Anthony climbing Mt. Hotham.

The Audax ACE250 has developed a reputation as one of the most challenging single-day mass participation rides you can attempt. Testament to this is the fact Audax imposes qualifying criteria to participate. It isn’t a walk up start like its 3 Peaks sister ride.

With six months of training completed I felt confident I had done enough to successfully complete the ride. But on the drive up to Bright the day before the ride I still felt some apprehension as the imposing sight of Mt. Buffalo came into view, standing proud in the midday sun.

My iPhone had been randomly playing songs for the entire three hour drive and it was quite prophetic that it started playing Hunters & Collector’s iconic Holy Grail (see video below) as I approached the ‘Audax Alpine Challenge’ banner strung over the Great Alpine Road in Bright. All I could do was laugh!

I unpacked the car at our accommodation, changed into my riding kit and hit the road towards Harrietville for a short ride to shake the driving kays out of my legs. It was mid-afternoon by then and the temperature was into the mid 30s – a preview of what the weather gods would have in store for us on the big day.

After passing the compulsory lights check and completing my ride registration, it was back to the house for a cool shower, some stretching and a relaxed evening carbo-loading with my housemates. My good friend Frosty cooked up a superb pasta feast to everyone’s delight and second and third helpings were a popular choice.

Alarms were set for 3am but like a kid on his birthday I was awake before the alarm sounded and I got stuck into a huge breakfast. My riding buddy Ian had also opted for the early start (there’s a later start option too) and by 3:45am we were among the growing throng of nervously chatty riders at the start line. It seemed to take forever for those final minutes to pass by but the countdown finally started and to the sound of a small applause from the waiting crowd, we set off in the darkness towards Harrietville.

Adrenalin must have been flowing abundantly as the pace was surprisingly brisk for an endurance ride. We set off from Bright and within 45 minutes we were at the foot of Mt. Hotham and the mystique of the ACE250 was starting to become clear. A line of headlights gradually worked its way further and further down the road as the peloton made its way past The Meg, CRB Hill, the gatehouse and up towards the summit. As I crested the summit I had the amazing sight of the sun peeping over the ridgeline on my right. At the same time a long line of lights seemed to pulsate for kilometres down the still-dark slopes of the mountain.

To this point I had felt comfortable on the climb, riding within myself given what lay ahead. I was feeling confident of a sub-two-hour time for the climb but the final two or three kilometres were a real challenge as I ground away in my granny gear. I was losing the ‘shut-up legs’ argument with my rapidly fatiguing lower quads before I finally reached the summit and commenced the descent to the first checkpoint at Dinner Plain.

A word of congratulations must go to the organisers and volunteers for putting on a feast at the checkpoints. I quickly refueled with the available food and hit the road to Omeo. My goal was to complete the ride in 10 hours plus time for stops so I wanted to keep the breaks to a minimum, as I had done on all my training rides.

A few minutes out of Dinner Plain and lady luck deserted me. I struck an object on the road that flatted my front tyre. No major dramas with the flat itself, but I completely fluffed the CO2 canister refill both times, managing to get the front tyre barely half-inflated and my fingers almost frozen to the canister. My hand pump wasn’t able to get much more air in either so it was a spongy and careful roll to Omeo to avoid the possibility of rolling the front tyre off the rim.

On the outskirts of Omeo, Ian caught up to me and we rolled into the second checkpoint to devour Frosty Fruits and salad rolls. Luckily for me they also had a floor pump and I was able to inflate my front tyre from 40PSI back to 100PSI.

I also took the opportunity to check my seatpost and found the cause of my fatiguing lower quads and grumpy knees up Hotham. I always leave a small gap between the seatpost collar and the bracket for my rear light. This gap had disappeared somewhere and I suspect the seatpost had dropped slightly. With said gap returned and the seatpost collar suitably tightened my grumpy legs and knees were to be no more!

Having read all about the gut-busting efforts needed up the Back of Falls, my plan was to eat well at Omeo, cruise to the Blue Duck Inn at Anglers Rest and top up with a gel and energy bar to avoid any pavement pizza moments on the way up Falls. Ian and I set off together from Omeo and cruised along the highway, rolling turns and enjoying the spectacular views.

Unfortunately for Ian (but fortunately for me) he’s proportioned like a Clydesdale while I’m more like a miniature horse. Consequently, I wasn’t able to offer too much of a draft for him but rode in a comparative vacuum behind him. Thanks mate! At one point he even requested I sit up more. What also became apparent was the marked rise in temperature, which now hovered in the low 30s.

