With Tobin gone and the start of the fire road climb starting to clear, the remaining tractors decided to wander back to camp. The front part of the large warm tent in which we had collected our lights and signed in in, was now being converted into the transfer and 'dibbing' area with tables, mats for the 'dibbers' to dance/keep warm on and cones to split the 'In' and 'Out' sides of the track. As the three remaining tractors wandered through the freezing melee, old friends were being reacquainted, new friends made and around us stories were being told and listen too. Snippets included "this will be the best one yet" , "Remember when the tent blew away a few years ago" , "how many teeth did you need seen to after last year" and "how many sets of ice tyres do you have". Excitement and camaraderie reigned and the atmosphere was jubilant. On the way back down the hill some lads were offering 26" ice tyres, out to all passers with small wheels, oh how McAuliffe laughed at their cheeky faces......
Getting back inside the perimeter of Camp Mastervan, we quickly assessed priorities and tried to work out which bits of Tobin's kit we should hide. Deciding that was probably too mean as it was bloody cold, we decided to light the fire and get eating. As we hadn't actually worked out or thought about how long we would each take, to do a lap, Richardson was counting down the 40mins we estimated he should wait before trundling off back up the fire road to swap duties with Tobin. Richardson, as a clever young soldier, had changed into his bibs and associated gear in the warmth of the Hostel, he now had to simply remove his highly fashionable geography tutor trousers and puffer jacket, and he was ready for the off. After eating, prevaricating and making use of the (flush-less) portaloo we had discovered at the back of the car park, Richardson's time was up and it was time for him to ride up to make 'the exchange'.
Delaney and McAuliffe were now alone and McAuliffe in particular was starting to get a bit worried. A lot of the mental preparation that had been done for the event involved ignoring his lack of ability and his low confidence and just focusing on the fact the he generally believed in himself. Even if no one else did. Therefore a lot of his first lap prep now relied on Tobin coming back and telling him that it was a walk in the park and that it would all be ok. Delaney, having never bothered to enter an Mtb Race, or really ride an Mtb, was quite relaxed, safe in the knowledge that whatever happened, it would all be new and he had some excellent influencing opportunities ahead of him. True to his nature Delaney was now filming videos for his blog in the portaloo, or that's at least what he told McAuliffe. Whatever he was doing, it sounded like there was an unhappy Walrus trapped in there with him, the emminating smell wasn't far off either...
Around 1130, Tobin returned to Circus Mastervan. Delaney was still fighting marine mammals in the thunder-box and so missed this return. Tobin was exceptionality excited. This turned out to have little to do with the lap he just completed, but all to do with the fact he had discovered the Alpkit stall in the nice big warm tent, post dibbing and making 'the exchange'. He had invested a mere £3000 and had walked away with a Ti camp mug and a Ti-foon. Both of these immediately went on to McAuliffe's 'To Burn' list, which was already quite full of the other three tractors bike packing kit. When Tobin was talked down from his Alpkit High and Delaney, still breathing heavily, had returned from the tardis, Tobin finally opened up about the course and his lap. His verdict was "snow everywhere" (such an observant chap) "some climbing and then some descents" (utterly incisive) and "all fine, all rideable". He spoke these last words with a slight wobble in his voice, looking at the floor, so for the sake of his shaky confidence McAuliffe ignored his guts doubts. Anyway he only had 30mins until it was time to leave to make "the exchange" with Richardson and he had to kit up.
Getting changed into bibs in a freezing van, with the doors wide open is quite the experience, but as a man used to things being small and waved about in public, he nearly enjoyed it. After two layers were peeled on, it was of course time to go to the loo and to peel most of them off again. Tobin had at least helpfully disclosed that he had over dressed and that a base layer, winter top and wind-stopper was probably suitable. As this was McAuliffe's usual winter set up, it increased his confidence no end. When you know how to dress, then the world is your lobster. After a suitably horrific experience in Delaney's artic office (which involved a 'flushing stick') McAuliffe saddled up. Water bottles were already pointless as they were freezing even before the bike started moving, so with a healthy swig, off he went.
The route from Base Van Camp Master was out along the main road, through a gap in the armco and across the old bridge over the river. In the frozen morning air, the mist hung low on the flood plain as it stretched out down towards the mountains in the distance. It was breathtaking and Delaney was missing it, hashtags and all. After spinning up the fire road McAuliffe realised that Tobin was right and it was 'warm'. He made a mental note that with the extra blubber he was obviously carrying it was best to stay out of reach of Delaney. The change over zone was noisy with music and incoming riders were flowing in down the left hand bend from the woods, over the small drop, then skidding into the 'dibbing' area where the happy dibbers were already dancing along to the beats smashing out of the speakers. Some of the incomers swapped the team dibbers with team mates, and after a kind word sent them on their way, others carried on as they were either solos or pairs. Richardson soon ripped into view down the slope and McAuliffe was on. Richardson echoed Tobin's "its fine" mantra and it looked genuine, so with a little lift in spirits and 'the exchange' made, the senior member of the team was off.
