A Gumbies Guide to the Condo 750 Rally
The Condo 750 has always been an elusive goal of mine. I went for a bit of a look in 1996 (even ended up doing a control point which was great) and I was so overawed by the sheer speed of the front runners that it took 10 years to build up the courage to have a crack at it.
Three months ago I finally decided to bite the bullet and figured I had to get fit (well fitter). The skipping rope came out of retirement, the push bike tyres got pumped up and soon enough the side effects of an office job and my wife’s excellent cooking started to diminish. Starting from a lowly benchmark always makes it easy to see progress.
Getting the bike organised was considerably easier. The 400 is still running perfectly despite 2 years and 15,000km’s of trail riding but as a precaution, I dropped it over to Mark Carter, motorcycle mechanic extraordinaire, who gave it a once over and declared it fit to race (or at least to poke around at the back of the pack). I slapped a couple of stickers on from my accounting business, to make it look like I was a sponsored rider, when in actual fact the only person silly enough to pay my way was me.
Mounting the required navigation gear was a bit of a challenge, but the time spent in the shed was enjoyable, I have always wanted to set up a rally bike so here was my opportunity. TK graciously lent me his MD Roller and Rod produced an ICO from the depths of his shed so I had the makings of a setup that was considerably quicker than the rider. The MD needed a bit of work but parts were readily available from Vince Strang and before I knew it, the maps went forward and back at the flick of a switch on the left bar, bloody magic.
In the week leading up to the race, I took on as much advice as I could from those that had competed in these types of events and set about loading the bike and as many spares as I could fit in the back of the Triton. After a 1,000km drive, I rolled into the showground late on Friday afternoon and it hit me. What had I signed up for? Surrounded by Race Transporters of all shapes and sizes, I was feeling seriously out of my depth and drove the Triton and DRZ off to the side for a couple of last minute preparations.
Friday night was all about Route Sheets and riders briefings. It was 11pm by the time the route sheets were loaded and my head hit the pillow. At 11.01 my eyes sprung open and I thought of all the ways it would be possible to DNF my first ever race. I think I may need to re-read the chapter in Gally’s Off-Road guide on positive thinking.
I heard a couple of bikes going early on Saturday and panicked that I had missed the start, not that it would have made a lot of difference to my times anyhow. After a solid breakfast of weetbix and toast, I fired up the DRZ and headed for the start line. As I looked around I began to see a bit of trepidation on the faces of other riders and it turned out I wasn’t alone. There were other first timers there and even the blokes who had raced other forms of off-road were a little unsure of what the Condo would bring. Without fail though, the thing that stuck with me was the quality of the riders lined up waiting for their allotted start time. They were all good blokes, happy to have a yarn, regardless of whether they were at the pointy end of the field or waiting in the shade at the back of the line with me. I got counted away in due time and managed to find the start of the first competitive section, unlike one other poor bugger who missed a turn and ended up at the start of the first car selective, 40km's away.
With hydration levels at an all time high due to drinking copious quantities of water in the preceeding days, I did a nervous pee prior to the start of the first stage and I was off, tearing down a fence line and watching suspisciously as the first group of spectators waited at a dry creek designated as a Triple Caution. I have never ridden in front of spectators before and it was clear they were waiting for carnage from the back markers. Much to their dissapointment, I quietly rolled through and set about clearing the cobwebs out of the 400 on the next couple of straights. From here on in, I worked on settling into a solid trail riding pace and working on my three rules for the race.
Don’t Crash,
Don’t Break the Bike; and
Don’t get Lost.
Pretty soon the initial apprehension faded and I was cruising along enjoying the riding and the challenge of navigating. At one point in time I rode into a paddock where there were 5 riders approaching from 5 different angles. I guess they figured that my pace was slow enough that I must be reading the maps as they all latched on to the dust light of the 400 until we reached a defined track and off they went again.
