Standing there in Gloucher NSW with my stead, I was theoretically ready to roll. Frame bag pantry intact, SPOT tracker on and my front roll filled with safety gear including my pink fluffy jack. My bike was equipped with my new SRAM eagle drivetrain from Trailforks and freshly installed 38’s. The King Kahuna has seen far too many miles but was ready for more.
The air was fresh but my mind, faded. More so, my mind was quite littered with the lingering stress of creating an outstanding research manuscript concluding the last semester of a challenging three year Australian physiotherapy degree. This last semester has exhausted my mental grit and determination aiming for the elusive High Distinction.
It’s 2 pm on Saturday afternoon. Generally I’m rolling before noon on any given day, but today I signed up for the Thunderbolt’s Individual Time Trial (ITT): riding gravel roads navigating the natural beauties of the Barrington Tops of NSW… for 230 km and 5000 vm. Originally I signed up for the two day version allowing me to cruise with friends. Racing this season was off the record considering the complexities of this last semester; however, I switched to the ITT event-- and knew it was a bad idea.
I peered around and noticed the other amazing gals taking on the venture-- bikes decked out with much less than my overly supplied stead. I headed over to say hello and received a warm Aussie greeting. Without much to share and feeling a bit out of place, I returned to the adventure truck and put on the rest of my gear.
The air was fresh but my mind, faded. More so, my mind was quite littered with the lingering stress of creating an outstanding research manuscript concluding the last semester of a challenging three year Australian physiotherapy degree. This last semester has exhausted my mental grit and determination aiming for the elusive High Distinction.
It’s 2 pm on Saturday afternoon. Generally I’m rolling before noon on any given day, but today I signed up for the Thunderbolt’s Individual Time Trial (ITT): riding gravel roads navigating the natural beauties of the Barrington Tops of NSW… for 230 km and 5000 vm. Originally I signed up for the two day version allowing me to cruise with friends. Racing this season was off the record considering the complexities of this last semester; however, I switched to the ITT event-- and knew it was a bad idea.
I peered around and noticed the other amazing gals taking on the venture-- bikes decked out with much less than my overly supplied stead. I headed over to say hello and received a warm Aussie greeting. Without much to share and feeling a bit out of place, I returned to the adventure truck and put on the rest of my gear.
Feeling uneasy and not really wanting to roll out, the time had come. Ten gentlemen rolled up with even less on their bikes-- I felt like I was ready for The Hunt 1000. With no presence of Mr. English himself, we headed out five minutes past two. Putting down power doesn’t matter across 230 km but I still popped in a headphone, pedalled away and hoped to find my flow.
Following the arrows of the my Wahoo, I listened to my internal self gauging how hard I was working and how I was feeling. Generally I get into my groove within 30 mins, get stoked, feel confident and charge away. Not today. Instead I felt my confidence slipping and lack of endurance riding presenting itself. I knew this was an unsustainable pace but more importantly, I realised how unhappy I felt as I pedalled along with a sense of emptiness. Needless to say, my bike was pristine; my tyres rolled beautifully, shifting was crisp, position was perfect and my front fork was dialled for the descents.
Suddenly who pulls up next to me but Jason English himself, smashing out of the saddle. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one enjoying a good hill hammer session. I said “you're here!” He replied that he had to get legos for his kids or something. Without much else, he pedalled off into the distance. I had a brief sense of fleeting happiness and stood up and smashed the rolling gravel hills behind him until he was out of sight behind the trees and turns of the beautiful landscape.
The hills and gravel roads lead to more beautiful scereny of cattle country where the cows looking at you like a foreign being just as you looked back at them. I thought of my time my bestie and I pedalled from Canberra to Melbourne on the Holiday Hunt 1000 and were stared down by a herd of cattle on the other side of a fence-- we had a few good laughs... I missed my riding mate.
Climbing over the top of a hill, the sun was sitting beneath the clouds creating an outstanding view. I enjoyed the sense of “being out there” on the empty road breathing the un-car-polluted air; with just me, myself and my bike. I equally recognized how unfamiliar this once normal way of life felt-- which I was not all that stoked about. The temperature dropped and my toes were already frozen from my wet shoes and socks.
I followed the Wahoo arrows and hung a left to another valley of cattle lands. I gave a wiggle to my right shoe and realised something was wrong. Stopped and perched, I couldn’t get my shoe out, instead, out came my foot. My cleat bolts managed to unscrew themselves leaving my cleat stuck in the pedal. I unscrewed my shoe from the remaining threads and as I fiddled with a flathead attempting to remove the cleat clenched on the pedal, I sensed myself rapidly unravelling. School was the pedal, I was the cleat and my shoe was my passion for adventure.
