Pemberton Classic 2009: a trout in an oven of
trees
Pemberton seems to be everything
that Perth is not, except that it starts with a P. All I know it is South from
Perth. And it is somewhat unsettling if you are going to throw yourself at some
races while you don’t know anything about the surroundings, the weather, the
course, the field taking part and the distance to be covered. On the other
hand, the less you know, the less bias you talk yourself into, the more you
will throw yourself at it.
“Pemberton, you are going to Pemby?
Oh, you’ll love the trees”, a colleague promised me. Dutch love trees, and I
think it’s because we have so few left. Before a tree will be cut down for
sewage renovation, house building or widening an existing road, a committee will
have looked at whether it really needs to go down. A second opinion is not
uncommon. The old, sick tree that Anne Frank looked onto from her hiding place
during the Second World War lighted an outrage when it was decided it needed to
be cut down, since it was too ill. A lot of money was spent to save it, and it
somehow flourishes again.
The trees around Pemberton are
nothing short of spectacular. The height, the colours of green, the smell and
the rays of sunshine get you in the zone almost immediately. Together with the
rural feeling that little shops, friendly locals and other cyclists give you,
let the stress slide of your back.
Ozzie congestion:
the freeway car park. Aussie Crates strolling to lunch.
Roy and I left Perth with wide eyes
and lots of sighs trying to get the stress out of the system as soon as
possible. The two dinosaurs would have all sorts of trouble to stay in the race
anyway due to the lack of training, and stress was definitely not helping.
After picking up Shannon and my first visit to the Red Rooster we cruised to
Pemby, which was almost a road movie filled with Australian and Aboriginal
sayings and a drive along race locations to come. It wasn’t hard to imagine
fierce winds that would butcher the pack into smaller lifeless chunks and with
the Darling Ranges looming in the back, pain was just around the corner.
In Pemberton we joined up with Bret
and Alice, Blake and Maurine, Matt and Steve. Darren, Brad and Michael got in
the following morning. Our accommodation was a full house with all the
conveniences present. This would be our base camp for the next couple days.
The criterium only would be in the
afternoon of the Saturday, which let time for some morning relaxing. Darren
chewed the lot out of his headset, Brad convinced me to try a sandwich with jam
and jellybeans. Odd, but keeping in mind that it is all about carbo-loading, it
suited the purpose. Bret, still injured
and even may have to go for surgery to recover from it, chucked in the Flying
Scotsman for some serious cycling spirit. It was a superb cycling movie,
setting the scene for what was possible, but I had to work hard to snap out of
the Obree mindset: Obree was right up there with the Great. Cyclists that
people tent to idolize: a misunderstood unfair treated selfmade sportsman,
going the full distance and eventually overcoming all obstacles. But Obree paid
a very high price for it.
A
couple of flats just before the criterium did not help to get into the right
mindset but Blake, Darren, Brad, Matt, Roy and me got all to the start, with a
plan in mind. But in my head the plan fought out a battle with the idea that I
had to make a right turn downhill at about 50k an hour with a complete new rear
tire. The latter idea won, even though I had seen Bret cleverly grating it
against the asphalt. Bret helped out where he could which made everything so
much easier. It makes you want to try harder in the race. It got me in a
breakaway I wasn’t supposed to be in, popped me after half an hour. The
criterium was a hard one. The speeds on the 6-7% gradient of the Railway
Crescent were so high that Watts/kg came into the equation. The moment I
thought I finally hung in there, the final break away accelerated. Darren and
Brad missed it, but finished 10th and 11th in the crit
which was already pretty good. Blake, Matt, Roy and I pulled out, saving us for
the roadrace, but I felt frustrated: another crit DNF. That was soon
gone when some excellent pasta meal got on the table made by Alice, Sharon and
Maurine. The boys took care of the dishes, of which there is proof on camera.
The
road race started the following morning at 8:00am, which mend an early rise and
some early carbohydrates. Bret enjoyed his highlight of the weekend when Brad
and Darren jumped him in his bed, when he was still enjoying a peacefull sleep.
Alice luckily had already escaped to the shower.
It
was a chilly morning and I had slept dreadful. The thought to be pushing my
limits the next three hours was an not a feeling I was looking forward to. Even
less so, when my warming up got me nowhere. But as so often with cycling, plans
work out differently than you thought: the start was a slow one, which gave me
time to get in a rhythm. An early breakaway got some room from the pack. Matt
enjoyed himself following Brad Hall, which he could do for quite a bit. After
15km I got orders from Roy to try to close the gap. It was slightly downhill
from here to town, which make Watts/kg less of an issue. For eleven k’s I got
comfortable at the front of the pack ignoring stints from others trying to
frustrate my attempt. The rest kept out of the wind, waiting eagerly for the
first climb of Pump hill. This 100m climb with a 8+% gradient in places was a
fierce one, too fierce for me after such an effort. Brad’s spirits were high,
seeing that Pump hill wasn’t hurting him as much as it did others. It even felt
good. It did not feel good for Blake and Matt. They popped on the steepest
gradient. Roy and me floundered in between. I got Roy back to the pack on the
downhill part but the hill in Pemberton was too much for me.
