Ok now that I have peaked your interest in my blog with pictures of rude-looking vegetables, today's blog entry is actually about cycling and not my mid-life crisis, so breathe a sigh of relief dear reader(s??)
On Saturday I got to see a bike race from a different perspective, one that I hadn't really seen before. The Kangaroo Point Cycling Club was running the Cunningham Classic from Gatton to Warwick, which is a highlight on the SEQ racing calendar. Point-to-point races are becoming more and more unusual in Straya, and KP do a Bill and Teds Most Excellent job of running this each year and should be congratulated for yet again winning at it.
Anyway, rather than suffering in the bunch like I normally do, this time instead I suffered from within the feed zone, assisting the Elite A men of Campos-Tele2 Cycling Team as they tried their hand over the gruelling 172ish kilometre course.
Suffering in the feed zone is obviously a different form of suffering to that which was going on in the cross-winds and climbs of the race. If you have ever fed a competitor, then you know that it is mainly a waiting game, a game which you do not want to lose at as there are no do-overs. This is where the stress comes in. If you have fed a competitor, then you also know that they can be a bit cranky when they come through the feed zone, which is fair enough given the circumstances. Most likely they have been on the rivet for a couple of hours, and they know the feed is an important life line to help them survive to the finish. We are not pro's, so rarely get to drop back and feed from the car. If you miss your feed, you need to either:
- a) run out of water and possibly food (not the best scenario);
- b) beg another rider for a sip of their precious water, promising them that you do not have Ebola. Hopefully you have some teamies around to help with this;
- c) pull over and set up some sort of Bear Grylls water supply. This is time-consuming and again not really the ideal scenario in a race;
- d) drink your own wee ala Bear Grylls, also challenging during a race what with the bib knicks and cross-winds. Even Todd Carney probably could not manage that one despite all the practise
- e) struggle on to the next feed zone if there is one, while trying not to exert yourself and save precious fluids.
As you can see, none of these scenarios is a great option. By far the best chance you have of successfully finishing a race like the Cunningslam (trademarked), is for your feeder to not screw up the feed. Thus the stress on said feeder (which in this case is me).
The before - Cunningham Classic Feed Zone |
One final thing to keep in mind. Feed zones tend to be chaotic. Speed, adrenalin, cross-wind, other riders, traffic, other feeders and spectators, feed bags just big enough to get caught in a wheel, dropped bottles skittling across the road. It's also an unwritten rule of SEQ racing that feed zones are there for attacking your fellow riders. You get the idea.
Now that you have some idea of what I was in for, you might cut me some slack. I had two team riders to feed. Lets just say my success rate was 50%, which if it was the Lotto would be great. For feeding a dehydrating rider, not so great. All I could do was shrug in that "oops" kinda way that you do when you don't know what else to do. Mind you, I wasn't alone at stuffing it up. I saw another team who were in the earlier break of three riders also stuff up their feeding, probably because the riders came through the feed zone at warp factor 7 in their frantic bid so stay out in front for as long as possible.
The After - Cunningham Classic Feed Zone |
So that was that. Twenty seconds of panic followed quickly by the calm. The calm of what is a really pretty part of Queensland, nothing but yourself, a few other supporters, and a big blue sky. Time to regroup and head on over to feed zone number two!
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