I am on Narrowneck peninsula on a crisp autumn day, spinning away on the treadlie at an altitude of just over 1200 metres above sea level (around 3600 pre metric feet). As I burn up my body’s fuel and air supply, that age old question comes flying back into my head – how come some days you can ride hills, while some days you just can’t?!

Matt is in front of me, not even looking like he needs a rest – the whippet! Keith follows him eagerly to the top of the next rise as I curse the dickheads who arrange the placement of waterbars right at the summit – you know, just where the track starts to level out. It’s all too much on this particular ascent and I give up in frustration with the pointy end of the seat jabbing me in the arse and too much suspension bob from the steep, loose surface – they can have the heart attack, not me; I’m walking this one!

So while I take the duallie for “walkie’s” and curse those who actually seem to *enjoy* riding *up* hills, I conjure up some of the maybe-not-so-profound reasons for my seemingly lacklustre performance. Getting older might be a factor but it isn’t necessarily at the top of the list. How many younger dudes do you remember whipping past that really made you think should be doing a hell of a lot better than you?

Last time I checked, my biorhythm chart looked fine. No energy cycles flowing low and out the window here. Hmm, maybe it’s all the stress from the day job just dragging me down – naaah, that’s one thing I *know* for sure that melts away when I am out on the bike in the bush!

Crap diets and poor hydration might be one of the gremlins that lurk at the start of any climb, jumping onto your daypack like a leach that sucks out energy instead of blood. A week of skipped lunches, missed dinner on a couple of nights, followed up by beer and pizza the night before riding just might not help cut it here. Whatever happened to the carbohydrate loading, the bananas, the power bars (mmmm, used to like those Clif Bars), gels and sports drinks?? Most sane riders know that their treadlies just won’t run without the right octane intake to fire those nerve impulses controlling leg muscles. And a litre of water an hour – pffft, I’d be lucky to have consumed a cup!

And what about fitness, I ask myself as I amble up over the next water bar. Fitness seems to have a direct relationship to ride expectations. Pick a ride that’s too long, too hard (or in summer – too hot) and if your fitness doesn’t cross match, then you’ve got troubles. After allowing life to denude us of riding at times, it’s easy for riders to forget that you can’t always pick up where you left off. Regular riding and training are the obvious answers here, but sometimes life has other plans. A growing number of dirt riders are turning to road schmoad hacks to increase endurance and strength training, but be buggered if that particular sacrifice is something that suits every mtb’er!

As the afternoon sun bounces back off the top tube paintwork, I spare a thought for the condition of the bike and how it contributes to the flow of the ride. Chains refusing to jump off the middle ring to granny, or rear clusters spitting the chain up and down like an automatic 1963 Valiant just wont lead to everlasting hill climbing bliss. My rig is reasonably well maintained and serviced, but every now and again the drive train nasties still come out to play. It pays dividends not to be a scrooge when it comes to replacing worn rings, cassettes, front and rear mech’s, chains, cables and shifters *before* they become a reason to pick the bike up and throw it off the track in disgust.

Like good bike service habits, good gear shifting takes a little time to master. Nodding off in la-la land just as you cruise into the start of a monster climb in 27th cog may not be the best place to then start thinking about crunching down through the straining gears. How sweet it is when the pre-emptive ability to read the right gear for the terrain ahead just seems to help lift you and the bike over a rise at a synergistic cadence! None of this is my particular problem now though, as my Shimano shoes get a little more of the metal worn away from the cleats as I step on crunchy sandstone and my Achilles tendon stretches more than it should.

At least my tyres seem to suit the track conditions today. The 2.6-inch Moto raptors with around 35 psi have adhered to the dirt as I get back on the saddle. One of my mates likes to run skinnier xc tyres with up to 65 psi and for the life of me I don’t know how he manages to stop the tyres ricocheting from corner to corner – or better still, keep traction when he slaps the bike upwards. It can be such a personal thing to choose the right rubber, but it can make such a difference to your chances of getting it up (…the bike, uphill, that is).

So as my heart rate starts to level out like the falling gauges at a hydro-electricity plant after the floodgates are closed, my musings about the art of hill climbing become startlingly clear. Of course! This *has* to be it!! First, God made cross-country riders, then he made down hillers. But then, saving the best for last, he made another category of riders just for people like me – “phree” riding, for totally phat Extreme Free Riding Dudes who don’t really have a clue what this uphill caper is all about!!! It makes you laugh your head off really, as all I want to do is ride and yet sometimes, we can over analyse and categorise things to bits.