Arriving at the Blue Duck Inn you could sense the riders knew of the looming battle ahead, like an army ill-equipped for it’s opposition. A half-can of coke was added to my earlier food plan for this stop and I felt for the guy I saw pull out a salad roll he’d carried from Omeo. Surely it was going to make several reappearances along the way to Falls Creek?

Just like the start so many hours earlier, those last few minutes as we cycled towards the infamous WTF Corner seemed to take forever. Ian had ridden the back of Falls climb, starting out from Anglers Rest, a few days earlier and was able to provide some tips about what to expect. Still, nothing quite prepares you for what you’re greeted with at the blind left-hander that signals the start of the climb.

The distinctive white granite of the Back of Falls climb.

The road pitches up at an incredible angle before taking a sharp right and disappearing out of view. Even with low-range gearing of 34/27, seated climbing was nigh on impossible on the 15% pitch and it took a measured out-of-the-saddle effort to claw up this first section while avoiding the red zone. Upon reaching the following right-hander, any sense of accomplishment is quickly extinguished as you’re greeted with another stretch of road pitched up at a leg-smashing angle, and then another left-hander, and then more road pitched skyward.

By now the temperature was hovering around 38ºC and even with the many water stops provided I found it a real challenge to complete this section of the climb. The reflected heat off the greyish-white granite road surface was unbelievable. Three times the thumping in my head reached a magnitude I’d never experienced before. Each time I desperately sought out what little shade there was to have a short rest, throw cold water over myself, clip back in and commence the grind again. Stinging eyes due to the mixing of sunscreen, sweat and water were my reward for each break.

But I was still pedalling, while many others were sitting by the side of the road, their faces expressionless, or walking their bikes up the hill with head bowed – the ultimate indignity for any self-respecting cyclist?

Finally I reached Trapyard Gap and the realisation that the worst was probably behind me provided an overwhelming sense of relief. There are short sections of climbing that again put you in the hurt box but nothing like the hell just climbed. To finally crest the plateau after Raspberry Hill and catch that first glimpse of Rocky Valley Dam was amazing.

I was able to bridge to a rider ahead of me and together we rolled turns at a brisk pace to the next checkpoint at Falls Creek. I reckon I ate a days worth of food here and the rice crème was sensational. A few minutes later Ian also arrived and once he’d had an opportunity to recharge we set off to tackle the descent to Mt. Beauty, following a warning about a dangerous left-hander not far down the road.

Ian used his Clydesdale stature and 53/11 gearing to full effect on the descent, setting a scorching pace down the mountain. I had trouble keeping up with my lowly 50/12 top-end and let out an ‘oh shite’ at the corrugated left-hander well known for causing over-enthusiastic descenders (like yours truly) plenty of grief. Stiff rims and my reasonably low weight caused the front-end to get a little bouncy and it took some skill (and luck!) to keep the bike upright and on the left side of the road.

Thankfully we were able to roll into Mt. Beauty with another rider who knew of a water tap behind the hardware store. We drenched ourselves, topped up our bottles, I downed another gel and then we headed off to complete the final climb – the infamous Tawonga Gap.

Tawonga is known more for its irrepressible and stifling heat than for its challenging gradients. As a climb it’s only a little longer than Kinglake and not that much steeper. However it offers little respite from the sun, little in the way of any cooling breeze and a dead road surface that was melting in the 40.5ºC heat. Add these ingredients to the 220km I’d already done and you’re looking at a recipe for further pain and suffering.

The start of the Tawonga Gap climb – the final climb of the ACE250.

Once again many cyclists were taking the sitting or walking option while I just focused on keeping the pedals turning in my 34/27 gearing and staying out of the red zone. Just prior to the water stop I sought some shade to take a breather and tipped my helmet at the couple climbing Tawonga on a tandem. Chapeau to the both of you! Meanwhile, Ian had dropped back to down a gel and was grinding his way slowly up the climb. Later he commented that he wasn’t in the hurt locker, he was in the coffin with a crowbar trying to find a way out!

Back on the bike it was a case of counting down every 500 metres to get me through the remainder of the climb. At this point I also started to do the maths on achieving my goal of completing the ride in 10 hours riding time. I thought if I crested Tawonga with 40 minutes up my sleeve I’d have a chance. It was enough to spur me on past Sullivan’s Lookout and I let out an almighty scream as I rounded the left-hand bend that signals the start of the descent.

