Crank It Cycles

K2 - Coromandel Peninsula  27.10.2007

After years of writing from the pro peloton, a view from behind...

These days I'm a transport planner and co-proprietor of Crank It Cycles.  700 km training weeks have given way to the daily 7km commute to work and occasional rides with the local road or MTB club.  I've entered a few road events but my spindly, hairy legs just don't keep pace with my still youthful enthusiasm for riding hard.  The mind says "go now and I'll make the break!" but upon getting in a move there isn't a hope of taking a pull or even lasting the distance in the slipstream.  You'd think twenty years of racing would leave me with some muscle memory, but honestly it only took about three months to go from pro to slow.  

Getting the shop started was grueling slave labour, but now it's humming along with great staff and loyal clientele so getting away for a weekend is doable.  When my wife, Dee Dee, announced she was going to Hawaii for a veterinary ophthalmology conference and a bit of scuba diving, I began casting about for something to do.  Despite having two prepaid glider lessons sitting in the wings, unsurprisingly the bicycle came first to my one track mind.  With zero forethought to such niceties as "training" I logged onto the K2 website and brought up the registration page.  Hmm- click this box for "race" and this box for "ride".  The cursor blinked away on "ride", forefinger quivering over the clicker.  Suddenly the cursor darted to "race" and before I knew it, the damn thing was ticked and sent.  ARGGHH!  WHAT came over me?  Last time I did K2, I was a fit professional rider....

John and local rider Josh Brown riding in K2

Invited down by NZ star cyclist and former teammate Glen Mitchell for the Southland Tour and accompanied by my beloved, I alighted from the plane jet lagged and at the tail end of a three week break from cycling.  Glenno asked if I was up for a little fun ride.  The name of the event should have tipped me off.  The K2 is named after the town of Kuaotunu on the wild eastern coastline of the Coromandel Peninsula. In Maori, the name Kuaotunu means “to inspire fear in young animals”.  The 2 represents the almost 200km that the ride will cover.   The spectacularly scenic ride is billed as the toughest one day cycle challenge in the Southern Hemisphere and traverses tropical forest, pacific coastlines, rural farmland and the Pohutukawa coastline of the Hauraki Gulf.  As is typical of amateur racing, we were out of the blocks like we were shot from a cannon, riding our bikes like they were stolen, chased by a road raging semi truck driver, whatever.  After ten clicks it was down to three guys from the same team: Glen, Scott Guyton and I.  They had to wait for me as the punishing course exacted every iota of glycogen from my under trained muscles.  With admirable team spirit, Glen and Scott decided that we would cross the finish line together and I still appreciate seeing my name along with these two top Kiwi riders in the record books.  It was this memory that must have taken control of the cursor…

The screen refreshed with an entry confirmation.  Next I thought of my last visit to the K2.  In 2006 I was asked give a presentation for Polar heart rate monitors the night before the event.  You can’t drive twelve hours and not ride, I figured.  With zip for training, Dee Dee and I tackled the K1 (100km) version on our tandem.  It was as always a pleasure and even when we were beset by cramps and fatigue it was a real sense of accomplishment to get around the course without having to walk any of it.  Certainly the tandem was severely underpowered compared to its maiden voyage on our honeymoon in Greece, just a few weeks after winning my first race in Europe and agreeing to ride for US Postal Service (but that’s another story). 

My trip planning for this year’s endeavour is totally ad-hoc.  After a frantically busy day in the shop I don’t climb off my cycle at home until 7:30pm.  After dinner alone I sit contemplatively looking at half-packed bag and wonder how nuts it would be to try to do this.  Mechanically I go through last minute preparations, vacillating between staying or going.  Only my client and friend, ex basketball pro and now NZ Postie Callum Brock’s encouraging texts get me to finally commit.  After swinging by the shop to pick up a set of test Bontrager Race X Lite wheels, I am finally on the road at 8:30 with six hours to drive.  Yep,  I’ve gone full circle- in 1986 I was sleeping in the back of my car and here I am again…embarking on a trip so poorly planned and ad-hoc that the back of a clapped out Alfa Romeo will be my bed for the pre race snooze.  

