The lure of the bike
by Lauretta Howarth - Team SheSpoke member
Have you ever found yourself on a particularly long or arduous ride or race when you're well and truly riding the pain-train saying over and over to to yourself "never again"?
Yep, most of us know that feeling; the legs are screaming, the lungs burning, the tail bone feels as though it's been belted with a meat tenderizer and you're all the while you're giving yourself a stern talking-to: "Why am I doing this to myself when I could be kicking back on the beach sipping a mojito? I'm gunna take up cross-stitch, macramé, origami, and if I'm feeling particularly energetic maybe I'll do a Zumba class!"
Yep. Such were my thoughts during numerous stages of the mind-numbing, body-jarring 1200km of the 2010 Crocodile Trophy in October 2010. I spent hours during that race dreaming about how I would ceremoniously destroy my bike when the race was over. Throw it over a cliff, in front of a train, into the sea, give it to my welder mate who could recycle it into a bar stool.
Why is it that it's so readily forgotten when the pain subsides and the hard work is done? I sincerely thought that my mountain biking days were over. So why, a month after the Croc Trophy, did I find myself back on the bike? And why, in 2011, am I once again organising my life around my training and booking holidays that are all about mountain bike races rather than beaches and mojitos? Why am I spending an insane amount of money on gels, nicks, bike bling, chains and tubeless tyres rather than sewing lessons and Zumba outfits?
Because I love it. Mountain biking seeps under your skin. It makes you feel more alive than you can imagine when you're flying through flowing single track and humbles you within a second when you hit that exposed tree root at the wrong angle and hit the ground with a thud.
I love the 4am starts, rolling out in the dark for 100km of dirt,
hills and sweat. I love the feeling of absolute physical exhaustion
after a long day on the bike, the speed training sessions where I feel
every millimeter of my lungs open, sucking in oxygen, close to bursting
out of my chest.
I love knowing that my legs, my heart and my lungs are stronger from every mile I ride. I love being part of an incredibly friendly and kind MTB community who value the environment, preferring to burn fat rather than oil.
I love the friendships I have made, the secrets shared on dusty trails in the middle of nowhere, the euphoria of seeing your friend ride a track she thought was way beyond her capability.
In two weeks myself and three of my friends, all of whom I've met through mountain biking, will head to Timor Leste for six days of MTB racing through the beautiful Timor coast and tablelands. I have no doubt that I'll be dreaming about converting my bike into a bar stool when the going gets tough.
Of course I'll be wondering what possessed me to pay good money to torture myself when I could be lying on a banana lounge in Phuket. But I'm pretty sure that, if we get to cross that finish line on day six, we'll be committed to another MTB adventure before the first celebratory beer is empty! Ya gotta love it!
Photo: Lauretta clowning around in a section of the 2011 Ingkerreke MTB Race in Alice Springs. You've gotta have a sense of humour! Photo by Keith McQueen.