The Pine Forest Heats Up, 2 December 2007
by Jon Presswell
On the hottest and most humid day in Darwin since the forming of Gondwanaland, the DORCs assembled at the Howard Springs Pine Forest for a series of short, hard and fast races. Organised by Tim Ellison, it's a great format that allows for short bursts of extreme effort, followed by just enough rest time to re-trace the track and find your coughed up lung before someone rides over it in the next race. The format was a time trial, then 3 short races followed by one long (relatively speaking) hot lap of the main course.
The event drew a large crowd, thanks in part to a large number of juniors escorted by parents and friends. It was good to see the DORC banner aloft and flapping in the breeze for the first time. The shade structures and DORC trailer lent a professional air to the scene. After the usual preliminaries and social chit-chat we are underway.
I take off in the time trial like a cut cat and clear the first jump easily, drop the bike in for the tight right hander (gee I'm good!) lean it too deep and knock my right shoe out of the cleat. Damn! Several metres later it's back in but I've lost the rhythm for the next left hander. I try to overcompensate by stomping hard out of next bend and nearly slide the bike into a tree. Damn again! Finally I am away, precious seconds lost only to almost career into the rear end of the rider in front. What the hell has this guy been up to given that I have just spent an eternity on the first few bends? I track his wheel impatiently and he lets me past near Tim's new jumps. I gun off, using the clear run to go like an absolute bat out of hell, faster than the wind, uncatchable, my eyes watering with the velocity of my ride.......Bill Murphy sails effortlessly past just as we tuck into the final singletrack. Oh well, he's obviously taken a shortcut.
Short Races
It's a crowded mass start with the riders jostling for single track entrance. I take off next to Steve Bryan. He accelerates away from me and over top of a junior in front. Steve goes over the bars with his butt pointing to the sky blocking out the sun; his bike soars gracefully overhead like those ribbon things gymnasts hurl about in the Olympics and returns to terra firma, smack on the junior's head. The little bloke, name of Talon I'm told, is wearing one of those cool, black freeride helmets and it's his best friend right then. By the time I have finished with this scene I am late into the single track and back in the queue. Col Smith is behind me. How do I know this? Because Col never stops talking in a race, nothing like some pleasant sledging to keep you amused. I wind along happily in the crowd knowing a fast time is out for me this time. Steve whistles past at the end having recovered from his early adventures.
Races Two and Three are uneventful. I position myself a little better on the single track each time and finish a bit stronger. There is a bit of creative track making at times with some riders not giving an inch and choosing to ride two abreast on some sections. Good luck with that blokes, those are real pine trees not cardboard props. I know this from firsthand experience.
The Big One
Everyone starts together in this race, some 50 odd riders and I am not taking any poo this time, using the long fire road start to pass as many riders as I can before the single track starts. I still get briefly held up by two juniors who happily let me past, and then I settle into ripping, as best I can, this glorious singletrack. It's an absolute hoot, relishing in nailing a corner well, cursing as you are less than cool on another one. Try to stay fluid, try to stay fluid I tell myself. This is all very well when the fluid in your lungs is sloshing and burning against your pounding chest. About one third of the way through I am in traffic again in a section I helped build. Cool. I should have built in a shortcut. I use the next fire road to pass this lot and I am alone again, except for a yellow shirt about 20 metres ahead, on the fast, "downhill section" where you can spit out of those big berms. Going hard now, surely I must be nearly in the lead! I see more riders ahead on a short fire road section and, chest heaving, stomp out after them. Through some tight bends, log jumps, narrow gaps between trees. I have shed blood on this section in the past but not as much as the bloke I ran over at the time, but that's another story. I am now in the fastest section of the track, as good as it gets and it's sticking like glue. The bends and berms here are awesome. Suddenly I am up to the riders in front, a longish line of people travelling well. Aaron emerges from nowhere behind me and begins shouting encouragement (read abuse) to the group ahead. Not far from the end we get by them and zip into the time trial section near the pits. Someone gets messed up on Tim's jumps and I hear swearing from behind me. Then it's out onto the straight at the end and into the big ring, past a few riders, up and sprinting for the finish. Someone gets by me. I am spinning too quickly, too low down, but it's too late to change up a gear or two now. Sprinting doesn't allow for errors like that. It's over. As we rocket past the finish line I see riders standing about, already finished. It's those damn shortcuts again. Awesome stuff Tim.