The longer I fiddled, the more I felt my temperature cool and my fingers turned white-- thanks Raynaud Syndrome. I started to cry as I aimlessly fought with the pedal knowing that was not the solution. All I could think about was how much I missed seriously riding my bicycle on carless roads, endless single track and fearlessly charging ahead with confidence letting nothing stand in my way. I also realised riding without friends often felt empty and meaningless. It has been too long without my fellow accent friends, tish tang shuttles or even just riding with the boys in Sydney. My grit and determination was fully spent this semester and I had none left for this ride. All these emotions came on like a fierce fury snowstorm in the silence of a dead winter’s night.
Without much sense of time, a distant sound of tyres on gravel filled the still and silent air. One of my fellow gal riders rolled up finding me aimlessly fiddling with my pedal. She asked if I needed assistance and I said “ah… all good, I’ll figure it out. Thanks though”. She smiled and carried on with her bad self. After collecting myself, I figured loosening the tension screw as much as possible should allow the pedal to easily pop out. I pulled out my fluffy jacket and commenced operation-pedal-dislodge as the next two gal rolled through at five minute intervals asking just the same as the first. I popped the cleat right out and screwed it back onto my shoe and learnt my lesson; you can tighten your screws but without lock tight-- there’s no guarantee.
Now cold and broken, the thought of continuing sounded daunting. Tears-- not sweat-- dripped onto my toptube bag as I got back on my bike and started pedalling uphill. I knew this was a bad idea for me to continue for more reasons than one. The water I gathered was only tabbed with one old tab and was questionable-- I had yet to take a sip. I was already tired and cold and did not have my sleeping bag, mat and bivy as this was an ITT-- I only had an emergency foil blanket. I was not quite endurace fit for this endeavor but more importantly, my mental space was uncanny. I just wanted to go home and feel the warmth and comfort of my friends-- whether that was back in Sydney or Humboldt I was unsure what I was longing for.
As I tried to collect myself pedalling uphill, a truck with the camera crew was heading downhill. I failed to look up and expose my eyes of empty expression. A few minutes passed and a truck pulled up behind and it was no other than my trusty partner Dylan-- the road he took to Moonan Flat (halfway point town) was closed and he was taking this alternate route which was ours all the same. Once I realised it was him I stopped and cried even more. He was in quite a query of my uncharacteristic willingness to call an event so we chatted for a few minutes. Recognising my unwavering decision to stop, we loaded my bike, turned the truck around, and I texted the organisers I was safe and out of the ride.
Normally I am ready for any challenge, any bike feat-- I will take it on and never bail. Particular races and events as they are quite the expensive passion. The only other event I have ever bailed on was Spring Thaw XC 2014 due to a stomach bug turning me pale as a sheep halfway up the main climb. Regardless, this amount of cold and my littered mind failed to be bothered with another pedal stroke. Riding always reveals; you can’t hide from yourself, your feelings, your fitness or your current mental fortitude. It is also important to recognise and be okay with knowing when you are not keen-- particularly in remote areas without cell service for miles in the midst of a pandemic.
The end of a challenging degree, living in a city, and limited time to make friends has slowly chipped away creating a deep seeded sadness. Although I am both sad and excited to be finishing this challenging degree having put forth my best effort and having gained various skills, I am also looking forward to returning to a simple, citiless way of life-- finding myself and happiness on two wheels in nature and with friends… and, of course, transition in practice of my new wicked Aussie physio skills.
Following the arrows of the my Wahoo, I listened to my internal self gauging how hard I was working and how I was feeling. Generally I get into my groove within 30 mins, get stoked, feel confident and charge away. Not today. Instead I felt my confidence slipping and lack of endurance riding presenting itself. I knew this was an unsustainable pace but more importantly, I realised how unhappy I felt as I pedalled along with a sense of emptiness. Needless to say, my bike was pristine; my tyres rolled beautifully, shifting was crisp, position was perfect and my front fork was dialled for the descents.
Suddenly who pulls up next to me but Jason English himself, smashing out of the saddle. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one enjoying a good hill hammer session. I said “you're here!” He replied that he had to get legos for his kids or something. Without much else, he pedalled off into the distance. I had a brief sense of fleeting happiness and stood up and smashed the rolling gravel hills behind him until he was out of sight behind the trees and turns of the beautiful landscape.