This was also my cue to let adrenalin once again carry me to a performance level beyond my norm and I descended like a neo-pro, my seemingly revitalised legs turning over the compact 50/12 gearing at over 100rpm. Once again I managed to bridge to a rider also descending at a rapid pace and together we pulled some big turns to the Germantown turn-off. It was enough to post a top-20 time for this segment on Strava with an average speed of just under 50km/h, which, considering the circumstances, was a phenomenal achievement.

The time-trial effort continued for the 5km into Bright and we were able to pick up two more riders to form a five-man team. As we crossed the river I knew it was close and we desperately yelled out to the traffic marshal ‘which way, which way?’ He directed us up to the roundabout, which we scooted around, down the next left and then right onto the finishing straight.

With an out-of-the-saddle acceleration and an accompanying ‘yeah baby!’ yell that generated a huge cheer from the assembled crowd, I crossed the line in 9 hours 57 minutes riding time and 11 hours 53 minutes elapsed. A cooling water spray was a just reward followed by food, drink and a dip in the Ovens River to sooth my now-aching legs.

I’d done it. The ACE250 and its 4,360 vertical metres of climbing had been conquered! And in stark contrast to when I’d arrived in the high country, the mountains lay hidden behind a layer of thick mist when I departed on Monday morning. Perhaps this was an acknowledgment that on the day prior they had been tamed by two wheels, some carbon fibre tubing and an immeasurable amount of raw grit and determination.

Thanks to all who donated to help raise over $1,100 for the Kids Cancer Project. A special thanks also to my family for their endless support while I was out racking up the training miles. My wife is a cycling widow no longer!

Finishing times at the end of the ride in Bright.

If you’re contemplating taking on the ACE250, here are some tips that might help:

• Start your training in the winter, building up a solid aerobic base. It can be challenging to hold back on the helter skelter that is group rides but a solid aerobic base is vital for a ride like this. I spent a whole 16 seconds in Heart Rate Zone 5 (HRZ5). Most climbing kilometres were in HRZ4 while I recovered, cruising the flats in HRZ2 or HRZ3 (except the Tawonga descent to Bright).

• Grab a copy of Joe Friel’s Cyclist Training Bible. Read it. Read it again. Make up a training plan. Read it again. Adjust your plan as life throws obstacles at you.

• Lock in your priority 1 training rides for the three months leading up to the ACE250, with increasing climbing kilometres and hours on the bike with each ride. I started with a 110km ride on Melbourne Cup Day and built up over seven rides to 190km with 3,000m climbing just after Christmas. My final training ride was the 2.5 Donna ascent in early January. This was in addition to my usual 200km of commuting and group rides a week.

• Carbo-load and taper in the few days leading up to the ride. This strategy worked for me but I do know other riders who prefer to keep up the climbing kilometres in the days prior to the event. The Australian Institute of Sport has a great fact sheet on carbo loading.

• Set up your bike with the lowest gearing you can justifiably afford. It’s best to have a bail-out gear should things turn nasty. I know of A-grade club riders who were running 39/28 gearing. I chose to go a 34/50 compact with a 12/27 cassette and didn’t regret it for a second as my 167cm/71kg frame is more rouleur than climber.

• Plan your ride strategy. Know when and what you’re going to eat. Practise your food and hydration strategy on you training rides.

• Make up a three-column running sheet in Excel with town, distance and climb length/gradients from CyclingProfiles and tape it to your top tube. This helped me get through the tougher sections by knowing what lay ahead.

• Opt to start the ride at 4am. You’ll enjoy sunrise over Mt. Hotham and be well into the ride before the sun starts to bite. The late bunch will also be wearing the fluoro vests just like you so there’s little downside, other than missing a couple hours of sleep, to starting at 4am. Plus you get first grab of all the goodies at the control points and, more importantly, of the water supplies up the Back of Falls.

Have you got a climbing-related story you’d like to share? Send Matt an email at theclimbingcyclist@gmail.com with the details.

You don't need to be at the summit to get great views from the Dandenongs.

I made two mistakes on Saturday morning. The first was a failure to look at the weather forecast before leaving the house. The second was underestimating the ride known as The Crucifix. When a ride is named after a device that was designed to kill people, it’s probably worth taking seriously.

With Brendan working all day and the Donvale Demon still recovering from his nasty fall at Mt. Baw Baw it was time for me to self-motivate and head out for a solo ride. I now realise why I did so little training for last year’s 3 Peaks – I had to do most of my training alone and riding by yourself is, well, not all that much fun.

