Eric is an IronMan

So despite all the debauchery that has gone on during The Ride, the original reason for cycling up the coast of Australia was to combine travelling for experience and training the Panther IronMan. Hopefully we got across to all our faithful readers that the former objective was met, time and time again. As for the latter, we might have said we covered the basics but if we excelled at anything, it probably wasn't training. This did worry Aaron as Eric set out to compete in the IronMan a few days back. Although Eric does seem to have a habit of competing in races he hasn't prepared for, this one was meant to take an entire day to complete. Probably not the best time to realise you're not prepared.

Speaking of not being prepared, my half-hearted attempts at bringing my tri bike out for the race failed. So as of T-3 hours till the close of bike registration, I was set to ride my 29er hardtail mountain bike. For those that don't know, this IS NOT the bike made for a 112 mile bike race between a swim and a run. I was prepared to accept the challenge of being not only the only person out of 1600 without a tri bike, but be the only person on a mountain bike. I was not looking forward to competing in my first IronMan on a friggin mountain bike. Fortunately I meandered my way around the IronMan Village and met Victor, the owner of a local bike shop in Port Macquarie. He hooked a brother up with an Avanti carbon, Shimano Ultegra Road bike to ride with! Needless to say I was jazzed that one less thing was going to be working against me in the race. I also managed to find a used tri suit to wear during the swim (luckily I did as I would have been the only person not in one!). Come sunset the night before the race I wondered the city content with my new tri suit, my trusty Avanti, and my good ol' Asics.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew had carried the tradition of debauchery in Byron Bay, having entered a completely booked out city, Aaron and Flav found a commune cabin outside of town and updated their wills. They were meant to be in Port Macquarie the night before the race but as travelling goes, they opted for the overnight bus arriving minutes before the race started.

That night Devon cruised up from Sydney on the 400 hour train journey that would taken about an hour on the ICE in Germany. Waking up to some heavy rain, I ate my muesli and drank my coffee, then made my way down to race day registration.

I realised quickly that my blue swim cap placed me in the first of 5 swim brackets, which for reasons I'll share later, was not a good thing. As I was waiting to enter the water, Aaron and Flav came running up. Having no idea where they were supposed to be staying and only having minutes before the race was to start, they yelled at the taxi to drive to stop at the first hostel on the way to the IronMan Village. They ran inside this 'random' hostel, threw their bike and bags down, and continued on to the start. Fortunately they made it to see me off, and they actually managed to throw their bags in the correct hostel!

The Swim was 2.4 miles (5.2 kilometres) and consisted of two laps thru the harbour. A steady low tide turning current gave the swimmers false confidence in the first section of the race. Don't fret though, the absolute mayhem that is the start of any IronMan quickly rid most swimmers of any sense of accomplishment. Like perhanas attacking sickly fish, the competitors set off, more fighting to stay afloat than swimming, 1,600 people fought for water and for placement. Amazingly, this obnoxiously congested swim situation nearly didn't let up for me. This is why I should not have been in the first bracket. I spent the next 75 minutes sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, getting passed by stronger swimmers. They would also take the liberty of grabbing my ankles, locking arms, and hitting my face as they fought for position. I tried to constantly remind myself this is a 12 hour race, a few minutes in the water means very little. My goal for the swim was 75 minutes, so considering the length of the mayhem, I was not too dissapointed with 76. But I was well excited about riding on a road bike for the first time in 60 days (as opposed to a hardtail 26 lb mnt bike with a 50lb trailer attached).

The bike ride was a three lap course that had some nominal hills to speak of in the beginning and ending quarter of the laps. My legs did take a few miles to warm up but I felt like a rockstar on the hills (thanks to the up-till-now dreaded 50lb trailer!). I remember at one stage I was climbing a moderate hill of maybe two hundred meters long and I must have passed a good 2 or 3 dozen riders just on that hill alone. I would approach the hill and see the riders slowly downshift, eventually get out of the saddle, and ultimately accept a slow climb up the hill. Meanwhile, I was downshifting only about halfway up and even then I sat on the saddle and happily hammered the hill. It was a cool feeling for sure.

The romance of hill climbing did subside by the end of the second 36 mile lap though. I was still relatively well off but my right hamstring, just behind my knee was letting me know he wasn't happy with me. I decided to ignore the little bugger and continue to hammer as best I could. After all, I had no idea how the run was going to be accepted, so the bike was my chance. I distincly remember at mile 76 on the bike, during one of the ascends, I felt the first build up of lactic acid in my quads. This concerned me more than anything. It quickly subsided but returned again at mile 80. This was the same time my hands were getting fairly annoyed at the constant vibrating they had to endure over the last 4 1/2 hours. I also had eaten 8 powerbar expired chocolate gels at that point. hmmm. I have had to ride/run with lactic acid build up before, and though it's not fun, it is doable. I just had been hoping that with as much riding as Aaron and I had done, the old lactic tactic would stay away till part way thru the run. I was stoked to see Aaron and Flav while on the bike each time I came in for another lap. Must have been a bit weird for them though: they'd see me come in and pass them in about 6 seconds, then I'd dissappear for nearly 2 hours before returning for another stellar 6 second cameo.

