2000 Cycle Rogaine
Raceline/Canberra Cycles 10th Annual 6 Hour Cycle Rogaine, Sunday August 27th 2000
Venue: Uriarra Forest
Organiser: Kevin Moore
The Cyclegaine in Random Order
The End
“Go for it.” I say with a split second’s thought after glancing at my watch. James bounds off down the embankment. With five minutes and a kilometre left in this cycle rogaine, there’s no time for analysis and careful judgement. After our six hours is up our hard earned points will start evaporating faster than aftershave on a hot sunny day. It’s just not worth being late. Yet in all the excitement (and relief) of riding the homeward stretch we really get keen on this 30 point control and don’t let rational thinking get in our way. I look over the fascinating patterns the mud has made across my bike while I give my legs a well earned rest. I finally feel justified in having a mountain bike now. Not wanting to break any event rules, I astro-travel down the hill with
James, making doubly sure my out off body experience is within 20 meters of the control being tagged.
Two minutes tick by and I’m as anxious as a virgin on cherry picking night. But even if we don’t make it, there is no way I’ll be disappointed. In fact, at this point I couldn’t feel happier. I’m tired, muddy and sweaty but what an amazing five hours and fifty seven minutes it’s been. When I close my eyes I see pine forests, rivers, and a rocky fire trail in front of me, they’re all bouncing slightly out of time with me and my bike. Then everything is a blur as I feel emotions of terror and pleasure while pretending to be in control reaching warp six down the hills. After three minutes, James appears and calls up from the creek bed, “It was a looong way down”. He looks tired coming up the hill but refuses to slow down to a walk. He knows we’re out of time and every second counts. He clambers onto his bike and we’re away. I’m surprised at how much this little pressure situation brings new life to my legs. They peddle like the wings of a humming bird. Only three hours before I was truly exhausted.
The Beginning
“Your time starts, ... NOW!” my brother and his broken arm launches the 10th Annual Cycle Rogaine. People, bikes and control cards flap around like a fresh catch of fish discovering air ain’t as sweet as water. I’m caught up in the excitement and run enthusiastically to my bike. As I bound over logs I notice that most other groups have tied a string to the their control card — what a great idea. However, it’s only when I get to my bike that I discover my first real mistake. I’d just spent an hour studying the map and marking out an ideal route with my trusty yellow highlighter. Acting like an expert I’d even looked at the control descriptions, thought about approach strategies for some of the tricky controls and even looked at some of the contour lines. What I had forgotten was to work out which way was up and which direction I should start out. Thank the founders of rogaining for making this a team event. My partner, who I’d met that morning, turns up and leads the way.
This is my first cycle rogaine and so I don’t exactly know what to expect. Worse still, I’m a cocky bastard who thinks he knows exactly what to expect. In seven minutes I find out the first two rules. Rule 1: The weather is not your friend. The sky got choked with emotion at the event launch and its gentle tears begin to surround us up the first hill. Rule 2: I know it says CYCLE Rogaine on all the forms, but if you expect to cycle around the whole course, you’re dreaming (and because of rule one, it will be a wet dream). The second rule can also be stated as: Respect contour lines and beware of roads that say “Four Wheel Drive”. As we laboured to walk our bikes up what looked like such an innocent black line on the map, I decided that our conservative 10 km/hr average speed estimate was now looking to be on the optimistic side of a hope and a prayer.
The Middle
I start to imagine that I’m Dorothy and that the fire trails are the yellow brick road. Along the way I meet interesting creatures who decide to join us for a lot of our journey. The character that helped me formulate Rule 2 is Mr Bloody- Big-Hill who has courage but no compassion. He sings us a little song, “I’m Bloody Big Hill and I’ll crush your will. You come with a bike and I’ll make you hike. I’m a Bloody Big Hill and I’ll crush your will”. Next we meet Mrs You-Call-This-A-Road who takes the stage with a rendition of, “I’m a black line and I have no pride. You see me on the map but in the bush I like to hide. I’ll shrink to the size of a wombat path. I’ll overgrow and cut your speed in half.” Also, there’s the occasional new road which can surprise you. Just like the course setter said, “The map is a little old and not exactly perfect. If you’re looking at a road but can’t find it on the map, then either you’re lost or you’re not lost and the map is wrong.”
The middle seems to drag on unnecessarily long. Wouldn’t a four, three, or two hour cycle rogaine make more sense? We stick it out and dozens of controls and dozens of apricot squares later, the homeward stretch is in our sight. I can’t tell you how thankful I was that we didn’t meet Peter Puncture or Annie Another Puncture And Guess What You’re Out Of Patches.
The Aftermath
This year’s event comes to a close with an awards ceremony, a mouth full of hot jam pancakes, and conversations full of dids, didn’ts, would haves, and could haves. All in all the event was a great success, owed to its impressive organisation and the active participation of so many of you out there. Hey, I won’t even hold a grudge against the time keepers who took 10 points off for being five seconds late. Finally, hats off to everyone who kicked our ass on the day. Though I think if James and I had been out there another six hours we would have had no trouble in taking the lead. See you all next year, and happy trails until then.