After whinging and moaning for a while, I drove out to Heathmont, parked the car and rolled out toward The Basin. My plan at that stage was just to head up the 1 in 20 and see how I felt — maybe get in a couple of climbs and then ride home. But as I climbed the 1 in 20 I decided I’d give the ol’ Crucifix a go. How hard could it be? After all, it’s only four climbs with some flats and descents in between. Easy.

At Sassafras I took a left and headed up the Mt. Dandenong Tourist Road to Olinda and then up to Sky High. I didn’t want to stop for long so after refilling my bidons, I rolled down Ridge Road and back to the Tourist Road.

By this time it was starting to get pretty warm and as I started climbing Inverness Road I realised the heat was already taking its toll. I managed to get up and over the climb without too much trouble, taking a minute off my PB thanks to a gut-busting push through the climb’s final steep section. I limped back on to the Tourist Road and headed toward Ferntree Gully.

A nice clear day up at Sky High.

It’s worth mentioning that there seems to be some conjecture about the “correct” way to approach The Crucifix. For example, Cycle2Max suggests starting with the 1 in 20 before heading straight down to Burwood Highway to climb the Devil’s Elbows second. Bikely suggests the 1 in 20 first, up to Sky High, down and up Inverness Road and then back up to Sky High. MapMyRide also suggests the 1 in 20 and then Inverness Road, but with an additional few kilometres along York Road and without heading back up to Sky High.

I’d be willing to venture that it doesn’t really matter what order you do the climbs in, so long as you do all four.

After Inverness Road I followed the Tourist Road right down to its end in Upper Ferntree Gully, touching 80km/h in the process. I must admit that the Donvale Demon’s blowout on Baw Baw has left me pretty spooked when it comes to descending, and for every second of that descent I was trying to stop myself from thinking: “What happens if my tyre blows out here?” I can only imagine how the Demon must be feeling on the bike.

But I reached the bottom of the hill in one piece and turned around, starting on the third climb of the day. In many ways, the Devil’s Elbows climb reminds me of the Tawonga Gap (Mt. Beauty side) climb,  the huge left-hand hairpins in particular. That said, the Elbows’ climb is steeper (but shorter) and in the heat, and with dwindling water supplies, I was certainly feeling the burn.

After 3km of grinding I took a left at Churchill Road and got started on the second part of the climb. This was only the second time I’d climbed Churchill Road/One Tree Hill Road and both times it’s been harder than I expected. When you look at the road in front of you, the gradient doesn’t seem that high and yet it always seems to be very slow going.

Climbing Churchill Road -- climb number three for the day.

It was a relief when I reached the top of the hill — by then I was well and truly looking forward to a drink and something to eat. But such luxuries would have to wait — there was still one more climb to go: The Wall.

I headed down Sherbrooke Road to Monbulk, noticing, to my great annoyance, that the tendon pain I’d had in my right knee a few weeks earlier had returned. It’s not the most excruciating pain, but it’s enough to make pedal strokes slightly painful and to make me anxious about its potential return during 3 Peaks.

I started The Wall feeling tired and got to the top feeling exhausted. It’s not the hardest climb in the world at only 5km in length, but by this stage it was getting really hot, I was fatiguing quickly and I was dehydrated and hungry.

I rolled through Olinda, back down to Sassafras and back down the 1 in 20 to The Basin where, I’d promised myself, I would have something cold and sweet to drink. I did just that, smashing down a Coke while lying on the grass across the road from the Basin shops. It was at that point I realised just how hot it had become. Without the benefit of altitude (albeit 600m) the temperature was in the high 30s and I was feeling it.

Descending Sherbrooke Road toward Monbulk.

After filling up my bidons I rolled out of The Basin and out toward Boronia. I was headed for the Eastlink Trail which would take me all the way back to Chandler Highway and towards home in Thornbury (my partner Sharon was picking up our car from Heathmont). But I had to get to the Trail first.

Away from the trees, and with the heat blasting back off the road, the temperature was above 40 degrees according to my Garmin. In fact, the unit was reading 41.2 degrees for most of the way from The Basin to the start of the bike track.

The ride back home along the Eastlink Trail saw the temperature drop below 40 degrees but not far enough for my liking. I was hot, dehydrated, hungry and ready for a rest but somehow I managed to find a good rhythm and tap out a 30km/h+ average on the way back.

