“Get off your bikes and practise pushing.” We look across the table at one
another, then back at Phil Dixon. It takes a moment for his words sink in,
for us to realise that he is serious. And he is serious, about all things
mountain biking.
All around us is the sound of a noisy half term at Sherwood Pines near
Nottingham, and every other adult and child here has a bicycle of some
description. It is a cyclist's paradise, and an ideal hunting ground for
Dixon. But today he is not on a search for new talent, he is here to
test-ride the new bikes for the British Cycling team. We have caught up with
him (not by bike, of course) to glean whatever advice we can for the Absa
Cape Epic, an eight-day, 700km mountain bike odyssey that starts in South
Africa today.
“Think about it,” Dixon says. “The Epic has some monstrous climbs, and you
will be spending seven or eight hours, or even more, out on the course, so
it is inevitable that you will have to get off the bikes and push. You might
as well get used to it now,” he says. “You use different muscles when you
push. Also, you have to know that your shoes are comfortable, and that you
won't get blisters.” Yes, that makes sense. We mull over his point a bit
more, and remember that the ride includes a total ascent of 14,600m. To give
that a physical perspective, we will be climbing almost twice the height of
Everest. That single fact explains all we need to know about Dixon's advice
on pushing the bike.
Dixon knows pretty much everything there is to know about riding mountain
bikes. At the tender age of 29 he is British cycling's mountain-bike coach,
having represented the country at 12 world championships, in mountain bike
and cyclo-cross. So he should know it all. And that, after all, is why we
are talking to him.
He listens to our training regime. So far our approach has been dictated by
the old cyclists' dictum of TITS, “time in the saddle” (or, if you're in
polite company, TOTR, “time on the road”). To a degree, that is the right
approach, Dixon tells us, but he reminds us that as the race gets closer, we
should be careful not to overdo it, and to give our bodies time to recover.
We have done most of our training through the cold, wet, and at times snowy
winter months, which has meant riding mostly on the road, or indoors on
turbo-trainers. That's well and good, he says, but we must now make the
effort to get out and ride off-road as often as possible, to toughen up our
arms and backs, get used to the bumps, and, most of all, get used to the
bikes that will become an extension of ourselves, our bodies, for eight days.
Dixon reels off the kind of advice that he would give to his charges: “Use all
the experience that you've got. Ride sensibly on the descents and pace
yourselves on the climbs. In the first half, think about fuelling, think
about nutrition, think about saving your energy. If you can finish strong,
it's so much better than starting strong.” This all sounds like such common
sense, but it is something that we need to be told.
We talk about tyre pressures: “If the prologue is not overly technical, put
more air in the tyres,” he tells us. “There might be areas that are dodgy,
but tyres are the biggest thing. You can play about with your tyre
pressures. But watch out. In muddy conditions, one psi can make all the
difference. Get it wrong, and you're on your arse.” We know from experience
all about landing on your arse, although generally psi has nothing to do
with it.
Dixon tells us what to carry during the race, how to recover after each day's
riding, how to take care of the bike, and how to cope with emergency repairs.
We talk about how we fit our training around work and family life, trying to
tailor our commute so that it can include a long ride to work. Paul can
cycle to work in less than an hour and a half, which makes it doable most
days. For me, the ride to work takes two and a half to three hours, which is
just too long to do daily. And there is the cold to contend with - I find
that after a couple of hours on the road, my feet are like blocks of ice,
and that's no way to start the working day.
We discuss nutrition, and when the word McDonald's slips into the
conversation, a look of horror comes across Dixon's face. We change the
subject quickly.
Dixon has mental lists of what to do and what not to do at the various stages
of preparation. We talk about the flight to South Africa. “Get lots of
sleep,” he says. “And drink plenty of water, but stay off the alcohol.”
After our meeting Dixon heads back to Manchester, while Paul and I take a
quick spin around the Sherwood Pines cycle tracks. It is a bit muddy, but
quite flat - no reason to push your bike here, we comment.