Another long hill looms in the near distance. I shrug my shoulders and know its gonna hurt. But then, a really sweet smile of satisfaction comes to my face as I knuckle down, spin like mad, slide forward on the seat, start attacking the hill and do it all over again.

Do your thing!
Hodgie

To have a Monday away from work; free from the meaningless banter of cretins who failed their shoelace tying lessons at five years of age, free from the babble of predictable obstructive dialogue from those staff types and client people who couldn’t recognise a well formed single track if they tripped over it. Yes finally, to see a day of real life poking it’s way out of the usual miserable working day week, like the shy sun peeking out from behind the clouds on a winter’s day……….

Actually, life *is* usually pretty good, although the last few years have had their ups and downs, which have interferred rather rudely with our limited chances to spin away on the treadlies. Today was one of those days where simple pleasures came back to us and made us smile with the realisation that our load may be gradually easing.

We had a great ride down the Oaks today – a crystal clear, ambient autumn day. Helen was strong on all the climbs and looked really happy in herself. Her smile said it all as she rode beside me along various parts of the track: sharing the simple pleasure of spinning away together on an old favourite ride that is alive with great memories.

On the track by ourselves, we weren’t bothered by anyone – we could pick our pace and line and felt totally immersed in each other’s company. We marvelled at the new views that came across our gaze, courtesy of the recent fires, and saw trackside rock formations that were once hidden by a wall of tangled greenery. Peering up from under our helmet visors, we saw not a single cloud obscuring the blue atmosphere.

Our pace was better than usual, with no stops at the Circles, the forgotten hill after Toby’s Glen, nor the hill climb after Redwire. I walked a couple of steep sections that I can normally ride and will adapt to again with the return of bike fitness. While I *should* curse the six inches of travel at play on the AC2, as it bobs and sucks my energy on each pedal stroke up any hill, today the down hills made up for it.

I got loose on the entry to the BMX downhill, with my rear end slapping away under way too soft damping, but got hooting into the revised geometry of the sandy left hander at the bottom just the same. Redwire Saddle was just awesome today! After dabbling with the preload and a quick turn of the compression damping, the AC2 was back in fine form and gave a ride down Redwire that seemed to just shred, staying off brakes and keeping perfectly on the chosen line.

Getting down the long hill to the Oaks gate was a blast. The entry onto the hump has definitely washed out but is handled easily with a short tug upwards on the bar just at entry. A moment of compression from the rear and the bike springs forward out and over the hump like a startled racehorse, jumping from the gates. We were then off and racing along the fast curves into the left hander of Hodgie’s (Nearly) Elbow, the site of a nasty but frantically recovered front end slide one fast night, braking earlier this time to try a different drive out from the corner.

The spin along the rest of the way to the gate gets us up to our old top speeds. Legs pumping away in 27th cog, pushing maximal heart rate as lungs squish air in and out in unison with the long travel Psylo’s. Punching just that little bit extra and staying off the brakes the whole way down to the Oaks gate is all that is needed for that Cheshire cat grin to make it’s way back onto work hardened faces.

The new sections of single track are something that may need getting used to though. We found the last section that now bypasses the bitumen, joining up with the big dropoff on Little Moab was a mixed thing – neither good, nor really that bad, although the short technical climb just before the new track meets old could be easily diverted to make the detour more flowing. My knee slammed into the bars as I lost speed in too big a gear just at the top of the short rise, bringing a squirt of blood to remind me of appropriate gear selections in future!

A sublime day just being out there. Not so yesterday – the Ranger we saw at the gate told us that 238 riders passed him by at the Glenbrook exit yesterday. 166, says the Ranger, was the previous record. Ahhhh, you could jst love this place to death.

Hodgie

The Anderson’s and Oaks fire trails are both classic Blue Mountains rides, and the Oaks is a particularly popular ride for beginners and experienced riders alike. Both rides involve catching a train up into the mountains and then taking advantage of the 400m difference in altitude between the start and finish of each ride. Anderson’s runs from Wentworth Falls to Woodford, and the Oaks from Woodford to Glenbrook. For this reason, the two rides are sometimes strung together to form a reasonably long day ride of about 61km, Anderson’s being 33km and the Oaks 28km. Anderson’s includes a very steep descent to Bedford Creek of around 200m, and an equally steep climb up the other side.

It was on a ride when we rode from Glenbrook to Woodford up the Oaks and then back down again that the idea of going all the way to Wentworth Falls and back was first jokingly suggested. At the time it seemed like a crazy idea, but after a bit of reflection I decided that I was up to the challenge. I advertised the ride in the MTB-OZ emailing list, and a group of five fit, well prepared, experienced riders was formed. I also received a few emails saying that we were lunatics.