I got home about half an hour later than I had expected though, and when I walked in the door I realised just how dehydrated and hungry I was. I felt light-headed and weak and in need of a lie down. Several litres of liquid over the next few hours helped to revive me but I’ll certainly be sure to drink (and eat) more on future rides.

And while I’m at it, I should probably make sure that I actually check the weather forecast before heading out too. I only did 119km and 2,100 vertical metres of climbing but with the heat, it felt like a hell of a lot more than that.

Slightly warm.

Well, it’s less than six weeks until the 3 Peaks Challenge and I’m starting to get excited and a little anxious. I know I can make it around that course within the time limit, but I still have to actually do it. Hopefully all the extra training this time around will make it that little bit easier.

As always, feel free to come and say “hi” and share your story on Twitter, Facebook and/or Strava and you can always leave a comment below.

Until next time, please stay safe on the roads.

39 days to go …

Previous instalments

• Prologue: back on the bike
• Episode 1: the Great Ocean Road ride
• Episode 2: new wheels, old climbs and offensive black discs
• Episode 3: an Arthurs Seat century
• Episode 4: flying solo (up the 1 in 20)
• Episode 5: back to the Dandenongs
• Episode 6: the Mt. Macedon double
• Episode 7: the Rapha Festive 500
• Episode 8: a warm welcome to the Alps
• Episode 9: backing up with the Back of Falls
• Episode 10: Mt. Hotham doesn’t get easier, you just go faster
• Episode 11: climbs galore (and then up some more)
• Episode 12: Mt. Baw Baw revisited

Riding through Icy Creek on the way to Mt. Baw Baw.

There are few hills in our fine state of Victoria that inspire fear quite like Mt. Baw Baw. It’s not a long climb, but what it lacks in length, it more than makes up for with ridiculous gradients.

Earlier in the week I’d half-jokingly suggested to the Donvale Demon that we attempt a climb of the great mountain. When he said he was keen, we made plans to head out there Sunday morning.

I picked the Demon up before 7am and drove us east, through Lilydale and out to Noojee. After a surprisingly quick drive, we had an even quicker bite to eat at the Noojee general store and then rolled out of town. I knew there were very few flat sections of road between Noojee and the start of the Baw Baw climb but the challenging Vespers Hill climb came up far quicker than expected.

More views from near Icy Creek.

It’s 4km of climbing at an average gradient of around 8% and a climb I should definitely add to the site. We both took it fairly easy on the steep climb, conserving energy for the always-tough Baw Baw ascent. After grinding our way to the top of Vespers, we flew down the other side and into a string of gorgeous rolling hills.

The photos featured here give you a sense of the region’s beauty, but I’d highly recommend getting out there for a spin if you can. Even if you’re not interested in climbing Mt. Baw Baw (there’s no shame in that!) the quiet, narrow, picturesque roads of the Baw Baw foothills are a sight to behold.

As we made our way through the towns of Icy Creek and Tanjil Bren, the Demon and I quipped about how it was hard to imagine a better location for cycling.

I can think of worse places to ride.

We rolled through Tanjil Bren and into the ~3km descent that takes you to Big Tree Creek and the start of the climb. We took it pretty easy in the climb’s initial 6km and, to be honest, those first 6km took it pretty easy on us. They’re some easy kilometres of climbing, particularly when you compare them with the horror they lead to.

For most of the morning, I’d been apprehensive about facing the final 7km of the Baw Baw climb. The last time I came out to climb the mountain I made it a few kilometres before having to turn around. I drove home that day feeling all kinds of despondent. Would it be the same this time around?

After the shortest of breaks at the start of the real climb, I joined the Demon in climbing the Baw Baw that we all know and love — a climb that starts with a gradient of 10%+ and that never really lets up.

It's all uphill from here ...

As I put my head down and concentrated on finding a good rhythm, I realised I had a gear in reserve and that I was actually feeling pretty comfortable. ‘I’ll climb this whole thing without using my 28!’, I thought to myself in a moment of utter naivety. By the time I had reached the next corner, it was clear my plan was a little unrealistic.

In an attempt to strike a compromise between body and mind, I set myself the challenge of finishing the climb without stopping, and in less than 50 minutes. In my only previous attempt I’d summited the mountain in 58 minutes and I was confident of beating that quite comfortably.

While I barely used any gear beyond the 34 x 28 (I somehow did it with a 39×26 last time) I found myself going considerably faster than before. I distinctly remember that first ascent, weaving all over the road in an attempt to keep the pedals turning over, my speedo reading 6km/h all the while. This time around I was seeing 9km/h and 10km/h.

