The Rev cycling festival certainly lured an eclectic mix of riders to the University of Waikato. As mobs of dirty lycra clad roadies inhabit the fields, a small cluster of us turn up will full faces and armour ready to wreak some havoc.
The Rev Urban 4X was an event I looked forward to. Since my riding began as a young hucker, the university was always a local riding spot. With plenty of stairs, drops, and pedestrians to negotiate, we’d often headed to the uni for a quick blat. I was really looking forward to the opportunity to do it without security guards chasing us. Completely coincidentally I had just built up my lovely wee Avent Arson 4X bike, and this was its first ride. I would have liked to have had it a bit earlier, but what better way to christen it than biffing it down some stairs?
The race started with a good old huck to flat, then twisted through what seemed like endless sets of stairs, through corridors, through a cafe, up some stairs (?), up some painful hills, over some wooden rollers and kickers and things, and concluded with a reasonable sized drop and speedy roll out into the middle of the field. The 700m course seemed to take forever, with a bit much pedalling for lazy asses such as myself. As if the event wasn’t fun (and dodgy) enough with surfaces ranging from grass to cement, metal to carpet, and anything else that happened to get in the way (pedestrians anyone?) , the cycling gods decided to add to the entertainment a little more. Rain made slick cement corners extremely dodgy, with some hair raising moments. Pinning down a stair set and realising I had a wee bit too much speed for the corner at the bottom was a pants wetting experience – I was headed straight at a brick wall that I somehow had to turn before. Lets just say there were a few REALLY well placed hay bales. One particular corner had a small gutter, with a sheet of metal covering it. This was as you entered a corner, and made for slippery slidey fun.
After turning up, numbering up and all that jazz, Luke and I decided to cruise the course. The two of us made our way down popping stairs, smiling at photographers, and confusing passersby. We worked out a few lines that may or may not have involved moving some plants to carry some corners quicker, and really just enjoyed ourselves all the way. From this quick run the course seemed pretty technical, and we definitely understood why full faces were compulsory.
Then came race time. The format was 3 runs based on random orders, then the top 8 times heading for a semi, with the top two from each semi making the final. My first race I quickly learnt I was up against quick guys. Before the first corner 2 guys had disappeared into the distance, and the other guy was well behind me. I was enjoying myself, teetering on the edge of control, launching stairs when I meant to roll them but carried too much speed, generally just trying to not die. I had a pretty big lead over the guy behind me through the first half of the course, as we approached the most fun section. This involved about 5 sets of stairs with small flats in between, then a very tight, sharp corner at the bottom. After this we looped back up around and he caught me again – too many pies on my behalf. I pulled away again as we descended into S block, yes, INTO S block. This section involved 2 stair sets with a hand rail down the length of them in the middle, then a corner at the bottom - all carpeted. From practice there had already been plenty of big skid marks left – big ups to the uni for not caring. I hit the top with way too much speed, boosted the first set of stairs, and managed to awkwardly land half on the flat, half on the second stair set. I then proceeded to endo with a well placed chuck roll at the bottom of the stairs. I was glad to survive, and then I realised what was coming; this guy was hussing up behind me, and my precious new baby was lying right in the middle of the stairs - he was about to annihilate it! With some of the fastest movemen't I've ever made, I leapt to my bike and dragged it out of the way. I gave the camera man sitting at the bottom a cheeky grin, and continued on my way after the guy had passed me. My brain was feeling a bit rattled, and the body had certainly felt the crash. I took it fairly easy for the rest of the track, just happy to still be alive and not completely broken.
So my first ever 4X race run was complete – with a stunning last place finish, plus a sore head, leg, and shoulder. I'd twisted my stem on my steerer, so a quick play with an allen key had me all ready. Not exactly successful, but damn it was fun. After pushing back to the top, I learnt I had a 6:31. I then learnt that my mate (who won his heat) was sitting six second quicker than me, and had a clean run. How’s that for motivation? I was about 5 places off the semis, around 10 seconds behind. My second run started better, there were 3 of us at all about the same speed, and we were battling for the lead for the first half of the race. I was leading through the section where everyone was watching (that’s all that matters right?) and extended my lead through the most technical stair section. We then hit two sets of stairs at right angles with a handrail in the middle, one of the dodgiest sections of the track. I cleared this with a comfortable few second lead and then managed to wash out on a low speed uphill hairpin – gotta love wet slick concrete. As I picked myself up one guy passed me. The end of the course was punishing, a tiny climb which seemed like the Pyrenees at this stage, looking at the guy only 10 meters ahead of me that seemed an eternity away. With completely blown legs we all approached the drop at the end, and I rolled in second with a huge smile on my face.
I felt better that run, but knew that my legs had failed me. Upon pushing our way back to the top of the course, I learnt that that run had been miles slower – 6:47. My legs really were as blown as I thought. I’ve always been hassled about my knobbly knees and my chicken legs. I’ve never had any power in my legs; I tend towards 24 hour solo enduro races rather than any form of sprints. I looked over to Luke, and realise he was equally broken. He calls himself a downhiller, so I feel a little better for myself. This was just like a DH race, he was supposed to be used to it. He still had the upper hand, so in the last heat I was aiming to beat him.
My last heat was another great one. With one rider miles out the front, the rear three of us were battling it out all the way. I finally managed to make it through a run without getting intimate with the ground, but I really thought my time would be horrendous due to my legs giving up the ghost before we even hit the first climb. I was shocked to see I had pulled out a 6:33, not quick enough to make the semis, not quick enough to beat Luke, but only 2 seconds off my first run!
I was gutted. Luke had taken the win in our personal battle with his first run time, his second and third were both abysmal (bordering on 7 minutes). I scored myself a gas cooker as a spot (no, it’s not a pun) prize, and now have to put up with taking crap from Luke until next year. Lester stomped the field to take the overall win with a five minute flat run in the final, concluding a great day of racing.
By the way - the camera man that caught my stair bail happened to be recording for Sky sport. After someone captured it to DVD for me when it aired, I now have tutorial footage of how not to ride down stairs.
