PAP 2018 - my first 1200km and how I failed

Day 0: Arrival

 I'd flown into Perth, found an Airbnb with an artist and negotiated leaving my stuff for a few days, seen Ben & family at the airport, and finally met a few of the more experienced riders over dinner.

Doing well: An Airbnb with a dog

I spent a lot of time just exploring Perth, a little nervous, it was a new city full of sunshine and sadness. I managed to arrive to the pre-ride dinner in the middle of an AFL grand final victory. The entire city lost its collective mind.

Perth is an interesting city, with this guy singing to the skyline

Huge pedestrian bridges abound

It's not clear if this is a rollercoaster or a footbridge

At one point or another, I went to the pre-registration, I think simply to look at expensive bicycles far better than mine.

Teh's orange beast

My setup for PAP

One orange weapon

Day 1: I listened to Ben. 

I lead the entire field of PAP for 30 glorious seconds. I was at the pointy end and immediately tried to get off the front. The lack of breakfast was a mistake.

I was quickly spat out, and multiple bunches flew past.

Ben stuck with them. After a while, I warmed up again. I got food into me. I joined a bunch briefly, but when there were flats, decided to roll ahead - a group would probably catch me, right?

Wheels, glorious wheels

It became several hours of cat and mouse games: spot a rider in the far distance. Slowly reel them in. I was so very happy with a 26kmh average.

Some other riders near a particularly long jetty

The highways in WA are pretty good. Busy, but with a shoulder. The first day was also quite flat. It's when I hit dusk I found Ben again. We decided to hang together; only to hit the 2000m or so of rollers. I tried to smash them, just wanting to get into the control.

Little did I know; this was a bad mistake.

Day 2: Pulling out

A rare action shot of me, you can really see the hi viz wear

Having arrived in darkness, I woke moments before the volunteer was about to rouse me. I ate, and then Ben & I started rolling. Or should I say... limping. My main thought was Hahah oh god, where did my 24.5km/h moving average go.

I didn't bother studying the course, a bad habit I've developed - I didn't realise we were going consistently uphill ever so slightly and imperceptibly. All I did notice was the much faster riders who had a full night's rest streaming past constantly. Ben & I must have been some of the first to leave the control after sleep (I later met Steve, who just kept riding when I saw him), and the consequence was a devastating psychological blow over and over. 

 

I thought it was just lack of food, and when I finally got to the next control, ate until sickness. I had my hydration pack and knew about the huge gap, but sadly I began to fade. My spirits dipped further and further. I'd been thinking about pulling out, justifying not hurting myself, for the last 4 hours. I'd also kept going, to make certain I was sure of my decision. Deadlines kept creeping up on me, and instead of being a motivator, just piled on the uncertainty.

Eventually, I couldn't go on and reluctantly called for rescue. The ride organiser pointed our that I was very close to the 600km mark (473.91km) and speeds would drop to 12.5km/h. I didn't factor in that although my moving average was only 14.8kph, all of the time I'd banked on day one still existed; and I would be back to gaining time. Total elapsed time, I later worked out, was 26h 25 minutes - more than sufficient cushion.

Usually, I would have done this all in my head to keep myself entertained on the long boring stretches; but due to the distance - my advice is to make a ride schedule, write it down, and use that to check your pace. Mental fatigue is very real.

I also discovered some months later my seat was slightly twisted, which explained the loss of power through my legs - I'd been really mashing big gears to get into the night control.

When I sat down on the bus, I was relieved to see I wasn't the only one to withdraw. I pretty quickly fell asleep for a few hours, only for the bus to pull up to

THE SECRET CONTROL HALF WAY THROUGH THE 125KM STRETCH!!

Lesson learned: Ride organisers aren't evil. Though you can't count on it, they aren't going to leave you in danger.

As far as I got with by PAP: The prospect of 125km between controls and slight rain killed my spirits

I had extreme difficulty walking with muscular fatigue, staggering around like a drunk straight legged donkey. Getting on and off the bus was a matter of putting one leg on a step, locked; and using my arms to lever myself into the vehicle.

Eventually, we reached Albany - Ben spoke to me with horror in his voice as he explained the stairs at this overnight control. I didn't believe him, until I saw. There were about 4 flights, and as a non rider, I ended up right at the very top.

Not shown: the further 2 flights of stairs after this

I tried to make myself useful, unloading people's bags and helping the volunteers; but I think I got underfoot more than anything else.
With some relief, we packed into the bus and went into town, I bought some cheap shoes and pants; snagged a very nice PAP flannel shirt, and settled in to my non riding life.

Flannel mode engaged

Day 3: I cannot walk

Every symptom listed here, I had in spades. I couldn't sleep; having developed the listless overall fatigue that permeated my every moment. I met Scott, who whilst normally an absolute machine, also had to withdraw after he accidentally gave himself mild magnesium poisoning.

Turns out we have common friends

I remember meeting an elderly randonneur at checkin; and seeing how his bike had literally enough spare spokes to rebuild an entire wheel; no less than 8 front lights and more at the rear. We got on well, and when I met him later on; he was a little dazed and confused; barely able to get on and off the bike.
Turns out, he had a brake rubbing on his rear wheel and had just been powering through. Collectively, we sorted out his bike and got him whatever supplies he needed; and it was relayed to me that this was his 56th LRM.

A few other riders I was with earlier said hello, expressed condolences that I had to pull out.

Eventually, we all returned to the bus and set off again, the field substantially thinner. The weather turned nasty, and I walked to the local pub to discover the local tradition of skimpies. When I returned for the night, full of schnitzel and beer; the rain was hammering down. Wet riders were dragging themselves in one by one.

Day 4: I can move again

The weather broke a number of people. Where my bike had been in the truck, and my legs could function again; the ride organiser needed the space - so I entered the 200km BRM.

Exhausted but riding again

I couldn't find Ben for a while, looking at the tracker, only to discover he was about 4 hours ahead. Having a target in mind really helped, and where the course overlapped the riding from day 1 was a huge plus - I knew where I was going, I had something to chase. I managed to cover the 200km to Perth in 9 hours riding time, with only 40 minutes for controls, food and similar.

I came across Scott & friends, who were in a paceline and hauled me in; picked up Mark who then shot off on his own; and I caught up to Ben and one other about 80km from the finish.

The A-Team, pushing a steady 26-28km/h average

They were hurting, so I got on the front and we had only one goal: do not let the "A Team" of super fit riders catch us.

The hunt for Ben. Perth has amazing dedicated cycleways

I was dehydrated and broken by the end of it, having kicked the average back up to around 25-26km/h; but finally managed to get everyone in over the line without being caught.

So close to the finish

All told, I managed around 685km:

It feels paltry and embarrassing. I regret not training sufficiently - it was a very dark year for me, and where I'd entered the Geelong Flyer 1000 and Lofty Loops 600, by the time October arrived I was substantially fatter, detrained and depressed.

I don't regret going, and meeting some truely awesome other riders. It was a different scene entirely from the local SA audax community, with entrants from around the world.

56 & 57 LRMs respectively