I made it! (but should have worn black socks)

Sitting here at home a few days later, I’d like to say I always felt comfortable and in control on the climb. Truth is, I was caught in a perpetual battle with myself — sitting down was hurting my back and standing up had me feeling like my breakfast and I were about to be reacquainted. But I somehow managed to alternate between the two positions, keeping up a reasonable speed in the process.

When I reached the top, I hit the lap button on my Garmin and expected to see something in the high 40s. When 41 minutes appeared on the screen, my joy at summiting the great mountain was multiplied manyfold. I allowed myself a quick fist pump before coming to a stop in the carpark, my head resting on my handlebars. I’d taken 17 minutes off my previous best — an improvement of roughly 30%.

When the Demon reached the top we shared a high-five before heading to a nearby cafe to grab a bite to eat, something to drink and some photos of the great views.

A well-deserved lunch.

Mt. Baw Baw is probably the only mountain I’ve ever climbed that isn’t fun to descend — it’s just too steep. Even though I was taking it pretty carefully around the descent’s many corners, I still found myself using every centimetre of the road on a couple of occasions. And that’s not to mention the potholes that litter the road.

After regrouping at The Gantry, the Demon and I continued into the more gradual descent toward Big Tree Creek. As I rounded a sweeping left-hander a kilometre or so later, I heard an almighty bang somewhere behind me. ‘Oh’, I thought, ‘I didn’t realise there was a gun range out this way.’

And then it hit me: that wasn’t a gun going off, it was a tyre exploding.

In that split-second, a day that had brought pleasure, pain, relief and exhiliration suddenly delivered a healthy dose of concern, adrenaline and horror. Was the Donvale Demon OK? Had he come off his bike? Was his bike OK? And was 3 Peaks now off the cards?

For the answers to these questions and more, read the Donvale Demon’s terrific first-hand account of the incident. You won’t be disappointed.

And don’t forget, you can always come and say ‘hi’ over at Twitter, Facebook and/or Strava or leave a comment below.

45 days to go …

Previous instalments

• Prologue: back on the bike
• Episode 1: the Great Ocean Road ride
• Episode 2: new wheels, old climbs and offensive black discs
• Episode 3: an Arthurs Seat century
• Episode 4: flying solo (up the 1 in 20)
• Episode 5: back to the Dandenongs
• Episode 6: the Mt. Macedon double
• Episode 7: the Rapha Festive 500
• Episode 8: a warm welcome to the Alps
• Episode 9: backing up with the Back of Falls
• Episode 10: Mt. Hotham doesn’t get easier, you just go faster
• Episode 11: climbs galore (and then up some more)

On the west coast of Scotland (my home country) ‘baws’ means ‘balls’: as in nuts, goolies, nads. If something is baws it’s not good. If it sucks baws it’s particularly unsavoury. If it’s total and utter baws … you get the picture.

I approached Mt. Baw Baw with this in mind. I knew, because everyone said so, that it was going to be hard. And so it proved.

Not the first half. At around 4% the first few kays are eminently do-able.  I even rode at the same pace as the Climbing Cyclist which – during recent outings at Mt. Hotham, Falls Creek, Tawonga Gap and Kinglake – hasn’t happened. By necessity, climbing for me has been a solitary pursuit to date, a painful but satisfying thing that – I think – I’m getting better at.

And so I was happy with the first of the day’s two baws, as it were. The start of the second, bigger baw needed no signpost – even though there is one at The Gantry. The road curves up and away at around 10%, and at an ever greater gradient when it feels like it.

I had a 300-metre headstart on the Climbing Cyclist, which meant he didn’t zip past me until, ooh, 320 metres into the climb; and then I was alone again, pondering life’s big questions.

The most noticeable feature of Baw Baw’s top half is that it’s all mid-hill. If you have to stop – and I did – you have to get going again mid-climb, wobbling all over the road, wheelspinning in the pool of sweat you’ve just created. You feel your heartbeat pounding at a terrific bpm.

I was happy to get to the top, even posing for pictures with a fist pump. Not so baws after all, I thought – my fortune is changing.

But I was wrong.

For the descent, I got down the bigger of the baws no problem – slow and steady, of course, but that’s just how I roll. I met the Climbing Cyclist at The Gantry, who was doing his ironing, talking a rest.

When we started again, the Climbing Cyclist took the lead. I got my bike up to 35km/h, maybe a bit faster, before – kaboom!

