I'm glad I went to Karapoti this year. It's a long drive from Rotorua to Wellington and I remember thinking on a number of occasions during my road trip late on Friday night "why do I do this to myself??". I stopped off in Palmerston North overnight, bumming a bed for the night from the lovely Em and her amazing bike-washing hubby Mike, and then drove on to the start line early the following morning on a definite lack of sleep, but rather pleased I had decided not to try and negotiate the road over the Akatarawas in the dark.
In stark contrast to last year's event (which was postponed), when I arrived at the start line, the sun was shining and the river was probably the lowest it has ever been for the event. The course was dry, dusty and loose, and there was the general flutter of excitement surrounding the start area. The girls field was looking strong, and to be honest, I felt like a bit of an imposter in the pro-elite category... I have long battled internally on which category I should race in these shorter events. I am fully aware that I am not fast enough to keep up with the quick girls over such a short distance, but I really don't feel like it's the right thing to potentially be burgling the category down, either... My thoughts are that I really don't mind if I win the pro-elite or not, and that is the standard I should be chasing for when I eventually grow weary of endurance biking and need to settle into a more sedentary way of life. In a funny sort of way, too, it means I can just ride hard, not feel guilty and not stress if I don't win... If I rode the category down, I would be upset with myself if I didn't win, and probably a bit guilty, too... Decision made! So I lined up on the start line next to the likes of Karen Hanlen, Kim Hurst, Samara Sheppard, Sasha Smith and Melissa (Mops) Newell to do my best at being the absolute shortest rider I could be (see below photo).
The Karapoti start line is an unusual beast in itself, and I was hoping to put my river crossing training skills from land search and rescue to the test... After the usual start line banter and smack talk, we plunged into the cold river carrying our bikes, emerging on the other side disorientated and wet before jumping on the saddle, smacking our shoes on the pedals to remove the chunks of stone from the river bed that had lodged themselves into the cleats and then taking chase down the road after all the other riders who had negotiated the crossing with more grace than I had managed myself. Any glimmer of hope I had of sticking with the top elite girls for even the first kilometer or two vanished with my clumsy river crossing (obviously the search and rescue training was of no use to me on this occasion in my carbon-soled shoes and lycra).
I settled into a good rhythm as we headed up big ring alley, jostling with a couple of other girls. They kept me honest and as such, I kept pushing along at a good pace, determined not to drop them, but also mindful that I didn't want to waste myself before we started climbing... No sooner had I thought this than we were on our way up the first climb. I was surprised to do a clean run of the first section before our descent back into the river... With minimal time on the bike of late, and certainly very little hill training to speak of, I was quite chuffed to be climbing past riders who were off pushing their bikes. Same went for the descent into the river... I remember last Karapoti, I let the gnarly, loose boulders scare me into submission and off my bike, but not this time... No sooner had I thought to myself "this isn't as bad as I remember" that it changed to "geez, I don't remember it being this tough". The dry conditions had made the track dry and loose and difficult to negotiate and get traction in places. Where we thought the track should have been fast, it was actually the opposite...
In all honesty, I had forgotten just how heinous the climbs were in this race. Everything was conquered in granny ring or on foot. Having said that, I was pleased with just how much of it I rode without resorting to walking... My short legs just weren't made for that sort of carry-on. The group of girls I had been to-ing and fro-ing with thinned out behind me as I made my way into the rock garden. The dry weather had done nothing much for the condition of the rock garden except dry off all the water to leave behind a slimy deposit on the surface. It was as treacherous as ever, and as much as I wanted to ride it, once I was off, any attempts to get back on again were a waste of time.
Devil's Staircase in the dry was a welcome change from the last time I did Karapoti in 2011, but the mud bogs along the top were still permanent. Cresting the top of the staircase and into the descent was a great feeling, knowing there was only one significant climb left in front of me. As I was barreling down the hill blissfully unaware of anything going on around me other then the track directly in front of my wheel, I let out a yelp of surprise as two wheels flipped right in front of me... Mops was on the side of the track just putting the finishing touches on repairing her second flat for the day and hadn't seen my midget figure careering down the track towards her as she righted her bike to jump back on (phew! That was close!). She came rocking past me at warp pace, putting me to shame as she yelled something about flats and disappeared into the distance. I was pretty sure that was the last I would see of her for the day.
I'd forgotten how huge Dopers Hill was... In fact, there appeared to be a great deal I had selectively forgotten from my last Karapoti... Maybe that's why we all keep coming back year after year. Finally, after the frustration and pain of an endless number of false summits, I made my way over the crest of Dopers and down the other side, through the river and onto big ring alley. I had been determined to pull in a sub 3:30 time and as I came into Big Ring, I realised it was going to be ever so slightly out of my reach for the day. I rounded on of the nicely bermed corners coming towards the end of the race and there, on the side of the trail was the familiar figure of Mops again... Fixing her fourth flat... She yelled out something about a CO2 canister, but I was gone before it even registered what she was asking for...