The fire road encampments are amazing, as you climb up through the forest there are motor homes and tents placed 'Tour de France' style on both sides of the road, they had stereos, fire pits, bike stands, grills, home made gas bottle stoves and actual executive patio heaters. Music ranged from Trip hop to 80's classics to glam rock. At every tent people shouted encouragement and rang cowbells, it was simply brilliant to be climbing that fire road. What progress as well, McAuliffe was steaming up it, riders falling away left right and centre, confidence was returning with a vengeance. The fire road gives way to a wide footpath for a time and this marked the first change from hard-packed snow to fluffy snow. The fluff was rutting up, but as it wasn't melting the ruts just parted as you rode through them and the snow stayed grippy. The fireroad soon resumed and there was more 'up' to contend with. The motor homes became thinner and soon it was just the odd van in a ditch or hardy soul in a tent by the trackside. After some slight 'down' on the fire road then a bit more 'up', McAuliffe came across a small cabin with marshals singing and dancing in it, what jolly and courageous folk they are!
As McAuliffe crested the fire road rise, confidence was high, life was good and as a small bridge came into view, beyond the hut of dancing marshals, there were few cares in the world to be had. Moments after crossing the bridge in a small group of riders, the confidence fell away, quickly and sharply.
The single track curved up in an 'S' into the trees and the climb was clogged with riders walking up it, while looking at these brave sherpas, McAuliffe neglected to look at where he was putting his silly little front wheel and promptly slid straight off the track on the fluffy snow. Lucky the two riders behind did exactly the same thing. After the small tight, rocky turns into the trees, the path became rideable again as numbers eased, after a nasty steep slab that normally McAuliffe would have walked down, but had no choice but to skid down as brakes were becoming academic, the single track eased into straighter lines, but ones that were in covered in deep snow. This lap being early in the race, meant that only one line had been established, meaning that as the paths reared into the steep climbs, the only way around slower or walking riders was to venture into virgin snow on the right hand-side of the path. Sometimes this was fine and you ground past, other times your rear wheel slipped out and the 'sods law' favourite, was that just after you shouted "on your right" your front wheel hit something buried in the snow and you fell off next to the rider you were overtaking.
Confidence ruined and cursing Tobin's lies, McAuliffe realised that it was probably quicker to just walk some bits. Thankfully after a while the snow became tighter packed on the path, the riders thinner in number and the climbs less steep. Conscious that time was pushing on McAuliffe was happy that the next section through the wood and down to the Bridge of Thighs was 'easier' and enjoyable. One section was mentally noted as "bastard for later" where a stream had to be hopped over. After the bridge and a sharp climb the track flowed up and down and there was some more group walking, before reaching the View Rock. After this the descents came and hairy as they were, there was quite a lot of grip, and despite some regulation 'fluff snow' get downs, all was well. The track wound down through the wood, became flowy and then that was it, it was done! The last corner was majestically swept around and the exchange tent skidded into (it appeared to be obligatory).
Dibber dibbed, McAuliffe sought out Delaney, who was waiting looking as impassive as only a man who has fought a walrus in a toilet can, asked "how is it?" "Fine" answered McAuliffe, giving Delaney the courtesy of a massive lie, just as he has received from Tobin and Richardson. But then he added "just watch the back of the course, gets busy, maybe walk some of it". And with that and 'the exchange' made, Delaney cycled off on his rigid singlespeed into his first ever MTB race. McAuliffe, eyes now firmly wide open, headed down the firewood to have words with Tobin and Richardson. Upon entering the now moated entrance of Outpost Mastervan 13, he was greeted with grinning faces and the comment “fucking hard isn’t it?”
After a 3 way de-brief on which bits of the course caused the most bother to each tractor and how many times we all ended up face down in the snow unexpectedly, some food was put on, the mighty camp kettle was safely encsonsed on the BBQ coals (actual coal, McAuliffe backed 15kg of the black stuff, just in case) and all the clothes were put back on, once the wet layers were peeled off. It was 1330, the sun had just crept over the hotel we were camped behind and all in the world was grand.
Apart from it being 0 degrees and us still having 21 and half hours of the race left to go. Somewhere from the course we heard the distant screams of an Irish pusuiter being hounded by his imaginary, or real, Walrus demons.