Although I was tiring on the bike, I felt it was more localised to the cycling muscles, my overall body did not feel tired. If true, this would have proven to be most helpful on the run. I came in on the bike in a disappointing 5hrs 58 minutes (my goal was 5 1/2 hours). Total time now read 7 hours 14 minutes. Time for the run.

I got into the transition, had a wee, grabbed my 10 more gel packs for the run and happily saw Devon and Flav; then I saw Aaron as he cheered me on in complete excitement and support, yelling to maintain a healthy pace, never stop for more than a fuel recharge, and pull back slightly if I start falling apart. I actually felt really good considering I had been racing for over 7 hours at that point. I was ready to accept the hardest and most unknown part of the race. I had yet to run more than a half marathon at this point. I had NO idea how my body was going to cope with this. All I knew was to keep myself fueled and hydrated, find a rythm and stick to it.

The first 4 miles were all but completely tragic. My body quickly objected to a change in muscle use, heart rate, rythm, and fatigue. My right hamstring successfully recruited my left one to join in what was soon to be a complete objection to said activities. My nipples, which started to resemble one's eyes after being sprayed with pepper spray, were now re-exposed after the bandaid nipple covers came off, my feet were really hoping for a softer track to run on, and a pinched nerve was letting itself be known in my neck. I seriously wondered how I was going to manage another 22 miles (34kms) of running. I decided both my hamstrings were being too bitchy to deserve attention, my feet would get over the pounding, and the pinched nerve in the neck was only an annoyance. But the nipples, the nipples needed attention. They stung something fierce and weren't going away. I ran a solid 2 miles with my hands holding on to my shirt pulling the shirt off the raw nipples. I thought to myself, 20 more miles of this and my arms are going to fall off. Luckily I decided to give my arms a rest and realised I had stretched my jersey just enough to keep it away from the holy nipples. Sweet, one less thing to worry about.

I banked on my hamstrings holding on for me as I've stressed them before and they always pulled thru for me. I did slightly change my run to keep my speed without extending my stride, so hopefully they would see that as a nice, diplomatic gesture. I knew a breakdown or body crash was at least possible, if not probable. Fortunately in the mean time I finished the first of 3 legs for the run and did so in an hour and thirty minutes. I did some very fuzzy math to realise if I managed to keep this pace, I'd stand a good chance in finishing the race in under 12 hours! The prospects of finishing so much faster than I thought wound up giving me just enough determination to manage the fatigue.

I spent the next hour and a half running a 5 second thought thru my head, over and over and over again: turning the finishing corner and seeing 11hr 57min on the course clock. In the meantime, about 2 miles ahead, Aaron was staging the cheer of the race for me. He had summoned literally hundreds of people to cheer me on once I arrived. Expecting the normal, though super cool, cheers of Aaron, Flav, and Devon, I was smiling ear to ear when the masses cheered my fighting attempts at finishing under 12hrs. It was at this point that I told Aaron I had a fighting chance of destroying my hopeful time and breaking a benchmark time.

With less than 4 miles to go and a quarter of a lap left, I had about 40min till the 12 hour mark. It looked probable that I'd make it, but I didn't want to take chances. I picked up the pace just a notch and hoped that the determination would carry me through. I had been stopping at every station (about every 2km) for 4oz of water, 2oz of Gatorade, 1/2 a banana, and an orange slice. I also had 25 gel packs at that point, probably about 4 liters of water, and around 3 liters of Gatorade. I decided to skip the last station just to make sure I made the time. About half way between the last station and the finish line my system was out of energy. I could tell I was on the verge of a critical nutrition crash. I really hoped I could just get to the supporters a few hundred meters ahead, near the finish and get the hunger out of mind. I turned the corner to see the finish line read 11hr 54min!!! I'm telling you, it was one of the best feelings I think I had ever experienced. I really was proud, as silly as that sounds. A bonus lied in the fact that the fan club Aaron recruited and I grew to recognise with my little 'run-by' comments were at the finish to cheer me on. Hundreds of people lined the finish corridor, so many that I missed Aaron, Flav, and Devon right next to the finish line!

About 30 seconds after I crossed the finish line, both knees locked up, my hampstrings tightened, and my completely exhausted body let me know how depleated of everything it was. After the race I ate a plate of chicken curry rice and pasta. 45 min later I was starving so I had a nice, big plate of lasagna. 3 hours later I woke up starving so ate a large pizza. 3 hours later woke up starving again. I ate a garlic butter baguette and a ham and cheese sandwich. 5 hours later, starving again. It wasn't till the following night that my hunger normalised and I finally went to the bathroom. I also couldn't walk normally for a week. Flav commented about my eating and said that I was pretty much just made up of lasagna and pizza at that point.

And so The Ride concluded, as gloriously as it started. No doubt a trip, a journey, an adventure never to be forgotten. Thanks for coming along with us, thanks for your comments and support. Although it wasn't always easy, it didn't always make sense, it was well worth it!

Eric & Aaron

Fraser Island Off-roading!

