2005 TASSIE HALF IRONMAN
by Blacky

I was keen to have a crack at the Tassie Half Ironman, not due to the emergence of another M dot franchise but more to support a dying breed of race director. One who is not afraid to risk his own pockets to organize a challenging course where competitors can battle Man-O-Man in the Bass Strait and surrounding hills. After deciding on this challenge the Bear and I decided to enlist the services of the ultra organized web master/friendly travel agent, whose patience we would once again test fully. In tow was her towering bike bitch (soon to be fiancé) Ant who was keen to visit the Apple Isle in search of James Boag (he was told by a Devonport doctor at the end of the journey that he did indeed find Boags, although he had no recollection of the meeting).

We arrived at Hobart in high spirits, our first mission was to test the bike storage capacity of the Avis fleet. We tested firstly a Magna, then Commodore, before settling on a Corolla, the only vehicle to fit in two bike boxes. This would prove to be handy for my Targa Tasmania practice later in the journey around Cradle Mountain. Where I was able to escape the enclosing darkness and descend the mountain in record time, stirring the little Corolla’s twin cam engine, sending wombats, Tassie Devils and Dutch tourists scurrying into the button grass. Oh I love the hire car.

This skillful driving was not required in our convoy towards Ulverstone, which proceeded at a leisurely rate, frequently punctuated by bakery stops, photo opportunities, searches for lost bears and the never ending emptying of Kel’s bladder. It is worth mentioning that she was able to eclipse the record previously held by Mat Jennings for urination on a single journey. Due to the difficulty in bottling the female urine stream we were unable to compare this on a volume basis, however her frequency exceeded Mat’s urine tour of Bunbury in the summer of 2002. My highlight of the trip up to Ulverstone was being able to ask to see people’s map of Tassie and not get a slap.

After all this cheap excitement it was a sense of great relief to arrive at Turner Beach, the site of our budget trailer park accommodation. I had imagined a wonderful sandy beach, something like Summer Bay, where Alf would warmly greet us with a cappuccino at the diner. Instead a run down service station shadowed the trailer park office manned by a senile park owner, who was no doubt wringing his last retirement dollars from the capital works program most likely finished in 1950.

Our trailer consisted of a dusty double bed and a single set of vinyl bunk beds, most likely designed for some gay hobbits. We decided we could make our own fun regardless of the accommodation and requested some form of bedding to decorate out tasteful vinyl mattresses. Soon arrived the senile owner’s wife in her Camira, our jokes of her hobbit village were met with a sharp tongue and a fracas developed on the trailer park lawn. It was suggested mid fracas that we accommodate ourselves elsewhere, an option we exercised. This led to a mad twilight search for accommodation in Ulverstone where we were lucky to find a single motel room, with Kel and Ant taking the option of sleeping in the motel’s function room! We considered this to be an upgrade on the hobbit village. A subsequent search of the area secured a further two nights accommodation, where unwittingly we discovered that praising Ricky Ponting, Boony and the Axe Man provided a warmer reception in Tassie than offering a brother or sister. With this arranged we were able to sleep soundly that night and turn our thoughts to the race that awaited us.

We were fortunate that whilst we were outraging a hobbit village, Deccy had befriended the locals (despite the theft of his cycling shoes) and organized a training ride Saturday morning to freshen our legs. The scenery that morning was beautiful and the ocean glass smooth, as our tour guide Angus first pumped our tyres and then guided us along the coast to Penguin. I must admit the hospitality of the locals so far had been overwhelming (apart from the hobbit village) and the motorists actually waved with an open hand, rather than a clenched fist or extended finger. We responded with some WA hospitality later when our tour guide punctured - we thanked him for the ride and left him with no spare. We think he was close to home.

Upon registering on Saturday, we received our race pack which contained no surprises, a baggy t-shirt and a plastic bag full of tourist brochures, however no disappointment from my end, when racing I expect nothing more than a number, course map and good dose of lactic acid, what else do you need? At race registration we met up with our newly wed Shepherd who described his prior weeks as a journey to the bottom paddock. The resulting weight gain would penalize him severely the next day.

The race morning appeared to be stormy and the ocean looked more like a Tsunami than the still waters we had experienced yesterday. There was the usual pre race banter and attempts to throw each other off our game with JP insisting that he would sail past us all despite his mid section anchor if we did not pump our tyres to at least 200 psi. Meanwhile the canny competitors were busy plotting a course at sea with a compass. This would later prove useful, as, although rain did not eventuate the ocean was angry enough to lash us severely on the outward journey. The pack was splintered apart in the first few hundred metres, it only seemed like moments ago that I had JP in a headlock at the 200m mark and then he bobbed away into the distance. The ocean presented no problem for the pro’s however, who were escorted around the course by a paddler, whilst the age groupers floundered in the surf in pursuit of disappearing buoys and Forster allocations. I was relieved to finally find the seaward buoy and my Bear in the process. Bear and I attempted to tread water in the treacherous seas when a rubber dingy containing Baggsy appeared with some useful navigational tips. Unable to sight the next buoy we followed Baggsy’s directions on a long journey that involved several heated navigational debates between Bear and I. The eventual sighting of the buoy brought only temporary relief as we discovered we simply could not reach it. Finally the sight of wetsuit clad runners on the beach induced us to swim straight to Terra Firma as the field had forgotten about the bouys and wanted some land action. In all, twelve people could not complete the swim and eight people recorded times over an hour, a difficult swim indeed. Nor was the day on land easy, as we punched into a headwind on the bike out to the Don (which is what Tassie calls a serious hill). I knocked off the girls early and set off in pursuit of some men, however it was more Man-O-wind at this stage. The rounding of the first lap enabled me to see how things were progressing. Deccy had a good lead on me and I had some moves to make. I worked the flats hard back out to the Don and some guys jumped on my wheel, however I was able to utilize the Don in a triumph of gravity over drafting and continue Mano-wind. Descending the Don I glimpsed the sight of Deccy opposite me slashing angrily at his tubular with a razor, bad luck indeed. He rejoined the race ahead of me on the climb back up the Don and a WA team time trial was a prospect. However I was forced to leave behind the despondent Deccy, who was muttering obscenities into his profile bars as I passed. He did appear to cheer up later in the afternoon and record a fine run. Upon finalizing the second lap I rounded up the leading females, always a barometer of success for a male age grouper. The final lap yielded a few more scalps before I entered the run in what I calculated to be 11th place.

After charging out of transition in a display of aggression for the spectators I soon realised I was not certain where I was going and I stopped for a pee and to contemplate my next move. The run course soon became evident and unfortunately so did the gap to 10th, which was over 10 minutes. And thus began the never ending see saw of mind over legs, and of coke over body which typifies the long course run leg. Somehow I snuck past 10th, I think he may have been having a toilet stop as I never saw him and then with 3.5km to go, a lumbering pro in a bright red shirt entered my radar, and I decided to have a go at him early as I recognized him as the guy who took out Sean in the sprint at Busselton in 2003, and sprinting is not my specialty. I rounded him up with 2km go and ran hard to line, maybe my first top ten? Yes indeed, the body count at the massage tables indicated this was so. It was indeed a successful day for all the WA competitors (except JP) and no doubt by now you have been informed of their results and if you are very lucky you may have even glimpsed their Mallee Roots. Where to from here? Not sure, I normally end the season with a half IM so I am a bit lost. Back to short course warfare in the ever heating 30-34 age group it seems.