Together
with all the support from the girls and Bret at the side of the road,
unforeseen, but entirely free of charge, almost Dutch motivation was handed to
me. Rain had made its way to Pemberton, first shyly, but within minutes very
decisive. Fifteen kilometers later, accompanied by thundering lighting and
slashing rain I found myself back in a very wet bunch, where a couple of people
were hoping that the commissaires would cancel the race. I certainly did not.
Not even when I popped again on Pump hill. Brad and Darren looked good and
managed to follow the big guns. For a moment I tried to get back again working
together with another rider, but this time my engine was empty. With two others
we decided to slow the pace and finish the race. Never-giving-up Roy joined us,
albeit legless. Blake finished as well, but the time clocks were already taken
away, denying him a spot in the ranking: all credits to him for continuing.
Darren did very well, finished 11th, just missing out on prize
money. Brad was most unlucky when his cleat got loose and had to abandon, while
he was up there. In the B-race Michael finished 9th and was pretty
happy with his performance.
Brad fishing for trout. Buying the
secret ingredients. Getting a cycling Barbie ready
After the presentations we got
ourselves some 5kg trout at the King trout farm, where Roy clearly caught the
most and the biggest trout. We still owe him a beer each for that. Sharron
looked at the buckets full of helpless fish and wondered how on earth we would
eat all that. But recovering from a 110k road race requires a lot of protein
and the barbied trout tasted excellent. A meat-barbie in the evening finished
off an excellent day. Table manners sometimes got to a questionable level, but
had me learn another Australian saying: the Dutch oven. I have no idea where we
Dutch fitted in there, but it does raise question marks how much of a gentlemen
the average Dutch Pioneer was. Together with the term double Dutch it makes you
wonder how they got here in the first place.
Pemberton’s Gloucester
Karri forest.
The Monday we visited the Karri
forest: an oasis of green, nature noises and minds at ease. Climbing the 61m
high Gloucester Karri tree made me wonder what a lookout boy would do if he
would have spotted a nearby fire…. Going down is not that easy and certainly
not quick. It finished off a wonderful weekend, full of pain, pushing limits,
tactical learnings but most of all a great get together. Eight Ozzies, one
Dutchy and three cheese ‘n kisses arrived individually but came back as Aussie
Crates.
The world-famous blue-berry Pemberton
pie
Criterium A-grade
1 A19 Jordan Van der Togt 44:58.60
2 A1 Michael Fitzgerald Atomic Brooks Cycle Club 44:58.88
3 A8 Brad Hall 44:58.91
4 A18 Adam Semple Melville Fremantle Cycling Club 44:59.07
5 A9 Luke Hardy Atomic Brooks Cycle Club 45:07.26
6 A3 Sam Davis Atomic Brooks Cycle Club 45:40.10
7 A21 Elliot Wells 46:28.68
8 A5 Anthony Giacoppo 46:28.70
9 A20 Michael Verheyen Atomic Brooks Cycle Club 46:28.79
10 A16 Darren Robertson Southern Districts 46:29.30
11 A17 Bradley Robson Northern Districts 46:30.35
12 A12 Steven Jansen Track Cycling WA 46:41.61
Road race A-grade:
1 A3 Sam Davis 2:42:45.90
2 A10 Eddy Hollands 2:42:51.03
3 A5 Anthony Giacoppo 2:43:23.24
4 A21 Elliot Wells 2:43:31.93
5 A8 Brad Hall 2:43:59.64
6 A18 Adam Semple 2:43:59.82
7 A1 Michael Fitzgerald 2:44:00.15
8 A9 Luke Hardy 2:44:23.73
9 A22 Chris Thompson 2:46:17.26
10 A19 Jordan Van der Togt 2:47:11.15
11 A16 Darren Robertson 2:47:48.34
12 A20 Michael Verheyen 2:50:24.20
13 A12 Steven Jansen 2:52:53.26
14 A14 Brendan Nichol 2:52:53.33
15 A13 Dimitri Lafleur 2:52:56.65
16 A7 Roy Gillespie 2:52:58.16
Road race B-grade:
1 B11 Shaun Oneill Male 2:05:33.64
2 B21 Julian Bisset Male 2:05:37.50
3 B24 Craig Davies Male 2:06:13.37
4 B1 Chris Abbiss Male 2:06:13.76
5 B3 Brenton Davies Male 2:06:13.81
6 B5 Andrew Fitzgerald Male 2:06:14.52
7 B15 Andrew Simpson Male 2:06:14.91
8 B7 Thomas Griffiths Male 2:06:15.94
9 B22 Michael Martin Male 2:06:17.14
10 B14 Emma Pooley Female 2:06:18.42
11 B6 Chris Glasby Male 2:09:00.10
12 B19 Stuart Gee Male 2:09:55.94
13 B12 Jeremiah Peiffer Male 2:11:34.57
14 B16 Doug Stewart Male 2:15:17.02
15 B20 Keith Gill Male 2:15:19.57