At 2:30am I roll into the campsite and pull into an open space.  Toss the bike, wheels and luggage in front seats and jump in the back for a 3 ½ hour nap.  I gradually awaken to the soothing sound of a babbling stream not five metres from the car windows.  Who needs a made in a sweatshop gizmo playing tinny “soothing sounds” when you’ve got the natural world, eh? 

It’s the first time I’ve pulled on a lycra cycling kit in about two months.  Rolling to the start I’m so nervous that I’m barely aware of the headwind which would prove to be so crucial later in the day, as well as the light rain falling.  After a few years away from the scene I’m basically incognito, which is just peachy.

The K2 parcours is littered with tough climbs and we don’t have to wait long after the depart to encounter the first.  I start the hill right at the front of the bunch which is the only thing that saves me, as part way up the hill a few jokers can’t contain themselves with 175km still to go.  I’m dropped but still in the follow cars over the top.  I never thought I was much of a descender…perhaps I didn’t need to be.  I could hold my own in the pro peloton but now I’m like a man possessed and I’ve caught back up before the road levels out.  This scenario replays for the first 100km over numerous rated climbs (even a Hors Categorie, the toughest of the day) until finally my spindly legs cannot generate another watt and I’m convincingly dropped as we round a corner and view a monster of a hill which is cruelly only marked as a Category 3.  There are only about 25 guys left of the original 58, and I should be happy that I’ve lasted halfway but now there is a major headwind and instead of pacing myself I’ve gone to exhaustion early.  Teeth gritted, head hung low and cocked sideways, eyes flicking between the road verge and the spot 1cm ahead of my front wheel…I’m reminded of the trademark climbing style of American cycling legend Kent Bostick.  Why did I ever make fun of his physical manifestation of determination?  Nearing the top it looks pretty unlikely I’ll get back on unless the sole other dude who has been dropped sits up immediately to wait for me so we can chase on the descent together.  Futilely, he tries to go it alone.

Ten minutes later I’m still alone, without a single rider in view as far as the eye can see down the valley behind.  A transition and feed zone materializes through the shimmering heat coming off the pavement.   Despite suffering, it’s also very pleasant to finally feel hot after eons of cold winds in Palmerston North.  I’d like to complete the distance but it seems ridiculous.  My average speed has dropped to a mere 20 km/h with 80km to go…I can finally understand all my customers and all those who have asked me over the years “don’t you get a sore butt?” Well, riding 400-700 km a week since I was 15 meant that I never did get that sore.  Today however I cannot contemplate another four hours in the saddle.  I begin looking for a promising vehicle to catch a ride to the finish.  Just as I’m about to unclip, the volunteers begin to clap.  Arghh!  Why did you have to do that, ma’am?  Onward then. 

Another ten minutes passes and all of a sudden the odd spectator starts to clap yet they aren’t looking at me.  Huh?  A glance round and the mystery is solved, there’s a dozen guys charging up the hill behind me! I’d thought nobody else would still be trying to finish, but this could be a stroke of luck.  Somebody to draft, as long as I can get to the top of the hill before they blitz past me.  They rocket past me while still climbing, but after having chugged food and drink for the past twenty minutes since I was dropped, my legs are actually turning a bit better and I can just hold the last guy’s wheel over the top. 

For the next hour and a half we average close to 40 km/h into the headwind, swapping pulls smoothly and I’m tired but rejuvenated at the same time.  What a rush to feel some of the same sensations that I lived with day in and day out for most of my adult life…Our group swells as we pick up riders dropped by the hard charging leaders, including my old Southland Tour lieutenant Tim Gudsell, now of vaunted Europro team Francais de Jeux.  Going into the finish Tim gives me a mock handsling and I dramatically sprint alongside the gung ho riders of our group.  As a pro I never could figure out why people would undertake a potentially dangerous sprint for 25th place,…but as I draw alongside the top five of our group, I’m taken by the urge to sprint for real.  The transformation is complete as the realization sinks in what it means to be a “weekend warrior”.