The Canal

I came, I saw, I was broken.

K2 2009, it's come and gone and I am a spent man.


Here we are about to embark on the sortie. There are three here, two looking like lean cyclists, one in lycra with a little extra padding. For this small group mixed fortune awaits.
From left to right, Junior, The Crocodile and yours truly.

Junior would go on to have a sterling day and achieve a great result. Certainly one to be proud of.

The Crocodile was truly set to be a weapon of bunch destruction, but his plan of being the bringer of misery to bunch 1A was curtailed by a puncture on the Thames Coast. Even so, with a slow tub change and a bit of dicking around he still turned in a very good time, impressive when it's put into the context of a very long, angry solo ride. Well done that man.

Me, well that's a whole barrel load of pain, indignity and suffering.

As can be seen here, with my resting heart rate, prior to the start I was a bundle of nerves, nothing usual. I've been on the start line of this event a fair few times before and knew what I was in for.

This year was a little different, I'd loaded myself with an expectation, and signed up for the fastest group. Prior to the gun going off I was confident, especially in the context of a good ride a couple of years prior, and arguably a better training regime this time around.

I was, even though the picture above lies, carrying less weight and was climbing better than in the past. Until the end of September I'd enjoyed a very good training run and was ticking off the goals.

October was a bit disrupted, but nothing to worry about. The day dawned and I was ready.
Now, just a casual aside about pre-event nutrition. I'm not too wound up about what I eat, and enjoy a very catholic diet, but I do like to enjoy a decent, quality meal on the evening before the day of the gallows.

With that in mind, Junior and I, who were sharing a little shack in deepest Whitianga, planned our meal ahead. He provided spinach and chicken risotto, and I made pasta (from scratch, you know the whole egg, flour, olive oil, hand crank thingy) with a chorizo and tomato sauce. As always there was more than enough.

Doris and Mikeal (you know, the man who malices his chalice) came to join us, Doris had also conjured some kitchen magic and was happy to share. Mikeal had other ideas. Here he is, below, wobbling his way through an Exxon Valdez special from the local fish and chip shop. On the positive side, he didn't get quite what he ordered, some one else will have opened their newspaper parcel and found a handful of chips and a dick on a stick. Mikeal got lucky and scored, by accident, someone else's oysters and more fish than he could scoff.
Back to the day of misery. It started well, but soon, by climb two, Mynderman's Hill, changed into an outing that veered from the script. Tactically, I made a bad decision lurking down the back of the bunch, and as a consequence found myself just off the back over the top.

Plan B was dug out, it worked in a fashion and I was picked up by the second part of the second bunch at the top of Whangapoua. This bunch seemed to disintegrate around me and I was left with one other chap, riding in no man's land. So we cruised, only to be picked up by a group of eight riders at the foot of the last climb before the coast. A nice, easy climb over, then when we hit the flat, with the cross head wind, the hammer went down.

A rapid rolling bunch ensued, but smashing into the wind took it's toll, after twenty five kilometres I was spent, so sat on for a few laps. Eventually I rejoined the paceline, and then about five kilometres on we caught the bunch ahead. Too late for me, I was useless, and it was only just over halfway. Plan B was not so cunning.

From there it was just a grovel, riding twenty kilometres with one other rider after the bunch buggered off on me on the Kopu-Hikuai climb. The two of us, we collected by another bunch just before Tairua and Pumpkin Hill. There I saw yet another bunch wave me goodbye. Near the top I spotted a Tandem.

I dug it in quite deep and crested the hill to catch the tandem before the descent, here was my ticket home for the final thirty five kilometres. I am eternally grateful to them. The team was a couple of local guys from Thames and they were, by the finish line, the winning tandem. They provided me with a draft for miles, put up with my inane chatter on the rises and were a life saver for me. Thanks D Donnelly and M White, I still owe you that beer.

Post finish, Junior and I had shown the foresight to pack, in a chillybin, beer and salt and vinegar crisps. It was heaven.

Of our collection of riders we had ridden with up to the event, we had a fifty percent attrition rate. Doris DNF'd due to a small logistical oversight of one tube, two punctures. Serge and Sid both decided to exit stage left on the first descent of the day. They committed their land surfing separately, but it was on the same corner. Serge lost bark, some finger skin and clothing damage. Sid did more and managed to lose bark and break his collarbone.

I'd like to wish them both a speedy recovery, and since Sid still hasn't disclosed whether he's left or right handed, I'm waiting to set up his toilet buddy roster.

Lastly, in the post race scoff of bambi, potatoes and asparagus, excellent faire provided by Mikeal and Doris, The Crocodile ate his first potato in months.