Alan J Moore
Read MoreVenue: Uriarra Forest
Organiser: Kevin Moore
The Cyclegaine in Random Order
The End
“Go for it.” I say with a split second’s thought after glancing at my watch. James bounds off down the embankment. With five minutes and a kilometre left in this cycle rogaine, there’s no time for analysis and careful judgement. After our six hours is up our hard earned points will start evaporating faster than aftershave on a hot sunny day. It’s just not worth being late. Yet in all the excitement (and relief) of riding the homeward stretch we really get keen on this 30 point control and don’t let rational thinking get in our way. I look over the fascinating patterns the mud has made across my bike while I give my legs a well earned rest. I finally feel justified in having a mountain bike now. Not wanting to break any event rules, I astro-travel down the hill with
James, making doubly sure my out off body experience is within 20 meters of the control being tagged.
Two minutes tick by and I’m as anxious as a virgin on cherry picking night. But even if we don’t make it, there is no way I’ll be disappointed. In fact, at this point I couldn’t feel happier. I’m tired, muddy and sweaty but what an amazing five hours and fifty seven minutes it’s been. When I close my eyes I see pine forests, rivers, and a rocky fire trail in front of me, they’re all bouncing slightly out of time with me and my bike. Then everything is a blur as I feel emotions of terror and pleasure while pretending to be in control reaching warp six down the hills. After three minutes, James appears and calls up from the creek bed, “It was a looong way down”. He looks tired coming up the hill but refuses to slow down to a walk. He knows we’re out of time and every second counts. He clambers onto his bike and we’re away. I’m surprised at how much this little pressure situation brings new life to my legs. They peddle like the wings of a humming bird. Only three hours before I was truly exhausted.
The Beginning
“Your time starts, ... NOW!” my brother and his broken arm launches the 10th Annual Cycle Rogaine. People, bikes and control cards flap around like a fresh catch of fish discovering air ain’t as sweet as water. I’m caught up in the excitement and run enthusiastically to my bike. As I bound over logs I notice that most other groups have tied a string to the their control card — what a great idea. However, it’s only when I get to my bike that I discover my first real mistake. I’d just spent an hour studying the map and marking out an ideal route with my trusty yellow highlighter. Acting like an expert I’d even looked at the control descriptions, thought about approach strategies for some of the tricky controls and even looked at some of the contour lines. What I had forgotten was to work out which way was up and which direction I should start out. Thank the founders of rogaining for making this a team event. My partner, who I’d met that morning, turns up and leads the way.
This is my first cycle rogaine and so I don’t exactly know what to expect. Worse still, I’m a cocky bastard who thinks he knows exactly what to expect. In seven minutes I find out the first two rules. Rule 1: The weather is not your friend. The sky got choked with emotion at the event launch and its gentle tears begin to surround us up the first hill. Rule 2: I know it says CYCLE Rogaine on all the forms, but if you expect to cycle around the whole course, you’re dreaming (and because of rule one, it will be a wet dream). The second rule can also be stated as: Respect contour lines and beware of roads that say “Four Wheel Drive”. As we laboured to walk our bikes up what looked like such an innocent black line on the map, I decided that our conservative 10 km/hr average speed estimate was now looking to be on the optimistic side of a hope and a prayer.
The Middle
I start to imagine that I’m Dorothy and that the fire trails are the yellow brick road. Along the way I meet interesting creatures who decide to join us for a lot of our journey. The character that helped me formulate Rule 2 is Mr Bloody- Big-Hill who has courage but no compassion. He sings us a little song, “I’m Bloody Big Hill and I’ll crush your will. You come with a bike and I’ll make you hike. I’m a Bloody Big Hill and I’ll crush your will”. Next we meet Mrs You-Call-This-A-Road who takes the stage with a rendition of, “I’m a black line and I have no pride. You see me on the map but in the bush I like to hide. I’ll shrink to the size of a wombat path. I’ll overgrow and cut your speed in half.” Also, there’s the occasional new road which can surprise you. Just like the course setter said, “The map is a little old and not exactly perfect. If you’re looking at a road but can’t find it on the map, then either you’re lost or you’re not lost and the map is wrong.”
The middle seems to drag on unnecessarily long. Wouldn’t a four, three, or two hour cycle rogaine make more sense? We stick it out and dozens of controls and dozens of apricot squares later, the homeward stretch is in our sight. I can’t tell you how thankful I was that we didn’t meet Peter Puncture or Annie Another Puncture And Guess What You’re Out Of Patches.
The Aftermath
This year’s event comes to a close with an awards ceremony, a mouth full of hot jam pancakes, and conversations full of dids, didn’ts, would haves, and could haves. All in all the event was a great success, owed to its impressive organisation and the active participation of so many of you out there. Hey, I won’t even hold a grudge against the time keepers who took 10 points off for being five seconds late. Finally, hats off to everyone who kicked our ass on the day. Though I think if James and I had been out there another six hours we would have had no trouble in taking the lead. See you all next year, and happy trails until then.
Alan J Moore
