Dirty Warny Recon 2.0 - Rob Chignell
After a late call up to the recon squad, I was on the way to Southern Cross train station in the torrential rain on Friday evening. With a long list of over 40 riders, the numbers were now down to a ‘hard’ 20, which was probably closer to 15 come Saturday morning. The weather forecast of unpredictable rain, a solid westerly wind and lows of 6 degrees through the Otways, enough for many a seasoned rider to question the merits of a 12hr jaunt on the bike. With the alarm set for 0410, the location of our Airbnb 500m from the designated meeting point on the Geelong waterfront should have meant we were way ahead of time for the group roll out at 0455 sharp. What I hadn’t factored in is Steggles deciding to recount in vivid detail one of his races back in the day (circa 1958) over a hastily prepared bowl of quick oats. I would like to elaborate further, but I can’t because it was 4am. What I can tell you is we left the Airbnb at 0456 straight into a 60kmph descent to the waterfront abruptly disrupting the pre-roll group photo and holding up the convoy about to roll out while we jettisoned our numerous frame/saddle bags into one of the support vehicles.
The brief for this ride was to recon the route for the Dirty Warny with the view to getting some promotional footage ahead of the inaugural race on the 5th November. (www.dirtywarrny.com.au - Register Now!) What I quickly realised as we rolled out of Geelong is Mitch’s tempo pace is somewhat different to your average have-a-go Masters rider and by the time we hit the first section of quicksand wet gravel departing Geelong, there were frequent threshold/VO2 efforts to prevent the wheel in front disappearing into the darkness of this ungodly hour. By the time we arrived at Forrest around 2.5hrs in, many chips had been turned to ash, and there was a frantic rush to replenish glycogen before the excitable somewhat elite rider train decided to leave the station. After a hastily devoured ham cheese toasty, I jettisoned my spares bottle in a vain attempt to reduce weight up the climbs, however this weight was easily replaced by the 10 gels I anticipated would be required for the next few hours to Simpson.
As Duncan and Steg’s took to the front departing Forrest, in an attempt to regulate the pace, I finally had a chance to chat to Tim McGrath and quiz him on his weapon of choice; a flat bar, downhill mountain bike. I found Tim to be pleasantly enthusiastic, despite appearing to be close to 90 years of age, which only reinforced hastily formed assessment that he is somewhat insane. As we descended deeper into the Otways, the weather became increasingly cold and moist. Mitch deliberated over which of his 4 jackets would be most suitable for the increasingly inclement conditions, before donning them all ahead of heavy squall that hit crossing one the ridge lines. With the many, many ups through this section of the ride, there were several accompanying gravel descents. With several elite level downhill MTB specialists in the ranks, the pace was hot and at times terrifying for those of us more familiar with the smooth bitumen of Oliver’s Hill. In a vain attempt to fly a flag for the roadies, Steg’s followed Duncan into the long grass, proving that countless years of cycling experience counts for very little if you haven’t developed the basic skills of bike handling around corners. Chapeau to Richie for his next level tail sliding acrobatics, clearly at home in his natural habit.
After several more hours of gyrating over every conceivable type of gravel compound, we arrived in Timboon, a lazy 212km into this epic day out. The mood in the group improved considerably at this point, mainly due to the availability of a deep-fried salty snacks from the takeaway and a much-needed caffeine boost. Heck even the sun came out! Most people perked up as we rolled out onto the trail with the prospect of the remaining k’s on mainly flat gravel & tarmac roads well received at this point. I decided to try and strike up a conversation with El Chapo himself, aka Duncan Murray. Following his deluge of motivational emails, coupled with the timely shaming of the latest withdrawals, I thought this would be an easy task. Unfortunately, his in real life persona had taken a significant beating at this point, and his only remarks were along the lines of ‘I’m ready to get off this fucking thing’. Once we hit the westerly head wind square on for the final 50km flat drag into Warrnambool, its fair to say most of us began to feel the same. Thankfully we had Aaron and the considerable block coefficient of his land rover to provide some much-needed respite as we attempted to keep the crank turning into the 10th hour of riding. There was much jubilation as we finally rolled into Warrnambool, with head units running low as we clocked over 260km of gruelling rolling resistance. All that was left at this point was some mutual back slapping followed by several cold jugs of Victoria’s finest. Thanks to the organising group and special mention to our 1st class support crew which kept the group intact and delivered all riders safely to Warrnambool, including Karin Jones and the SRAM Moto crew who provided expert technical support including Rob with his expertly executed slingshot method propelling riders back to the group.
Looking forward to the Big Dance
Cheers Rob