Alison Johnson, a cornerstone of the admin team who make the GB Cycling Team tick for more years than she cares to remember, moved out of her comfort zone last weekend, spending 24 hours as pit crew for a rider participating in the Twentyfour12 enduro at Newnham Park, near Plymouth.
Needless to say, Newnham was at the centre of one of the apocalyptic deluges which have become the signature of the summer of 2012. Here is Alison’s diary of the weekend.
THURSDAY - time to to get packing
When tongue in cheek a friend said to me a fortnight ago, “if you're in the Plymouth area feel free to drop in for a cuppa”, I had one of those weird "why not?" moments.
Despite living in Manchester and therefore Plymouth being somewhat more than a hop, skip and a jump away, I thought “why don't I?” I’ll go and see what this 24 hour mountain bike racing is all about, but from the uncommitted perspective of a spectator, later to turn groupie and then to be assigned duties involving bottles, and possibly bacon buttie runner.
So in the week which has also seen me travelling out to France to watch a stage finish of the Tour de France and a week in which I've displayed my own not inconsiderable skills in falling off the mountain bike into holly bushes, I find myself packed. Ready.
I'm both apprehensive and excited about Plymouth. I've no idea what's involved in the bottle bitch role, and am hopeful it only requires a once every four hours trip to a water tap and possibly occasional man up talks as the 24 hour soloist starts to waiver in his commitment. I'm excited because after all the years involved in the back rooms of cycling, I'm going out there to something different, to an enduro event.
I’ve spent years immersed in the worlds of road, track and XC. But this endure game is something I am a little in awe of: People who remain not just in the saddle for protracted lengths of time, but also actually race. Yes, race, against the clock, against other riders or against their own demons. In a way I feel I have no place here in the company of such athletes. But I'm also looking forward to some encounters with old friends met in different walks of life, in the guise of Scott from Team Cycleworks. And I'm afraid. Afraid I might too be tempted to one day take part on two wheels. Because what would that make me after so many years in the back office of cycling.
FRIDAY - a day on the road
Friday, the day of travel, dawns wet in the Peak District. As an adopted northerner, however, I hold onto the blind optimism that things down south will be sunny. While this means that I am wearing sandals, pragmatism has ruled over matters of a more serious nature. A two bike decision has been made. Curiously the rider being the most reluctant on this front. But he is being given no wriggle room for possible later excuses. I, after all, have given up a weekend to fill up bottles in a muddy field. A world of no compromise is invoked. There's a lot of stuff though. I am informed nobby nics x 5 will be travelling. I Nod and smile. I understand, I think.
Race food though, this is something I can relate to. Rice puddings seem to be a staple diet and although I am yet to be briefed I understand there are gels and powders which will become my responsibility. I wonder just how badly it would go down if I were to sneak a rice pudding out.
There is a huge amount of stuff to squeeze into the Golf and I'm told the somewhat dirty nature of the camping kit is all the fault of Mountain Mayhem. Having seen photos of the event, this I can excuse.
So a seven hour journey through torrential rain and we hit Plymouth. The journey began with one of those awkward moments where a diplomatic question was posed: "how are you at mechanics?" Being a simple bottle babe I adroitly side stepped the question. Only to be caught with a "how quickly can you change a tyre?" question. Ahh, this I do know the answer to. Being a trails rider, a puncture is generally an opportunity for a chewy bar, a change of clothing, chatting and perhaps the odd snap shot. Succinctly the answer is not fast. Ah. Oh well, I can probably learn.
Into Plymouth and it’s not raining when we get there and we happily pitch a tent next to the 24 hour riders’ pits area where, muddy riders keep returning from a practice loop. They are first scrutinised then interrogated about tyre choices. Mud tyres appears to be the consensus. Mud everything in fact. And I have a Crabbies ginger ale, which is a very fine thing to drink, while around me bikes are built. Should I watch and learn do you suppose?
SATURDAY MORNING - water, water everywhere
I have no words for this kind of wet. Biggest deluge in Plymouth in 100 years so I am unreliably informed. For the site is awash. Awash with vast quantities of water. But also with apprehensive wittering. There is talk of the river crossing being impassable, even talk of the pedestrian bridge being under water and speculation (and water) is rife. Talk includes evocative words such as “desperation”, “cataclysmic”, “biblical”. Personally, I have no words for this level of wet.
Trade stands are all opening with clandestine offers of mud tyres being made in shady places. There are a lot of tyre changes going on. The widely held belief is that this rain simply cannot continue. Chatting with neighbouring Scott he even mentioned changing to fast tyres when it dried out. The Aussie humour and optimism can be confusing.