The Ride

The day started early. I dragged myself out of bed at 5am after about 4 hours of sleep, got ready and left at 5:40 to pick up Dave, then we headed off into the mountains. At 7 we arrived at Glenbrook station car park, where Kevin was waiting. The weather was perfect. Cool and overcast, though it looked like it wouldn’t actually rain.

A large group was getting ready to catch the train up to Wentworth Falls, and when Kevin said that we were riding up there they suggested the other direction was better. I’m not sure they believed him when he said that we would come back down the same way when we got there.

After waiting a while for the other two riders, Kevin, Dave and I left at about 7:30. We kept up a cruisy pace along the Oaks, deciding to skip the singletrack which runs alongside the firetrail for about 7km. We passed an incredible number of people riding the other way. I lost count, but Dave assures me that there were 54 of them in all. Despite riding well within our limits, we made good progress and arrived at Woodford after about 2.25 hours.

We stopped here to refill our water at the station. We were all surprised at how little water we had drunk, and so I resolved to make sure I stayed hydrated. We headed off again at about 10am. When we reached the gate at the turn off to Bedford Creek we saw the large group which had been at Glenbrook. The downhill to the creek was fun, but this was offset somewhat by the knowledge that we would have to climb up it later in the day.

At the creek Kevin rode through both crossings, while Dave and I picked our way across, deciding that doing a further 80km with wet feet wouldn’t be much fun. Kevin regretted riding through as he got water in his rim, and this was making a constant sloshing noise. The steep climb out of the creek was a bastard, and the knowledge that at the top we were still lower than Woodford didn’t help. The firetrail undulated for a while, before becoming a constant uphill.

By the time we reached the locked gate at the turn off to Kings Tableland Road it had started raining lightly. This made the long slog even more unpleasant. It was along this stretch that the constant sloshing from Kevin’s rims was starting to affect him. He suggested that it would be a good idea to make tyres which could be filled with water rather than air.

We eventually reached the sealed road, marking 6km to Wentworth Falls. Although the tar was easier to ride on, it was still uphill. After what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at the town at 1:00. It felt a lot longer than 3 hours since we had left Woodford. We had lunch here, and while we were eating the weather deteriorated, and the rain started to fall quite hard.

The train was looking inviting, but we resisted the urge, donned jackets and headed off into the rain at 1:45. Funnily enough, the riding was much easier in this direction. The rain eased off, and by the turn off it had stopped. When we reached the undulating section Dave surged ahead, causing Kevin and I to wonder just what he had been taking. It wasn’t too long before we reached the big downhill.

The combination of the recently graded track and our opportunity to study all of the corners at low speed on the way up made for a fast trip down. At one waterbar Kevin was ahead. He took air off it, then slowed down and looked back towards me. I also took some air and then realised why Kevin was looking back as I watched my rear wheel land about six inches from a red-bellied black snake. Dave, who was up ahead, hadn’t seen it.

Once again we crossed the creek. I managed to keep my feet more or less dry, while Kevin rode through both crossings, and Dave rode through the second. The climb up was hell, but we all rode it, taking a couple of stops to catch our breath. The rest of the hills back to Woodford were nasty, but doable. We got there at about 4:10.

Determined not to allow ourselves to give in, we stayed here long enough to check our water, before heading off at 4:15. The first 12km of undulating fire trail to the helipad is usually fairly easy, but this time around it felt like it was the longest 12km of my life. Once again Dave surged ahead, while Kevin and I took our time.

While stopped at the helipad, which marks the beginning of the 15km downhill to the weir at Glenbrook, we were passed by a group of three riders. Forgetting that we had by this stage done more than 100km of riding and 2400m of climbing, Dave and I gave them a bit of a head start, then decided to chase after them. I caught up to them on the first steeper section before deciding to cruise down for the straighter, more level bit. Dave caught up and passed them.

At the picnic ground halfway along the downhill we pointed out the singletrack to them and went down the road. One of them was absolutely flying, and we could see him darting through the trees. I decided that I would keep my pedalling to the minimum as my legs were bitterly complaining, and so I made relatively slow progress down the road. At the weir I just couldn’t be bothered keeping my feet dry any longer, and rode straight through.

We all managed to ride up the steep hill from the weir, grinding away in granny gear. Having come all this way, I was determined not to give in. At 6pm we rolled into the car park, absolutely exhausted but at the same time elated. We’ve proved that it was possible, but I’m not sure if I’d do it again.

Statistics:
Riders: 3
No-shows: 2
Distance: 121km
Climbing: 2500m
Time: 10.5 hours total, 8 hours riding
No. of mechanicals: 0
No. of flats: 0