The hills and gravel roads lead to more beautiful scereny of cattle country where the cows looking at you like a foreign being just as you looked back at them. I thought of my time my bestie and I pedalled from Canberra to Melbourne on the Holiday Hunt 1000 and were stared down by a herd of cattle on the other side of a fence-- we had a few good laughs... I missed my riding mate.
Climbing over the top of a hill, the sun was sitting beneath the clouds creating an outstanding view. I enjoyed the sense of “being out there” on the empty road breathing the un-car-polluted air; with just me, myself and my bike. I equally recognized how unfamiliar this once normal way of life felt-- which I was not all that stoked about. The temperature dropped and my toes were already frozen from my wet shoes and socks.
I followed the Wahoo arrows and hung a left to another valley of cattle lands. I gave a wiggle to my right shoe and realised something was wrong. Stopped and perched, I couldn’t get my shoe out, instead, out came my foot. My cleat bolts managed to unscrew themselves leaving my cleat stuck in the pedal. I unscrewed my shoe from the remaining threads and as I fiddled with a flathead attempting to remove the cleat clenched on the pedal, I sensed myself rapidly unravelling. School was the pedal, I was the cleat and my shoe was my passion for adventure.
The longer I fiddled, the more I felt my temperature cool and my fingers turned white-- thanks Raynaud Syndrome. I started to cry as I aimlessly fought with the pedal knowing that was not the solution. All I could think about was how much I missed seriously riding my bicycle on carless roads, endless single track and fearlessly charging ahead with confidence letting nothing stand in my way. I also realised riding without friends often felt empty and meaningless. It has been too long without my fellow accent friends, tish tang shuttles or even just riding with the boys in Sydney. My grit and determination was fully spent this semester and I had none left for this ride. All these emotions came on like a fierce fury snowstorm in the silence of a dead winter’s night.
Without much sense of time, a distant sound of tyres on gravel filled the still and silent air. One of my fellow gal riders rolled up finding me aimlessly fiddling with my pedal. She asked if I needed assistance and I said “ah… all good, I’ll figure it out. Thanks though”. She smiled and carried on with her bad self. After collecting myself, I figured loosening the tension screw as much as possible should allow the pedal to easily pop out. I pulled out my fluffy jacket and commenced operation-pedal-dislodge as the next two gal rolled through at five minute intervals asking just the same as the first. I popped the cleat right out and screwed it back onto my shoe and learnt my lesson; you can tighten your screws but without lock tight-- there’s no guarantee.
Now cold and broken, the thought of continuing sounded daunting. Tears-- not sweat-- dripped onto my toptube bag as I got back on my bike and started pedalling uphill. I knew this was a bad idea for me to continue for more reasons than one. The water I gathered was only tabbed with one old tab and was questionable-- I had yet to take a sip. I was already tired and cold and did not have my sleeping bag, mat and bivy as this was an ITT-- I only had an emergency foil blanket. I was not quite endurace fit for this endeavor but more importantly, my mental space was uncanny. I just wanted to go home and feel the warmth and comfort of my friends-- whether that was back in Sydney or Humboldt I was unsure what I was longing for.
As I tried to collect myself pedalling uphill, a truck with the camera crew was heading downhill. I failed to look up and expose my eyes of empty expression. A few minutes passed and a truck pulled up behind and it was no other than my trusty partner Dylan-- the road he took to Moonan Flat (halfway point town) was closed and he was taking this alternate route which was ours all the same. Once I realised it was him I stopped and cried even more. He was in quite a query of my uncharacteristic willingness to call an event so we chatted for a few minutes. Recognising my unwavering decision to stop, we loaded my bike, turned the truck around, and I texted the organisers I was safe and out of the ride.
Normally I am ready for any challenge, any bike feat-- I will take it on and never bail. Particular races and events as they are quite the expensive passion. The only other event I have ever bailed on was Spring Thaw XC 2014 due to a stomach bug turning me pale as a sheep halfway up the main climb. Regardless, this amount of cold and my littered mind failed to be bothered with another pedal stroke. Riding always reveals; you can’t hide from yourself, your feelings, your fitness or your current mental fortitude. It is also important to recognise and be okay with knowing when you are not keen-- particularly in remote areas without cell service for miles in the midst of a pandemic.
The end of a challenging degree, living in a city, and limited time to make friends has slowly chipped away creating a deep seeded sadness. Although I am both sad and excited to be finishing this challenging degree having put forth my best effort and having gained various skills, I am also looking forward to returning to a simple, citiless way of life-- finding myself and happiness on two wheels in nature and with friends… and, of course, transition in practice of my new wicked Aussie physio skills.