I did a quick intro to event organiser Martyn Salt who, despite being faced with an interesting challenge with route diversions early doors (the subject of much speculation amongst competitors), exuded some kind of calm or perhaps even confidence. He assured us it would definitely be one to remember. Over beer somewhere warm and dry I assume.
Everything I own is hanging up to dry. Sandals and shorts are the way forward.
SATURDAY AFTERNOON - the race is on
I have an announcement. It is not raining. For now! After two laps some riders are reporting that some sections are not rideable. Others are faring better but all agree it is a gloriously enjoyable mud fest. When you look through the mud, it's a rare rider not smiling, sometimes in that imminent madness way but smiling nonetheless.
Bottle duties being quiet, I've joined my friend Nic who has a similar pit babe job to me. Except she also gets to do stuff with tools. And a jet washer. I am having role envy. Still, she let me help clean Scott's bike while he took the clean one out for a mud bath. He's apparently in medal contention in the 24 hour race but we are just three hours in and anything can happen. The Cycleworks support van is now festooned with my wet clothes. It's who you know ...
I need a job description. A better one.
SATURDAY EVENING - respect is due
Saturday evening 10pm and three bike cleans later let it be known my enthusiasm has not yet completely died. I have, however been promised another cleaning job around midnight and who knows whether that will make me think differently. One of our happy crew is now far happier since he's stopped riding and showered. It was an alarming state of affairs when he arrived racked with sickness, shivering and not making sense. He was carted off to warmer places, namely the showers which are hot and abundant. That makes it one man in, home and safe, one due to finish in two hours and another with 14 still to go. Oh yes, that would be the solo rider I am supporting. Sometimes I question my choices.
The course is drying nicely, getting a little firmer and smugness abounds amongst riders who have made mud both their tyre and clothing of choice.
There is a huge computer screen in the central services area with a constant huddle of people around it. It's on a loop, displaying each category and current placing, laps an lap time. The number of 24 hour soloists is phenomenal and respect is due. I wonder how many will be left in the morning? Talking to the helper for the man in third place, things are apparently getting serious. Competition is not taken lightly and compromises are being made to minimise stopping time but still ensure optimum nutrition and bike maintenance. It's gruelling and horrific what these riders are prepared to do. Again, respect.
SUNDAY MORNING - fight the good fight
Sunday morning dawns dry at Newnham. And like the seasons cyclists, continue to roll past the solo trackside tent. But I am peaceful because my soloist came in at 1.30am destroyed from the inside by his own stomach and from the outside by the cataclysmic (his words not mine) nature of the course. So that was my final bike clean done. 1.30am by the light of the head torch wading in the stream. If you had said to me a month ago this could possibly have any place in my life, well you would have been given one of my “looks”, that’s for sure. Around me in the solo camp area many similar tales are told. It's a war of attrition. The man who broke the unsupported record for cycling the world has retired to his bed. The man who was mountaineering in Alaska two weeks ago is out with tendinitis. Pain and suffering now gradually receding for them. But others are still out there, doing it, waging their own personal wars against an unknown enemy. But, I'm going home.
MONDAY - reflections in mud
Final conclusion. It was wet, really, really wet, and it was muddy, and above all it was brilliant fun. My 24 hour soloist took pride from his placing. There was a similar story for the 12 hour soloist who was also part of our happy camp. I am deeply respectful of the 12 and 24 hour solo riders and also in awe of the team riders who had to take on the job of communications, understanding, responsibility and the kind of attitude which will hold friendships together after the mud is just a memory. Stories abound of adversity; the one which brought the biggest lump to my throat being the men’s team who had expected to race as a foursome and were finally down to a twosome doing the race in memory of one of their team. A true war of attrition, and the finishers and competitors regardless of final position were 100% amazing.
In a biased kind of a way, my congrats must also surely go out to my British Cycling colleague Dan Small for his 3rd place in the 12 hour solo and to the man on the pitch next door, Sean Wratten for his 3rd place in the solo vets. This one is dear to my heart as his mechanic support opened my beer using only his teeth. It was really cool to see these two working together as something like a professional partnership, despite the mechanic being simply a neighbour and riding mate. They were a well oiled machine of rider and mechanic. It opened my eyes to the way an enduro race challenges and strengthens a friendship. Proper mates.
My thanks go to Team Cycleworks pit support (Nicola) for showing me the most important bits of the bike to get clean, which given the five bike cleans during the course of 13 hours was kind of invaluable. And to Mark, the mechanic supporting John Helmore (3rd in the 24 hour solo category) for doing the tubeless tyre change thing. It’s worth noting that associating with me will either get you a DNF or a 3rd place. Sorry about that.
And everyone who slogged their way through even just a lap is a hero in my dewy and tired eyes.