In retrospect I know my front tyre exploded, ripping the sidewall apart. This in turn blew the tube out, which wrapped itself around the front forks and brake shoes, strangling and stopping the bike suddenly.

I say ‘in retrospect’ because at the time I blacked out – there was just the explosion (loud enough to send birds squawking from the trees and stop the Climbing Cyclist in his tracks). I remember feeling solid impact on my head, my shoulder, my left side and my thigh. I remember clearly thinking, mid-slide: ‘not fatal’, but there may have been a question mark at the end. And then I remember looking back and seeing my bidons, snacks and spare tube strewn across the road.

My first thought? Total baws. When I got up from the tarmac the Climbing Cyclist and I inspected the blowout, marveling at the damage to my bike and body.

My front wheel was fatally damaged, the rim sheared; the brake levers were scratched to pieces; the carbon soles of my (new) shoes were cracked; my (new) helmet was split up the back.

The scrapes on my shoulder, back, love handles, hips and leg were a map of the impact and subsequent sliding; the fuzziness in my head made it hard to think clearly.

Oh how we laughed when we realised this had all happened 45km of hilly ground from the car, in Noojee, and that, evidently, I was grounded for the day. We decided the Climbing Cyclist would cycle to Noojee to get the car, while I waited by the side of the road on Baw Baw, eating witchetty grubs and/or my final energy bar.

But after 10 minutes I started walking, carting my mangled bike, probably still in a state of shock. There was very little traffic, but the first vehicle to pass contained a retired couple who stopped and offered me a ride.

And so it was. I was driven off the mountain, bruised to bits, listening to tales of how the couple were about to caravan across Australia. All three of us watched out the window for the Climbing Cyclist and when we saw him – about 20 freaking kilometres away – he looked as grateful as I was that these beautiful strangers had rescued me. Not only that, they were heading straight for Noojee.

I sat in the carpark feeling sorry for myself. By the time the Climbing Cyclist arrived I was more skeleton than peleton. He asked if I’d mind if he went off to knock out the last 4km of his century, assuring me he’d only be eight or so minutes. That’s the kind of guy we’re dealing with, readers – a ruthless gentleman. [ed. in retrospect, this seems like a pretty selfish and pointless exercise. My bad.]

As I write this my bike is knackered, and I’m popping painkillers like a filthy addict. The boss of the LBS I bought the tyre from has very kindly offered me a loan wheel, while the blown-out tyre gets examined in Germany with a view to compensation. My grazed, bloodied fingers are crossed.

Will there be a happy ending? I’ll keep you posted.

The top of Montefiero Hill during the final stage of the Tour Down Under.

There’s something awesome about packing up your bike and heading interstate for a cycling event. Aside from feeling a little ‘pro-like’ it’s the prospect of hitting new roads and scenery that I really enjoy.

Not only is the atmosphere in Adelaide electric for the whole week of the Tour Down Under, but the cycling on offer in Adelaide really is second to none. It’s easy to get around, the roads are great quality, there’s a good combination of flats and climbing and, by and large, there’s a healthy amount of respect and courtesy from motor vehicle drivers.

The Tour itself is a great opportunity to celebrate what we love about cycling. It’s a chance to get close to our heroes while celebrating our much-maligned sport (thanks Warney) with the safety of numbers. For a whole week, Adelaide seems to become the cycling Mecca of the world. The positivity of the event flows right up to the pros who all seem to rave about the event itself, and the quality of the rides in and around Adelaide.

The BUPA Challenge Tour ride is a chance for rank amateurs like myself to tackle a World Tour stage on the same day the pros do. This year, the event comprised Stage 4 of the TDU – a 138km jaunt from the inner-city suburb of Norwood, to the heart of the Barossa wine region in Tanunda. Riders also had the option of reducing the length of their ride with starts at three other locations on the course, providing 102km, 79km and 33km alternatives.

This year 7,000 riders took the challenge, with an impressive 5,000 starting from Norwood, including Opposition Leader Tony Abbott and, well, me.

Aside from some fairly manageable rolling hills and great scenery, the course only had two main obstacles – Smith Hill and Menglers Hill. These were the two spots where the pros could earn King of the Mountain (KOM) points.

Course profile for the BUPA Challenge Tour ride

The excitement of the event started from the moment I hit the airport. It takes some adjusting to be waiting for your bike in the Oversize Baggage area with a large number of other cyclists. I reckon at least a dozen people were also keen to ensure their bikes had made it one piece.

