same model bike as her in a conversation about it and he resolutely resists engagement. She has more success with a couple of her enduro colleagues, their yellow caps bobbing in companionable unison.

Wishing to avoid the chaos of the halfway transition, we stop in at the drink station just prior to it. Mild chaos reigns, but it’s a quick pit stop to shovel in bananas and pee in the as-yet tolerable portaloos. This spot is famous for our sighting last year of Buck Shelford cruising in then falling over before getting his feet free.

Whizzing by the transition point is made more enjoyable by the slight anxiety about inept relay riders launching themselves like wilderbeests into the fray. Waihi hill is a breeze for Helen the second time round and I lose her near the top. It’s a great run down, with few riders to impede my no-brakes descent. On the flat I annoy an Australian with the noise of my pannier bag and he drops behind to avoid it. The bag has been a source of great amusement to many, getting nearly as many comments as Helen’s enduro status…comments she is well tired of, to the point of considering removing it.

A short breather before the final dash …

The licorice café is a welcome sight; Helen has just started on her coffee having texted Mandy in advance, and mine’s waiting on the table. Andrew2 (Helen’s brother) turns up on his bike soon afterwards and we re-slather ourselves in sunscreen while shovelling coffee and all available food items in. A quick visit to the salubrious loos and we’re off again.

Andrew2 has been tasked with dragging Helen for the last 40 km into Taupo. This soon proves to be needless as Helen starts zipping past any bunch in her way….and there are many. We lose Andrew2 and I manage to keep up by imitating Helen and keeping a weather eye out for vehicles coming up behind. Just before Hatepe I let her go and cruise in the shade of the gum trees while cooling my head.

The hill has its usual littering of walking cyclists and others swerving all over the lane having made ill-advised gear changes. I contemplate asking the Pedal Pushers guys at their usual position halfway up the hill how far ahead Helen is, but am distracted by Andrew2 passing me with a cheery comment. I wish him luck in catching his sister.

Just over the crest of that crest-less hill, Col and Mandy are waving from their park on the side of the road. It’s all pretty much downhill from here but for the seventh year in a row the wind prevents a speedy trip down Hatepe. I manage to get up to 62km/hr but not without having to pedal furiously. The bikes are more spread out now, and it’s easy to pass the single file as we thread into the town and along the waterfront.

A certain camaraderie arises among the riders (at least those that can still speak), and yet again I’m left wondering if I should have perhaps made some effort to “leave it all on the road.” Nah, I like the fact that I can enjoy the views of the lake as the road leads down and round the corner into the chute of shouting. The others are still eating their ice-blocks and I join them with my pineapple before we wend our way through the crowds and back to the hotel.

The shower is somehow more tempting than the whirlpool bath with coloured lights and music, but I think I use just as much water as I try and prise off the layers of sunscreen and sweat. What a great feeling! I make sure to tell Col that if I even mention riding around twice next year, she must remind me that I should not do it….once is enough, and once is a wonderful ride.

Postres …

It’s a happy bunch that convenes for venison stock pot, custard, fruit and a single malt or two after. Bragging rights of course go to Helen, what a legend.

Naturally, bed time is early and most of us have one of those too-knackered-to-sleep-well nights.

The next morning starts early for those that want to watch the rugby. Then we convene at Replete café for what has become a traditional breakfast. The advance guard of one arrives in time to nab the best table and squats there nursing a cup of coffee and glowering at potential table-nappers until the others show up.

All over for another year and the trip home passes quickly: new socks in Taihape, coffee and slice in Foxton and some Swazi tops in Otaki. Finally, a quick nip over Paekak hill with no slow traffic.

Next year? Each year so far I’ve said “maybe” and ended up deciding to go near the last minute. The trouble is that with advancing decrepitude the chance of paring back my time looks slim. Still with a bit more training and a better start bunch … maybe I will come back in 2013.

For the record; my times so far …

2010: 6 hr 07 (MTB)

2011: 5 hr 33 (Windy)

2012: 5 hr 08 (no excuses)