Back onto the road, through the river (stoked it wasn't up to my neck this time!) and across the finish line in 3:33:43... Only four minutes shy of my target for the day... Having said that, I had a great ride, felt good and knocked 15 minutes off my 2011 time for Karapoti. I had come 5th in the elite womens category, but well off the pace from the other girls, Kim Hurst winning in 2:50. When Mops followed me down the finish chute not long after I came in, I couldn't help feeling like a bit of a burglar that had she not endured four flats for the day, I probably wouldn't have been standing on the podium (sorry mate... Beers on me next time!). I took home a small pay check that covered my petrol expenses for the trip, joking with the other riders at the rego tent that it meant I could now afford to eat that week!
Post race catch-ups were also a big highlight for me... It was awesome to catch up with John Randal and Alex Revell. It was my first really hard race for the year, and it reminded me what I love about racing... The good people, the hard work, the pain, the achievement and the smiles... We don't make riding what it is in our own right... It is the people that we do it with who make it such an amazing experience... You can't win a race, lose a race, or race at all without competition and you can't enjoy that experience without comradeship.
The Karapoti start line is an unusual beast in itself, and I was hoping to put my river crossing training skills from land search and rescue to the test... After the usual start line banter and smack talk, we plunged into the cold river carrying our bikes, emerging on the other side disorientated and wet before jumping on the saddle, smacking our shoes on the pedals to remove the chunks of stone from the river bed that had lodged themselves into the cleats and then taking chase down the road after all the other riders who had negotiated the crossing with more grace than I had managed myself. Any glimmer of hope I had of sticking with the top elite girls for even the first kilometer or two vanished with my clumsy river crossing (obviously the search and rescue training was of no use to me on this occasion in my carbon-soled shoes and lycra).
I settled into a good rhythm as we headed up big ring alley, jostling with a couple of other girls. They kept me honest and as such, I kept pushing along at a good pace, determined not to drop them, but also mindful that I didn't want to waste myself before we started climbing... No sooner had I thought this than we were on our way up the first climb. I was surprised to do a clean run of the first section before our descent back into the river... With minimal time on the bike of late, and certainly very little hill training to speak of, I was quite chuffed to be climbing past riders who were off pushing their bikes. Same went for the descent into the river... I remember last Karapoti, I let the gnarly, loose boulders scare me into submission and off my bike, but not this time... No sooner had I thought to myself "this isn't as bad as I remember" that it changed to "geez, I don't remember it being this tough". The dry conditions had made the track dry and loose and difficult to negotiate and get traction in places. Where we thought the track should have been fast, it was actually the opposite...
In all honesty, I had forgotten just how heinous the climbs were in this race. Everything was conquered in granny ring or on foot. Having said that, I was pleased with just how much of it I rode without resorting to walking... My short legs just weren't made for that sort of carry-on. The group of girls I had been to-ing and fro-ing with thinned out behind me as I made my way into the rock garden. The dry weather had done nothing much for the condition of the rock garden except dry off all the water to leave behind a slimy deposit on the surface. It was as treacherous as ever, and as much as I wanted to ride it, once I was off, any attempts to get back on again were a waste of time.
Devil's Staircase in the dry was a welcome change from the last time I did Karapoti in 2011, but the mud bogs along the top were still permanent. Cresting the top of the staircase and into the descent was a great feeling, knowing there was only one significant climb left in front of me. As I was barreling down the hill blissfully unaware of anything going on around me other then the track directly in front of my wheel, I let out a yelp of surprise as two wheels flipped right in front of me... Mops was on the side of the track just putting the finishing touches on repairing her second flat for the day and hadn't seen my midget figure careering down the track towards her as she righted her bike to jump back on (phew! That was close!). She came rocking past me at warp pace, putting me to shame as she yelled something about flats and disappeared into the distance. I was pretty sure that was the last I would see of her for the day.
I'd forgotten how huge Dopers Hill was... In fact, there appeared to be a great deal I had selectively forgotten from my last Karapoti... Maybe that's why we all keep coming back year after year. Finally, after the frustration and pain of an endless number of false summits, I made my way over the crest of Dopers and down the other side, through the river and onto big ring alley. I had been determined to pull in a sub 3:30 time and as I came into Big Ring, I realised it was going to be ever so slightly out of my reach for the day. I rounded on of the nicely bermed corners coming towards the end of the race and there, on the side of the trail was the familiar figure of Mops again... Fixing her fourth flat... She yelled out something about a CO2 canister, but I was gone before it even registered what she was asking for...
Back onto the road, through the river (stoked it wasn't up to my neck this time!) and across the finish line in 3:33:43... Only four minutes shy of my target for the day... Having said that, I had a great ride, felt good and knocked 15 minutes off my 2011 time for Karapoti. I had come 5th in the elite womens category, but well off the pace from the other girls, Kim Hurst winning in 2:50. When Mops followed me down the finish chute not long after I came in, I couldn't help feeling like a bit of a burglar that had she not endured four flats for the day, I probably wouldn't have been standing on the podium (sorry mate... Beers on me next time!). I took home a small pay check that covered my petrol expenses for the trip, joking with the other riders at the rego tent that it meant I could now afford to eat that week!
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