@Rob
The First laps
With Tobin gone and the start of the fire road climb starting to clear, the remaining tractors decided to wander back to camp. The front part of the large warm tent in which we had collected our lights and signed in in, was now being converted into the transfer and 'dibbing' area with tables, mats for the 'dibbers' to dance/keep warm on and cones to split the 'In' and 'Out' sides of the track. As the three remaining tractors wandered through the freezing melee, old friends were being reacquainted, new friends made and around us stories were being told and listen too. Snippets included "this will be the best one yet" , "Remember when the tent blew away a few years ago" , "how many teeth did you need seen to after last year" and "how many sets of ice tyres do you have". Excitement and camaraderie reigned and the atmosphere was jubilant. On the way back down the hill some lads were offering 26" ice tyres, out to all passers with small wheels, oh how McAuliffe laughed at their cheeky faces......
Getting back inside the perimeter of Camp Mastervan, we quickly assessed priorities and tried to work out which bits of Tobin's kit we should hide. Deciding that was probably too mean as it was bloody cold, we decided to light the fire and get eating. As we hadn't actually worked out or thought about how long we would each take, to do a lap, Richardson was counting down the 40mins we estimated he should wait before trundling off back up the fire road to swap duties with Tobin. Richardson, as a clever young soldier, had changed into his bibs and associated gear in the warmth of the Hostel, he now had to simply remove his highly fashionable geography tutor trousers and puffer jacket, and he was ready for the off. After eating, prevaricating and making use of the (flush-less) portaloo we had discovered at the back of the car park, Richardson's time was up and it was time for him to ride up to make 'the exchange'.
Delaney and McAuliffe were now alone and McAuliffe in particular was starting to get a bit worried. A lot of the mental preparation that had been done for the event involved ignoring his lack of ability and his low confidence and just focusing on the fact the he generally believed in himself. Even if no one else did. Therefore a lot of his first lap prep now relied on Tobin coming back and telling him that it was a walk in the park and that it would all be ok. Delaney, having never bothered to enter an Mtb Race, or really ride an Mtb, was quite relaxed, safe in the knowledge that whatever happened, it would all be new and he had some excellent influencing opportunities ahead of him. True to his nature Delaney was now filming videos for his blog in the portaloo, or that's at least what he told McAuliffe. Whatever he was doing, it sounded like there was an unhappy Walrus trapped in there with him, the emminating smell wasn't far off either...
Around 1130, Tobin returned to Circus Mastervan. Delaney was still fighting marine mammals in the thunder-box and so missed this return. Tobin was exceptionality excited. This turned out to have little to do with the lap he just completed, but all to do with the fact he had discovered the Alpkit stall in the nice big warm tent, post dibbing and making 'the exchange'. He had invested a mere £3000 and had walked away with a Ti camp mug and a Ti-foon. Both of these immediately went on to McAuliffe's 'To Burn' list, which was already quite full of the other three tractors bike packing kit. When Tobin was talked down from his Alpkit High and Delaney, still breathing heavily, had returned from the tardis, Tobin finally opened up about the course and his lap. His verdict was "snow everywhere" (such an observant chap) "some climbing and then some descents" (utterly incisive) and "all fine, all rideable". He spoke these last words with a slight wobble in his voice, looking at the floor, so for the sake of his shaky confidence McAuliffe ignored his guts doubts. Anyway he only had 30mins until it was time to leave to make "the exchange" with Richardson and he had to kit up.
Getting changed into bibs in a freezing van, with the doors wide open is quite the experience, but as a man used to things being small and waved about in public, he nearly enjoyed it. After two layers were peeled on, it was of course time to go to the loo and to peel most of them off again. Tobin had at least helpfully disclosed that he had over dressed and that a base layer, winter top and wind-stopper was probably suitable. As this was McAuliffe's usual winter set up, it increased his confidence no end. When you know how to dress, then the world is your lobster. After a suitably horrific experience in Delaney's artic office (which involved a 'flushing stick') McAuliffe saddled up. Water bottles were already pointless as they were freezing even before the bike started moving, so with a healthy swig, off he went.
The route from Base Van Camp Master was out along the main road, through a gap in the armco and across the old bridge over the river. In the frozen morning air, the mist hung low on the flood plain as it stretched out down towards the mountains in the distance. It was breathtaking and Delaney was missing it, hashtags and all. After spinning up the fire road McAuliffe realised that Tobin was right and it was 'warm'. He made a mental note that with the extra blubber he was obviously carrying it was best to stay out of reach of Delaney. The change over zone was noisy with music and incoming riders were flowing in down the left hand bend from the woods, over the small drop, then skidding into the 'dibbing' area where the happy dibbers were already dancing along to the beats smashing out of the speakers. Some of the incomers swapped the team dibbers with team mates, and after a kind word sent them on their way, others carried on as they were either solos or pairs. Richardson soon ripped into view down the slope and McAuliffe was on. Richardson echoed Tobin's "its fine" mantra and it looked genuine, so with a little lift in spirits and 'the exchange' made, the senior member of the team was off.