Eric does not like over night buses.

Aaron does not like them either.

Flav thinks they are great.

oh ya, we flew down from Cairns, but the comments about the overnight buses are no less true. We arrived in the soon to be rockin' town of Hervey Bay on what was easily the best sunset we had seen this entire trip. We settled into the hostel and met loads of people during the pizza buffet dinner and got to talking to them about their recent Fraser experience. We didn't know if it was just by chance, but something like 3 out of the 4 people we spoke to didn't really have the greatest time. We had heard nothing but greatness about the island before, but so many people had trouble with their group. (on Fraser you take a 4x4 and pack 10 backpackers into and hope for the best).

Well we started off the Fraser Island group experience with a Chinese Firedrill at the first stop we made. Given that 8 out of the 10 people didn't know what that was, it was quite a laugh and set the tone for the rest of the trip. The ghetto blaster then took over the rest.

Aaron took the helm with his absolute zero driving experience on the left side of the road. Eric and Flav were a little concerned. But Aaron managed just fine as we were all smiles with our first experiences driving on this sandy island. We made it to Lake Wabby for some lunch, hiking, and swimming. The lookout for this lake took all of us by surprise. It was an aqua green lake set in an oasis of sand dunes that seemed to span the island. The sand was only interrupted at its edges by lush green trees. Truly a sight to see.

We hiked down the trails to the lake and Flav played a bit of football with some fellow Brits while Eric went for a swim and Aaron topped up his tan next to the Danish girls. Oh Aaron. We cruised from there to find the night's campsite along the 75 mile beach on the Eastern side of the island.

At this point we had already established that we probably had the best group of the lot. We all seemed to be bouncing off each other's humor, along with the ceiling in the 4x4 with Aaron's erotic driving. good times. We hooked up with another group and it turned out we got on with them just as well. It was gonna be a great weekend trip indeed.

After setting up tents and releasing the cooking animal that laid deep insight Flav's soul, we all enjoyed yet another awesome sunset, good tunes, plenty of laughs, and a seemingly endless supply of drinks (including our new drink, an aussie cheapo wine also known as goon).

The next morning we all had to wake up by around 8am as the sun was blasting our tents with some intense heat. It was gonna be a hot one. We gathered the goods, assessed the damage, which included the disappearance of Aaron's bag with his passport and wallet. He searched around for the better part of an hour before finally finding the darn thing 30 meters up the hill. Seems this was courtesy of the local dingos that took a liking to Aaron's manly musk. hmmm.

We set off up the Sand Highway on the Eastern side of the island and made a few stops at the beached ship, the sandy pinnacles, and eventually Eli Creek. En route, 19 year old Brit David (not Flav) wanted to give driving a go, so we gave him a shot and immediately regretted it. We're not positive, but we think it was his first time driving. If it wasn't, then he must collect clutches back home for fun! After about 10 minutes we could smell the clutch burning up and we reigned the crazed driver back in. Not long after we made it to the the Champagne Pools and enjoyed a bit of a swim in the only part of the ocean not infested with breeding Tiger sharks and man-killing jelly fish. We found out the name of the pools couldn't have been more appropriate. The waves that crashed over these rare island rocks bubbled over the top of the rocks and down into a pool. It did indeed look like champagne. Eric tried to drink it.

That night we ate a monster pasta dinner and freely drank the rest of the goon till the wee hours of the night.

The following day we set out back down the coast to Lake McKenzie on our way back to the ferry. Despite expecting a cool sand bar lake, we were all surprised at just how beautiful the lake was. Crystal blue water, the purest of white sand, and all of it surrounded by lush green trees. We vegged out by the lake and soaked up some rays for a few hours before setting off for the ferry. We actually became separated from our group on the way back as they decided to go wash their dishes and we opted not to. We got on the ferry and there was no sign of our other group. We pleaded with the ferry captain but no loving was coming out of his corner. He was setting off exactly at 4pm. Thinking the poor friends missed the ferry we were all bummed that our planned post Fraser Island party was going to be a downer.

Some 45 minutes into the ferry ride though we crossed paths with another ferry and with Eric's telephoto lens, we could see they did indeed make it, just on the wrong ferry. Fortunately they were both bound for the same wicked party that was soon to ensue.

We thought it funny that the "party" night before we left for our Fraser trip (which would have been a whole group's post Fraser welcome back party) was really mellow. Only a handful of people hung out after the pizza party. Compare that to the dozens that were partying their faces off when we got back. Our night was a bit more wild. We had a great time telling stories of our recent adventure, enjoying a resupply of drinks, and making the most of the last night we had together. At some stage, Eric thought it appropriate to rehearse a scene from Anchorman, you know the one where Ron Burgundy receives an urgent and horrifying news message, and he needs everyone to stop what they're doing and listen....CANNONBALL!!! Oh yes, into the pool he went.

If the awesome party didn't solidify our position as having the coolest group ever, breakfast the next morning would have. Twelve of us all dragged ourselves off for a really good breakfast just off the beach as we kept riding the wave we found so entertaining.

Fraser Island was all that it was cracked up to be and so much more.