Graeme Arnott is a member of the MarathonMTB.com Race Team.
After the water torture of last year, this years’ tests were more varied but only marginally less traumatising. Here’s how each was administered to me.
Shock treatment first up. 7am start. Off the start line, from frozen to heart rate maximum in 20 seconds. I was in contact with the lead group for the first few kilometres along the fire road until the inevitable log jam into the first single track. Elbows out in a show of aggression saved me a few places but the first split was made. Second group for me.
Solitary confinement. My early group busted up not long after it was formed. I’d been left behind by two but also left a few behind myself. Alone, I was determined not to get caught by those behind again, just to go forwards. This was probably stupid. It was early days and they weren’t far behind, but I was scared of having to contend with more riders again. The fear of them closing in spurred me on. Every time a faltered on the single track, I concentrated harder, trying not to brake and to cut through the corners on a tidy line.
On the rack. The dreaded paddock section. The organisers say that they are sorry they have to put in the paddock section, but it is inevitable to link the sections of sweet single track together. Rubbish. I know they are out there preparing it for weeks in advance with the sheep’s foot roller in order to get the perfect roughness that will shake your teeth out no matter what speed you go. Coming off the road I saw another figure up ahead. I homed in and caught up to Dion. He had no sympathy for my plight whatsoever. Tightening the tension on the rack, he smashed out the reaches along the fence line like a man possessed. All I could do was hold on for dear life and curse his suspension going up and down while my hard tail destroyed mine.
Death row. The paddock section, the KOM, more single track, all a blur aboard the D-train. When the engine finally slowed, I was delivered to death row. The untimed section through the ‘burbs. This was eerie. We pedalled through at a cautious pace coming across a straggling 50k rider here and there, but not much else. Everyone and everything – riders, residents, rodents – seemed to have disappeared. Dion pulled off on a side street to get some water but I rode on. I had no idea of the time, not having a cycle computer or watch, and didn’t want to miss the 45min cut off.
Whipping session. Through the gates and back on the timed course. Looking at the split times afterwards it took me about 20 minutes to get through the untimed section. Everyone else seemed to use all of their available time to go to the pub, have a pie or Chicko roll, or do some shopping. I was back on the course as third on the track having passed, but not seen, the contenders ahead of me. The realisation hit me when, after passing the final feed station, I was hit by a cat-o-nine tails. It had lost a few of its tails from inflicting pain on some other poor individual, but six riders stormed past me – Pete Hatton, Dylan Cooper and accompanying power houses. I grabbed on with my fingernails and made use of the tornado while I could. Cooper was on the front and was either very keen to test out his rivals before Stromlo or he had had too much fighting juice at the pub and didn’t know what he was doing. I held on half way to Stromlo before the pain of the whipping was too much and I had to relent.
Drugged. The Stromlo loop in a daze. In a final effort to inflict the ultimate punishment, the extended Stromlo loop was administered. By the last 15ks I was pretty well spent. Up was OK. Not super fast, not always on the track, but I got up. Once up I thought falsely that it would be all down. No. The outer loop heads off into the Canberra wastelands before meandering tortuously back. I lost most time here in a lethargic dream state. The trees deliberately hit me in the face. The rocks conspired against me and built themselves into walls. The berms retracted into the earth with some even reversing their camber.
Clemency. I was almost overcome on my way back from the salt pan when suddenly the track turned to tarmac, smooth as silk. Then bright colours. Noise. The finish. Thirteenth. I’d cheated death.
I’m glad to see AROC had some luck with the weather and came back again this year to put this event on. Canberra has some of the best riding around and the idea of an enduro linking all of the areas together always had the promise of being an awesome event. This year really showed how good a race it is. Not easy, but a good race never is in my book. It’s in my calendar for next year.