I picked up my registration kit the day before the event in Norwood. All riders get an event jersey (see image below) which they must wear on the ride, and a racing number for their bike including a microchip. The microchip is a throw-away version being trialled this year and a few people were sceptical they would work with such large number of riders, particularly at the start. It will be interesting to see, but I’ll be relying on the trusty Garmin/Strava combo anyway.

Also, a word of warning if you’re looking to do this event next year – get your pre-ordered jersey size right. Because of limited numbers the organisers were not prepared to swap sizes at the registration pick-up point. A couple of disappointed people tried to swap jerseys with me in Norwood.

#4733 ready to roll

The event itself started in Norwood at a brisk 6.30am. I’m not a huge fan of early starts but was happy about it on this particular day with a ‘balmy’ 35° forecast. The pros started at 11am and I felt for them, having to take on the stage during the hottest part of the day. In preparation, I made sure I drank an ocean of water the day before to hydrate properly.

I had a team of one this year as a number of my cycling mates were busy (read lazy!). However, the joy of ‘flying solo’ was that I managed to get a good spot at the start line and could selfishly go at my own pace all day, jumping in and out of packs as and when it suited. I think everyone relished the slight tailwind we had all the way. It sure makes a difference, especially when the course more or less headed in one direction (north west) to Tanunda.

The event jersey.

Overall the course was quite reasonable without too many difficult sections. I suspect that’s why it attracts such a large and varied group of participants. That and the fact there are multiple start points. No matter your capability and choice of start point, you have plenty of riders around you the whole way, bringing plenty of distractions.

That said, I did have to smile three-quarters of the way through the ride when I was climbing Menglers Hill. I thought I was maintaining a reasonable pace before I noticed young families of four and the odd tandem bike or two climbing with me!

Before the event I had enjoyed some recent and challenging training rides with Matt, the curator of this site, as he prepares for another assault at 3 Peaks. So I was well prepared, and for that reason I was really able to enjoy this event. [ed. Have you signed up yet? Huh?]

The two climbs certainly slowed me down but were not long enough to cause too much trouble. With the tailwind, I was feeling so good that I had covered 92km before I even thought about having a short break and a water stop.

I was very pleased to finish the 138km event in just under 4.5 hours, thank to some good training, the tailwind and sharing the load with a few ‘competitive’ others. Importantly, I beat Tony Abbott by 20 minutes. Then again, his day job probably kills a few more hours than mine!

The facilities at the event finish line were really good and a full lunch was included at the Tanunda RSL Recreation Reserve. There were plenty of cycling, drinks and food stalls and a band provided a rewarding post-ride atmosphere. There were also coach transfers back to the Adelaide CBD. But the best part was the massages provided by SportsMed for a very cheap $5 donation to Cancer research. Damn that was good. In fact, I blame the massage for my ambitious decision to ride back to my parents’ house back in Heathfield.

By the time I got back to my parents place, I’d covered nearly 230km for the day. Safe to say the second leg of the ride was slower than the first, but the quality roads and scenery made it all worthwhile. Along the way I even had to stop for these guys coming in the opposite direction:

The pros showing us how it's really done.

I spent the weekend recovering and watching, with friends, GreenEdge win its first World Tour. On Saturday we made our way to the top of Willunga Hill for the ‘Queen Stage’, and the following day we headed into the heart of the Adelaide CBD to watch the final stage on Montefiore Hill. Both locations featured a huge TV and a fantastic atmosphere.

Aside from the pro riders, we got to rub shoulders with other celebs including Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwen, GreenEdge directeur sportif Matt White, Aussie cycling legend Phil Anderson, the Opposition Leader himself, GreenEdge backer Gerry Ryan and SBS cycling commentator, Anthony “Tan Man” Tan. We also bumped into the entire Indian Cricket team who seemed to have gotten lost on their way to the Adelaide Oval!

All in all I highly recommend the BUPA Challenge Tour ride and a few days to soak up the TDU. Frankly the Tour doesn’t get enough exposure outside of SA, but grab a couple of mates and head on over to the ‘Laide to experience it yourself. You won’t be disappointed.

A big thanks to everyone who wished me well for the ride and my parents for putting me up for the weekend and providing general support crew services. Also thanks to Scotty, Linc, Luke and Syreeta for joining me at the final TDU stages – you guys topped off a great weekend and I look forward to seeing you again next year!

You can follow Matt on Twitter @fat_matty.