If a man cycles at 24 kilometres an hour, and stops for a total of 2 hours for breaks etc, how far will he travel in 9 1/2 hours? 181km apparently!
How dark was it this morning - so dark that when we met I could barely see the ground in front of my wheel. Most of the lights were out and there were more cars on the road (heading home!) than there usually are an hour later.
There's something eerie and quite oppressive about riding in the pitch black - not being able to see all around you as you go - that made riding quite depressing. Not sure if Dan could sense it too but conversation was pretty non existent as we both forced our way through the dark.
We were aiming to hit 60km before the 7am hospital meet - quite a tall order and the pace put me in an even worse mood as my aching legs tried to loosen up enough to function properly. The wind was stronger than usual which added an extra challenge to small inclines that usually don't bother me.
After an hour I was already fearing the worst for the day - how was I going to get through 180km like this? It's not going to happen. The voices of the demons in my head started to rationalize to me why that wouldn't be so terrible after all. "Your knees need a rest - your body's telling you to slow down", "It's only the first week of the phase - another 100-150km after yesterday would be an ok result", "Those hills today are going to be a nightmare, just give them a miss eh?"
It was a full hour and a half before the sun decided to show itself through and start to lift the gloom, both to the weather and my mood. Not for long though - the sun brought the heat and even though it was a beautiful morning and the chat started to flow a bit more, I still labored all the way to the hospital with those little voices wittering on every now and again about some little niggle or other. Thanks to Dan pushing the route we broke 62km in just under 2 1/2 hours - happy with that after all.
The only way I can get through rides in that frame of mind is to break them down into chunks. Aim for the next 30 mins, aim for the next 10km, aim for the next hour, 20km etc and just keep pushing through each milestone until you can see the end in sight.
The hospital check point was long, but the atmosphere in the group was good - the early silo's are beginning to break down and you can sense a team spirit forming just in time for the main event. Lot's of banter and my mood was lifting consdierably - maybe the nutella sandwiches helped too?
2 loops of today's route before the checkpoint - "Surely that can't be right? They seem really short, there's no way we'll do 50-60km before the next checkpoint." They were back again.
Riding with Dan and Ian we set a reasonable pace, down the first hill and over the bypass before hitting the 2km St Martins Hill climb. 8.30am and there is no wind at all and the temperature touches 25 degrees as we push into the climb with another group of riders - and hit the top. Amazingly I'm beginning to enjoy myself and the voices recede. Ok, so the route was longer than It looked - two loops at this pace would get us to 120km by 10am. Excellent! - the happy voices are now in the ascendancy and I climb the burmarrad hill while they tell me that all that training is paying off. Wait a minute, maybe that was the equally angelic voices of Alan and Liz who'd parked themselves there to offer words of encouragement?
Around we go, and taking a drink at the top of St Paul's Bypass I drop my *$#!*$# water bottle. Seeing the others disappear down the hill I stop and walk back to get it. Cars and bikes are all doing their best to avoid it and then who'd have thought it? Jabba the Hutt came down the hill driving a knackered old white Mazda, saw my bottle, and swerved to drive right over it! How do I know it was Jabba? Well I've never seen anyone else so fat and slimy, and who else could be more evil than the biggest crime lord in the Galaxy? Since he was visiting Earth I decided to teach him a few choice English phrases :)
The happy voices in my head used this to spur me on, Dan & Ian waited for me on St Martins Hill and we climbed. Again. 9.30am and over 30 degrees, no wind at all and the sweat was streaming into my stinging eyes. Why didn't I wear that cap after all? Despite the blindness the positive mindset carried on to the checkpoint - just shy of 120km before 10am and the good guys are telling me there's no way I won't do 180km today. I believe them.
A quick chat with the team doctor and physio while we break and we're off again. We've collected Lee and Evan to join our merry band and we set off for Freeport. The pace is strong, we're all going well, and then at Hunters Bar, disaster! Another volley of choice phrases as I realise I did't re-start my GPS when we left the check-point so I haven't recorded the last 25 minutes and 9.x km. Gutted - to get round and not have the visible proof is to lose one of the things that keeps me going!!
The voices tell me to focus and I reconcile myself to the fact that knowing I did it will just have to do this time. The Demons know that was their last shot and retreat from my brain, to come up with plan B.
Both Dan and Evan have wheel trouble when their spokes decide to make a jump for it. Evan first, and we lose him near Marsa and then Dan's on the airport road. We stop for water and to assess the damage before heading on - the final 20km to go.
The team peel off one by one and I am left alone for the final 6km. I reach the turn for Mosta and my route home. I know that its 4km up that hill, and that I need to do another 6km to reach my goal. "178km isn't bad is it, surely that'll do?" I hear someone ask. No chance - and I carry on up the slope towards the jesuit roundabout and back to make sure I get the extra 2km in.Finally, turning up the hill towards home I realise where the Devils have gone. Its nearly 2pm and the temperature is approaching 40 degrees (No doubt they had a word with their boss to help out with that one) and there is no air to breathe. Heading towards Naxxar an army of them are hanging on to my legs like lead weights, to stop me reaching the top of the hill. They didn't.
181km down. Who'd have thought it? What a roller-coaster of a day mentally and physically. No energy left to celebrate, or even talk to be honest. Recovered enough by 7pm to go out for a well earned curry in the evening, and even managed to stay awake!
Last song? A classic....
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