The fire road encampments are amazing, as you climb up through the forest there are motor homes and tents placed 'Tour de France' style on both sides of the road, they had stereos, fire pits, bike stands, grills, home made gas bottle stoves and actual executive patio heaters. Music ranged from Trip hop to 80's classics to glam rock. At every tent people shouted encouragement and rang cowbells, it was simply brilliant to be climbing that fire road. What progress as well, McAuliffe was steaming up it, riders falling away left right and centre, confidence was returning with a vengeance. The fire road gives way to a wide footpath for a time and this marked the first change from hard-packed snow to fluffy snow. The fluff was rutting up, but as it wasn't melting the ruts just parted as you rode through them and the snow stayed grippy. The fireroad soon resumed and there was more 'up' to contend with. The motor homes became thinner and soon it was just the odd van in a ditch or hardy soul in a tent by the trackside. After some slight 'down' on the fire road then a bit more 'up', McAuliffe came across a small cabin with marshals singing and dancing in it, what jolly and courageous folk they are!
As McAuliffe crested the fire road rise, confidence was high, life was good and as a small bridge came into view, beyond the hut of dancing marshals, there were few cares in the world to be had. Moments after crossing the bridge in a small group of riders, the confidence fell away, quickly and sharply.
The single track curved up in an 'S' into the trees and the climb was clogged with riders walking up it, while looking at these brave sherpas, McAuliffe neglected to look at where he was putting his silly little front wheel and promptly slid straight off the track on the fluffy snow. Lucky the two riders behind did exactly the same thing. After the small tight, rocky turns into the trees, the path became rideable again as numbers eased, after a nasty steep slab that normally McAuliffe would have walked down, but had no choice but to skid down as brakes were becoming academic, the single track eased into straighter lines, but ones that were in covered in deep snow. This lap being early in the race, meant that only one line had been established, meaning that as the paths reared into the steep climbs, the only way around slower or walking riders was to venture into virgin snow on the right hand-side of the path. Sometimes this was fine and you ground past, other times your rear wheel slipped out and the 'sods law' favourite, was that just after you shouted "on your right" your front wheel hit something buried in the snow and you fell off next to the rider you were overtaking.
Confidence ruined and cursing Tobin's lies, McAuliffe realised that it was probably quicker to just walk some bits. Thankfully after a while the snow became tighter packed on the path, the riders thinner in number and the climbs less steep. Conscious that time was pushing on McAuliffe was happy that the next section through the wood and down to the Bridge of Thighs was 'easier' and enjoyable. One section was mentally noted as "bastard for later" where a stream had to be hopped over. After the bridge and a sharp climb the track flowed up and down and there was some more group walking, before reaching the View Rock. After this the descents came and hairy as they were, there was quite a lot of grip, and despite some regulation 'fluff snow' get downs, all was well. The track wound down through the wood, became flowy and then that was it, it was done! The last corner was majestically swept around and the exchange tent skidded into (it appeared to be obligatory).
Dibber dibbed, McAuliffe sought out Delaney, who was waiting looking as impassive as only a man who has fought a walrus in a toilet can, asked "how is it?" "Fine" answered McAuliffe, giving Delaney the courtesy of a massive lie, just as he has received from Tobin and Richardson. But then he added "just watch the back of the course, gets busy, maybe walk some of it". And with that and 'the exchange' made, Delaney cycled off on his rigid singlespeed into his first ever MTB race. McAuliffe, eyes now firmly wide open, headed down the firewood to have words with Tobin and Richardson. Upon entering the now moated entrance of Outpost Mastervan 13, he was greeted with grinning faces and the comment “fucking hard isn’t it?”
After a 3 way de-brief on which bits of the course caused the most bother to each tractor and how many times we all ended up face down in the snow unexpectedly, some food was put on, the mighty camp kettle was safely encsonsed on the BBQ coals (actual coal, McAuliffe backed 15kg of the black stuff, just in case) and all the clothes were put back on, once the wet layers were peeled off. It was 1330, the sun had just crept over the hotel we were camped behind and all in the world was grand.
Apart from it being 0 degrees and us still having 21 and half hours of the race left to go. Somewhere from the course we heard the distant screams of an Irish pusuiter being hounded by his imaginary, or real, Walrus demons.