But we have much to think about on the long drive back from Nottinghamshire -
it is just a few weeks until we will be tackling the world's biggest
mountain bike stage race, two amateurs lost in a sea of 1,200 riders. We
will be rubbing shoulders with leading professionals, Olympic medallists,
world champions. But that will be at the start. Once we set off in earnest
from Gordon's Bay, at the foot of the Hottentot's Holland mountain range,
the host of amateurs like ourselves will quickly lose sight of the leaders
as we pedal - and push - our way around the Western Cape, tackling daily
stages with route profiles that look like the jagged teeth of some rabid
baboon.
The route starts with a short, sharp 19km prologue on Table Mountain in Cape
Town, then takes us to Gordon's Bay for the start of the long stages of
100km-plus. We move through Overberg region, stopping overnight in towns
such as Villiersdorp, Greyton and Grabouw before finishing back in the
southern winelands.
Along the race course there are three water and food points each day, while
the route is patrolled by a legion of medics, marshals, radio support
personnel and rescue teams on quad bikes and all-terrain vehicles.
The race village itself is a logistical wonder - every night there is a tent
pitched for each rider, there is a large mobile shower unit, 125 portable
flushing lavatories, a medical centre, a bar, internet café, massages, bike
wash. The organisers take care of riders' every need - providing a sit-down
dinner and breakfast every day in a giant marquee. Last year they supplied
13,500 muffins, 3,500 loaves of bread, 1,400kg of cereals and 11,000 litres
of milk. And that was just for breakfasts. For dinner the chefs cooked up
2,100kg of pasta, along with a further 1,700kg of other carbohydrates.
The professional teams have their own mechanics, masseuses, managers. But the
amateur is not forgotten - following the Epic is a caravan of mechanics who
repair and service the bikes throughout the night. You can check your bike
in after a hard day's riding, have dinner, go to sleep, and in the morning
the bike is there, ready and waiting for the next day of punishment.
Each rider is issued with a massive sports bag, in which they must pack
everything they will need for the eight days. These they check in each
morning, and collect each evening. For security, riders are tagged
electronically - a tag for the tog bag, one for the bike, a watch-like tag
for the wrist, and an ankle tag for electronic timing.
The training time has almost past, and Paul and I think that we are as ready
as we could be. But still there are doubts in our minds, sleepless nights
wondering about what lies ahead. So we decide to consult one more expert,
just in case. Sharon Laws won the ladies category in the inaugural Cape Epic
in 2004, and she will be competing again this year.
Sharon is a cycling all-rounder - last year she rode in the Olympic road race
in Beijing, but she has a background in endurance events like the Epic.
“I want to give mountain biking a go, and this is the best year to do it, the
year after the Olympics,” she says. “I'm using the Epic as a training event
to get fit for the season - road and mountain bike, focusing on road in
Europe, and then mountain bike in UK.
“Technically I've got a lot to learn , and that's what I've got to do
this year.” Laws was about to fly to Majorca on a British Cycling training
camp. “Majorca is a training camp for the season, we'll be going on the road
bikes. I'm slightly nervous because when I get back I'll have a week and
then be going to South Africa. And I'll have a new mountain bike and I won't
have ridden it.” She will be riding a new Boardman bike like the one Dixon
had been trying out the day we met him at Sherwood Pines.
Laws is teaming up with Hanlie Booyens, her partner from 2004, and although
she says she will be using the race for training only, they pair must be
contenders for a podium finish.
I ask Laws how, after spending so much time on a road bike, will she spend the
next three weeks preparing for the Epic? “Just about spending time on the
bike, really. Riding as much as possible, spending between five and seven
hours on the bike, including pushing the bike. People probably underestimate
the pushing [in the race], having to get off the bike and push a lot.” The
wheel has come round full circle - the advice that we least expected is the
advice most often repeated. So I reckon that that is what we will have to
do. If getting off and pushing is good enough for the professionals, it's
good enough for us.
Dennis and Pauls' blog
Absa Cape Epic
