This Race Report has been provided by MarathonMTB.com Elite Rider Graeme Arnott.
Last weekend we headed into convict country for the DirtWorks 100 at St Albans. This area to the north west of Sydney is on the Great North Road build by convicts in the early 1800s to connect Sydney with the Hunter Valley. In a number of spots along the race track if you look off into the bush you can see overgrown remnants of beautifully crafted sandstone retaining walls and drainage culverts. The fact that this area today looks, I imagine, pretty much as it did back in 1830 demonstrates just how rugged the hills rimming the McDonald and Hawkesbury Rivers here are. There are no Lego-land housing developments out here, just the St Albans pub (staging area for the race start/finish), a couple of houses, no mobile coverage and a dirt road in.
Not many people would say that they love this race. Some hate it. My first MTB marathon was this very race in its inaugural year. I went down with my brother and one of our mates from whom I borrowed a bike. I broke the chain about halfway in. My brother blew up shortly afterwards and after the long drag home, on reaching the car, in a spectacular display, threw his bike into the Lantana and vowed never to return. He is in the hater camp. I am not, but neither am I ready to love it. This race has grown on me over time and each year I can’t let the sand, rocks and relentless uphill pinches beat me via forfeit. I have to take it on. It is a hard course for the determined driver and if you are tough and keep your body and machine together, the resulting satisfaction at the finish line is well worth it. The course and I are almost square now. Snapped chain, buckled wheel, broken seat were three years; versus successful completion this year and last.
It was wet this time around. The rain in Sydney had been pretty consistent and heavy in the days leading up. I was worried about my bike. I thought about building up an old one but didn’t have time, nor a full set of parts behind the lounge or under the bed. In the end it was OK. The perennial puddles were a bit bigger but the rocks and sand drained pretty well.
When I talk about stupid-o-clock start times, this is the race I have in my mind. This pushes this race towards the “hate” category. Race start is 7am. It is May. It is cold and dark. And damp and foggy. The start time becomes a factor in race strategy. Some like to get up at 3:30am and drive to the start from Sydney. Others make a weekend of it and set up elaborate shanty town accommodation for a couple of days. I prefer, along with a few other wise souls, to drive out the night before the race in a suitable vehicle (ie station wagon or ute) and roll out the sleeping bag or swag in the back, have a good night’s sleep, wake at a more sensible hour (5:30), and prepare at comparative leisure. Packup is fast and efficient.
The race pretty much played out pretty much to formula in terms of the overall, but curiously I was better on the sections than I am normally worse on and worse on the sections that I am normally better on. We were released from the start in a modest sized bunch into the fog. Everything always stays together on the road section. Someone hit the deck in the mist at one point but we rode on. I think they got up. It’s way too early to be friendly and considerate at that hour. Towards the end of the road there is always a Paris Roubaix style rush to the cobbles; although in the case of DirtWorks it is a rush to the double track leading up to the climb. 1km of leg and heart burn later the race order is normally set for the remainder of the race. It was no different this time. Flemming and Mather powered over the top and rode away with the race. I struggled up. Normally I like the climb, but not this time.
I pressed on into the dead track with Sir Nick, Mike and a few others before we reached the dreaded rock section. A chain gang formed with Sir Nick at the front dragging us through, shackled together. Strangely I enjoyed this part. Normally I just bang through and ricochet from rock to rock and come out the other end feeling like a peach in a clothes dryer. Nick is a smooth power house and set a cracking pace. I concentrated hard and held on for grim death as we snaked up and down over boulders and rock ledges and dodged in and out of trees and around craters overflowing with water. I was very satisfied with myself at the end of the rocks section as I looked around and saw some broken and empty shackles trailing in the dirt but mine still attached to the remnant lead group.
I didn’t fall in the river. Everyone loves, but secretly fears the canoe bridge. Eyes up, power on!
I finished in a group of four. We crossed the line in gentlemanly fashion side by side. We had slyly tested each other on the run home but no one was going to be shaken and the war was against the course at that stage not each other.
After a nice lunch and post race catch-up with the MarathonMTB crew and a few of the nice guys of Australian mountain biking, Crafty handed out the prizes along with a bit of heckling to Ben Mather, Matt Flemming and Shaun Lewis in our category. As always these guys rode impressively well. I was ninth and have to admit that I enjoyed this year’s edition. Even the ferry ride out was not bad. Love may just be around the corner!