It was during the second stage that I realised that I may not be cut out for outright racing speed. While others were no doubt focussing on the terrain and the frightening maximum speeds on their ICO, I was wondering how patient you would have to be to try and farm the country we were riding through. Endless ploughed paddocks of dust and rubble that looked like it would run away and hide if it saw rain coming. Out of respect for the farmers I was careful to stay on the track and not cut across their paddocks, I figured they had enough to contend with as it was.
My hydration levels caught up with me again during the day and at least a few spots of the parched earth received some precipitation of sorts. The rest of the day was a nice mix of open farm tracks and winding fire trails through Mallee Scrub. All in all it was a great days riding and it was a huge relief to make it back in one piece and feeling positive. Which was all well and good until Mick Carey gave me the run down on riding the bull dust bound to be left by the cars. No matter how many times someone explains it, there is just no way to comprehend the depth of the stuff until it is splashing over your boots on a tight trail, almost as if you were riding through water in a creek. All sorts of hidden gremlins were perched in the powder waiting to unseat an unsuspecting rider and it was a disappointment to see Will’s DR down in a particularly bad patch. I stopped to see if he was Ok and was waved on as a spectator ran over to help him out. It was only later that I realised he had broken his ankle in the topple and was unable to continue. Bugger.
The stages before lunch on Sunday were a bit of a slog. The top riders were no doubt defying logic and gravity by blasting through the tight, chopped up Mallee tracks at speed but for me, I was content not to become part of the scenery. On the odd occasion when you could get a bit of rhythm up, the local emus and kangaroos peered out of the scrub to keep you on your toes.
Cold water went in the camelback at lunch time followed by fresh route sheets for the MD and it was off to tackle the next stage. The first 15km’s looked like more of the same, deep bulldust with the odd less than gracious paddle required but the hard work was rewarded as the trail opened up and the speeds picked up. Its funny how the loose corners that were tackled with caution in the morning looked like they were pristine after battling through 100 odd km’s of deep dusty ruts. Momentum picked up, the bike flowed and at one point in time I felt like I could ride half decent, unreal! This continued on for the rest of the stage with the highlight being a set of whoops that I managed to tackle two at a time. I have never hit anything quite so right in my riding career and was seriously tempted to go back and try it again, must be great to have the ability to do it all the time. Unfortunately the fun stopped a little ways down the track when Adam Baker was standing beside two busted rims (made GT's dint look like a pimple on a pumpkin :eek1) and a somewhat lighter version of the KTM he started on in the morning. He had hit a rock in the dust at speed and it got ugly. The bike cart wheeled and he was bloody lucky to walk away. A real shame that he couldn’t make it to the finish as he was so close.
As was the trend for the weekend, the mood changed at the end of the penultimate control. After hitting my straps in the second last stage and getting excited that I only had 30km’s to go, the Clerk of Course informed me that the last stage had to be closed early for safety reasons. “You have to be #$%ing kidding me” was my first reaction. I quietly rode off, did a little dummy spit in my helmet and calmed down by the time we reached the Finishers line at the showground. At first I was disappointed that they wouldn’t let us on the stage, as I had ridden so tidy for the weekend and managed to stay upright and out of mischief. In hindsight though I can see that they had their reasons and that for the riders who missed out it really wasn’t that big a deal. The initial disappointment soon dissipated as I rolled under the finishing banner and headed to the bar to begin repaying my support crew, Rod for his assistance and guidance on the weekend, what a legend :clap. The presentation dinner was pretty cool (except for poor Bilblat who got left off the list of finishers due to an Admin error :huh), and a highlight of the weekend was finally catching up with the Advrider crowd who I had only managed to meet in small numbers previously :1drink.
In the end it was a great weekend and I am really pleased with myself that I decided to give it a shot. My times were slow at best, finishing 42nd out of a field of 60, but I proved to myself that I could do it and met a bunch of terrific people in the process :wave.
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Originally Posted by Xander
When i am back.. I think I 'll jump in (right after i put a different set of shocks on the XTZ and maybe a plastic tank.. )
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