What is this thing ‘ultra’ I see it all the time, ‘ultra cleaning’ ‘ultra investment’ how about ‘ultra painfull’ ? Yep ULTRA, never before has such a teeny word held such truth, given my sponsors don’t relish my generally ultra colourful language can I just say when MTN National MTB Series organise one prepare for an ultra ass kicking, some ultra scenery and huge honking ultra helpings of uber gutsy riding!
When you read that eventual winner Jacques Rossouw (Fedgroup – ITEC Connect) decimated most life on the mountain with a thunderous 4:58:58 you will be forgiven in thinking ‘hey thats the same time it takes me to do my Sunday club run’ Here I need to slap you upside the cranium, do you even understand how good this was?
Let me paint you a picture. For most of us lining up at Barberton you are pondering one thing, how bad can it be, there’s not even that many of us, oh blessed hindsight. See the clever folk are doing the Marathon, the 75km race and logical mountain biking distance with all the challenge and hardships of what one would generally associate with all things knobbly tired. Or of course some of us are doing the 30km, optimizing time spent with the family by chucking in a blast through the bundu at warp 5 then having a beer and nursing a sore hide and possible a thorn bloodied arm, then recounting your tale of glory to deaf ears.
Calm before the storm - race central. Photo: Stu Spies
But no, some of us are hell bent on giving the big pony a ride! 7am semi sharp (African clocks work just most of them are stolen KIDDING sorry) the gun goes, thankfully neutral sections have replaced the 2006 utter break-neck carnage out of the town. I slip into regimented handlebar to butt cheek roadie format, aaah tap tap tap, nothing like a morning pedal. Flag, down. Little MTN chap seems to see something he needs to chase, the front 30 riders feel the same way, oh right that old high speed road to dirt chiccane, not everything has changed since 2006.
Furious flat out dust blindness, into the river bed and we’re away, my initial fear of a hell for leather pace is assured and the leaders want shot of us clingons sharpish! I need recovery, already past my special ‘something gonna pop’ limit. I’m fighting tooth and nail to hold anyones wheel – BUGGER. Alone, practically wheezing at the effort, dammit, consolidate Spies this is part of the plan this is part of the OH SHUT UP BRAIN!
Sulking, I fight to find a comfortable acceptable pace as the first climb digs deep and the filming chopper reminds me of how big the gap is growing.
Miserable, bastard mountain bikes, sweat soaked top tube and this is all of 20minutes in! ‘Get a grip man, the plan is training, enjoyment, experience right?’ I shake off the mood, God this place is beautiful, finally I latch onto a wheel or two. See, it’s not so bad, I set about pace setting, eating and ultimately checking where the legs are.
The profile promised a long enjoyable climb followed by a leisurely descent then another wondrous climb up to heaven, then….oh rubbish! The profile was up like a fork in your eye on climb one, long, infinite, searing, then down like a lemming off a cliff face, and through around 20 million stream crossings. Then just to make the joke crueler, back up to what must have been the surface of the sun, because I could literally feel the polystyrene in my helmet melting, then yes, back down through those 20 million streams again, this was like a slow motion nose bleed!
After feeling a twinge of cramp I figure this day has gone to pot, I really wanted to hold wheels longer and the over exertion was playing itself out in ways only a cyclist knows. Spasm! Cramp! Grit teeth, pedal AAAARG GOD! I bash my legs ‘wake UP you sons of ****’s!’ Frustration literally tipping over, amazing how this becomes your entire world and this is a total calamity? The legs recover, right in time for me to see the sign to turn right and start my second loop, not in time for me to chicken out, in the words of Barney Rubble, I HTFU and got going!
After latching onto 3 guys, I’m pretty sure the one being Gerard Dirks an old adversary who I recognized by the insane calf muscles touching his seat tube and as he ground away. I managed to find my brain again and really enjoyed the last 30km. Crossing the line to a chorus of quad cramps and decimation and a 6:35 (a mere 1:30hrs behind Roussow) I collapse under the drinks tent, not often is it nicer to be on the floor than the bike, shaking my shell shocked head I pull myself together and drag myself up to see my pop who’s chillaxing with an ice cream.
‘That was unbelievable dad’.
‘I want my ice-cream’.
Aaah the safe zone.
I’m still shaking my head, it was a hard old day, superbly organized and supremely encouraging to see the depth and more importantly the recognition riders are getting out here on the southern tip. Well done to every nutcase who rode, hugely impressed by the speed of the ladies doing the 75km (please don’t read that as some sexist condescension) they absolutely hooned passed our groupetto leaving us a dust cloud and me thinking how great it will be to see more of our South African ladies taking on Europe this year, superb riding! For me now, the plan is to rest, rethink and get ready to party, Tulbach here we come!