Memoirs of a first-time Soloist.

I'd ridden plenty of 24 Hour races in teams, and had done a few long bike rides in the time. But there was always that nagging temptation to push the limits, face my own fears and try to ride for 24 hours solo.

The Australian Solo 24 Hour Championships have been held for the last few Easters at the Majura pine forest, which happily are my favourite trails and training ground. In another happy coincidence, the race fell the weekend after the first term of uni finished. These propitious factors made it ideal for a first time attempt.

Notably, I was determined from the outset to ride single speed. There's a simplicity and purity in the single speed much raved about - certainly, the feeling of perfect power transfer hour after hour helped considerably. It does make the climbs harder in some regards, but it's one less exigency in the race.

The leadup was full of anticipation and lots of kilometres, never entirely with a sense of surety. It's hard to train for such a long race or even to engage in the headspace - perhaps it's wiser not to try, because the enormity can be oppressive. The last few weeks went badly - I was tired from uni, and got sick 3 weeks in a row before the race, then crashed on my "practice" lap on the Friday. Turned up on Saturday morning and didn't feel ready at all - wanted 24 hours of sleep instead.

However, with awesome support from fellow maladjusted people Phil and Joel, I found myself on the start line. The start was intense as ever, but I cruised out slowly and spent the first afternoon rolling gently around the trails and just trying to ride consistently.

The steep climb to bunny required some serious cranking, but otherwise the 9.6km course flowed smoothly through the afternoon. The striking thing about this time was the awesome vibe of the race - all the racers were friendly and obliging, and the supporters greeted us every lap with cheers and cowbells. It was fantastic to partake in this! During the afternoon, I ran into fellow single speeder Tim Smith. He and I would be so close after so far!

The afternoon wore on and I felt progressively better - warming into the race. However, the weather was getting ominous and the prospect of the early sunset was a little dampening for the spirits.

Sure enough, the night came. And the heavens opened - we were faced suddenly with strong winds and heavy rains. The course became a treacherous mud pit - fun for sliding, but hard going without traction on the climbs. The day's sunscreen was leaking into my eyes and blinding me, I missed a transition and was soaked to the bone, and my left calf and hamstring started to cramp every time I cranked up the climb to bunny. Things were not looking good!

Some fresh clothes and electrolytes later and I was on my way again thanks to a very organised pit crew. I consciously backed off the pace, started walking the steep climb and tried to keep my mind focussed on the moment, and off the gravity of the task ahead. Fortunately, the rain receded, and the track began to try up a bit, so midnight slowly came on. I hit a lowpoint around the midnight hour - struggling for energy and motivation, I even contemplated giving up.

About 12,30, I had a long transition and resolved my focus for the witching hours of the morning. I'd heard the reputation of this period as the bane of many a racer in the lonely, dark passages of the small hours. Oddly enough, this was my best period of the race. I was finding strength to tick over a steady, slow pace without much exertion, and my resolve to finish was firm. One good thought leads to another, and I held the cramping leg at bay and drove off that emotion to get me through to dawn.

Dawn eventually came. The night was close to 13 hours, and the sunrise lap revealed beautiful fog rolling through the valley and a soft, gentle light. For me, this was accompanied by the shocking revelation that I still had 5.5 hours left to race, and suddenly there was pain everywhere. I had moved into second place in 18-24s and second place in single speed as I plodded on through the night, but now I was cracking. My left leg was stiff, my knees were hurting, the saddle was intolerable and my arms were so badly pumped that descending was agony. Here I made a huge mistake - I started to think about the pain. The more I thought about it, the worse it got and soon I was rolling around, wishing only for it to be over. Some of the guys who'd slowed through the night came flying past me at this point - including Tim, although he offered kind words of encouragement as he came through. I dropped to 3rd in SS and 4th in 18-24 and it all seemed done at about 10am.

Joel and Phil somehow tolerated my irrational anger and self-pity and made me keep lapping. They also gave me some fresh powerade and Nurofen (thanks Harry!) and I was alive again and the power in the legs was finally released. Motivated and focussed, I turned the pain into a mad, driving rage and rode of the adrenaline rush. This was the best part of the race - I was hammering around after so long and loving it. Contrary to my thoughts a few hours earlier where I wanted to finish as soon as possible, I was now busting to fit in lap no. 36 before midday and try to regain second place in single speed. After a 32 minute lap, I went flying through transition at 11.52am, having taken 6 minutes out of Tim in a single lap and reduced the gap to a bare minute. It felt good to be putting on a show for the people around - and most importantly, for the support crew's efforts! However, Tim saw my attack, yelled "Go Ed!" (people are so friendly in this sport!) and proceeded to launch a stunning counter-attack. I had no answer for this power - and when my chain fell off, decided to cruise into the finish. Poor Tim didn't know I'd backed off and was riding one of the fastest laps of the race - I yelled my encouragement as he flew down the descent. I crossed the finish line with Sam Warmington (another single speeder) at 12.30 - the last of the Soloists to finish, and stoked on my performance with a podium in my first race and an "elite" qualification - "only" 7 laps behind the mighty Jason English. I did 36 laps - around 350km - about 50% more than I'd imagined possible and had stayed on the bike through some hard times.

The experience was unforgettable, and the support fantastic. Despite the vegemite incident, I couldn't have imagined having better support for the race - mechanically, food wise and just for general motivation.


It may be unwise to quote from "Into the Wild", but Chris McCandless' quote really resonated with me - that sometimes it's important not just to be strong, but to feel strong. There were times when I was facing a void, and everything is stripped bare, and the only thing that matters is your will to endure. Finding that strength there and making it in the end justifies all the trials and hardship, and the sense of accomplishment is overpowering.

Will I do it again? Definitely. Will I be rocking a single speed? Helll yeaaaah......