Pedal Studio: Osama B’s – Race Report 2009....written exclusively for Pedal Studio by Bruce Turvey

What an event, and more importantly, what a change from last year. I referred back to the Osama B’s race report from 2008 and it resembled a Vietnam flashback of sorts. A complex kaleidoscope of falling, pain, bleeding, equipment destruction, budget accommodation and hardship. In stark contrast, this year turned out to be one of sublime riding, little pain and infinite comfort. A series of crash free days followed by fine dining and tranquil accommodation. Apparently being last years’ winner had something to do with the accommodation, but the lack of pain had to do with something else entirely. Turns out the rowers have learned how to ride. Now that’s a helluva thing!.

To put you in the picture, I rode this thing last year with my equally virginal mountain bike rowing partner, Warren. This team was all about enthusiasm and very little about talent. In terms of the confidence to competence ratio, so important in sport, the former way outstripped the latter. Yet, enthusiasm overcame all and we managed a hugely unexpected win.

But things change, and Warren saw it fit to immigrate to a small, largely uninhabited island off the north coast of Australia. This in a move to advance his mining and work (no other) career. I was left partnerless and faced the wrath of the jockey and his gravity proof nubile on my own. Needless to say, I panicked and considered my options for a new partner. It even crossed my mind to quit while I was ahead, cut my losses and enter into MTB retirement, pride intact, forever known as the “one hill wonder,’ yet forever unbeaten in the Swazi hills. Now there’s something to tell the grandchildren – if there ever are any.

What I did for a partner, was unashamedly poach the new Osama B from a last year’s team that placed third in the men’s section. Enter “The Pipe.” Yes, another rower, this one longer than your average garden hose and considerably more powerful (I’ll leave out the drinking problems and rap sheet of run ins with the law at this stage). A more accomplished mountain biker than Warren and myself, the Pipe needed some fine tuning and we were on. “We gotta win this dice bru!!” was the call and “We can’t lose to a bunch of sawn off garden gnomes, best we put in the training.” True to form, I hit the bar and the rowing machine by way of preparation, and the Pipe hit the bar and the cliff-like hills behind his dairy farm in Knysna. “This cycling lot train too much,” we agreed. “It’s not about volume, it’s about intensity.” Not known for conventional training methods, the rowers thought they were in the dice. We were exposed to any stage lasting more than about four hours – but you gotta back yourselves. If it’s not hurting, you aren’t trying.