The long road home.

The Melbourne to Warrnambool, the longest UCI race in the southern hemisphere and the 2nd oldest UCI race in the world. A race that I'd been working towards for the better part of the year.

To say I was nervous is a fair understatement. Despite having barely looked at my hardtail, let alone ridden it in the last few months, I felt out of my depth, a mountain biker in a roadies world. A few pros had stuck around after the Herald Sun tour, including Kristian House and Darren Lapthorne, their presence only added to my nerves.



The race started pretty easy for me, rolling along in a massive bunch is really simple, sit in, pedal occasionally and take in the gorgeous scenery. A couple of breaks got away and no one wanted to chase. I accidently broke away with a couple of other riders for a short bit. It freaked me out and was more than happy to be swallowed back up shortly after. :)

Around the second feed zone, a hard attack came from a group of domestic and international pros. I worked with a group to try and chase them, but it was to no avail, they had the pedal flat to the floor and we couldn't close the gap.

Once it was clear that we weren't going to close the gap to the group in front, let alone the early break, all impetus went out from my bunch. From then on it was a matter of getting to the line, I rolled turns to get us there, but some poor hydration early in the race left me cramping with only 15km to go. I dropped out of the bunch and rolled home solo, managing to stop the clock with a mono in just over 7 hours.

When I signed up for the Warny it seemed like a stupid idea, then I noticed there was a race (Shipwreck Coast Classic) the day after, so to make the Warny seem less stupid I signed up for the second race as well. Sometime between signing up and Sunday morning, it became the Victorian Road Championships, ensuring a top rate field.

So I woke up and on Sunday and Could. Not. Be. Fucked. Who would have thought that the day after the longest race in the southern hemisphere I wouldn't want to ride again, let alone race? Crazy, I know!

The race start wasn't until 11:30, which gave me time for two breakfasts and a bit of thinking. Finally I kitted up, the skinsuit was out due to a lack of pockets, but the medal for finishing the Warny was in! It kept hitting me in the chest during the race, reminding me that I was a freaking retard. :)

I had no idea how my legs would fare, but my pride by far and away outstrips my idiocy. The race started straight into a hill buffeted by strong cross winds. Almost instantly riders were strung out in the gutter, gaps formed and breaks appeared.

I did my best to help a mate (Tim) out, including giving him a push to a wheel he was chasing. After that I got together with a rider I knew, he hammered his turns, pulling back riders in ones and twos, soon giving us a healthy group of 6.



We lost a couple of riders at Allansford (where the finish would be), but collected a few others who'd been shelled from the front two bunches. We worked well as a group, forming echelons across the road into to the wind, everyone doing their bit. At some stage another small group caught us, yet seemed unable to join in to pull turns. In hindsight we would have been better off to attack them and had them off our wheels.

By the time we turned to head home with the tailwind, I was feeling good about the race. I felt I was the strongest rider in our bunch and started to plan how to shell everyone else (bar Tim who had incriminating photos of me applying chamois cream).

We had everyone stretched out at 60km/h when something happened up front. I think someone rubbed a wheel and swerved. Tim swerved. My front wheel and Tim's derailleur met and my front wheel came off second best. The two guys behind me came off even worse and they hit the deck in a loud clatter of bodies and carbon.

Tim and I stopped and helped out the injured. Once they were ok I grabbed a spare front wheel and we rode to the finish. I crossed the line just on 3 hours with a bunny hop, 381km done.

So a weekend of racing where a lack of clear goals means it's hard to evaluate the results, but without doubt, I had the best socks.

Now it's time to get reacquainted with riding on dirt, it's been too long and I'm afraid there's going to have to be numerous 'cuddles' before we get along again.