Guest post: Baw Baw blowout
In only eight months of cycling, the Donvale Demon has completed the 210km version of Around the Bay in a Day and climbed a handful of Victoria’s hardest mountains, including Mt. Hotham and the Back of Falls. In this guest post, the Donvale Demon describes his encounter with the epic Mt. Baw Baw, and the horrible incident that marred an otherwise-terrific day of cycling.
On the west coast of Scotland (my home country) ‘baws’ means ‘balls’: as in nuts, goolies, nads. If something is baws it’s not good. If it sucks baws it’s particularly unsavoury. If it’s total and utter baws … you get the picture.
I approached Mt. Baw Baw with this in mind. I knew, because everyone said so, that it was going to be hard. And so it proved.
Not the first half. At around 4% the first few kays are eminently do-able. I even rode at the same pace as the Climbing Cyclist which – during recent outings at Mt. Hotham, Falls Creek, Tawonga Gap and Kinglake – hasn’t happened. By necessity, climbing for me has been a solitary pursuit to date, a painful but satisfying thing that – I think – I’m getting better at.
And so I was happy with the first of the day’s two baws, as it were. The start of the second, bigger baw needed no signpost – even though there is one at The Gantry. The road curves up and away at around 10%, and at an ever greater gradient when it feels like it.
I had a 300-metre headstart on the Climbing Cyclist, which meant he didn’t zip past me until, ooh, 320 metres into the climb; and then I was alone again, pondering life’s big questions.
The most noticeable feature of Baw Baw’s top half is that it’s all mid-hill. If you have to stop – and I did – you have to get going again mid-climb, wobbling all over the road, wheelspinning in the pool of sweat you’ve just created. You feel your heartbeat pounding at a terrific bpm.
I was happy to get to the top, even posing for pictures with a fist pump. Not so baws after all, I thought – my fortune is changing.
But I was wrong.
For the descent, I got down the bigger of the baws no problem – slow and steady, of course, but that’s just how I roll. I met the Climbing Cyclist at The Gantry, who was doing his ironing, talking a rest.
When we started again, the Climbing Cyclist took the lead. I got my bike up to 35km/h, maybe a bit faster, before – kaboom!
In retrospect I know my front tyre exploded, ripping the sidewall apart. This in turn blew the tube out, which wrapped itself around the front forks and brake shoes, strangling and stopping the bike suddenly.
I say ‘in retrospect’ because at the time I blacked out – there was just the explosion (loud enough to send birds squawking from the trees and stop the Climbing Cyclist in his tracks). I remember feeling solid impact on my head, my shoulder, my left side and my thigh. I remember clearly thinking, mid-slide: ‘not fatal’, but there may have been a question mark at the end. And then I remember looking back and seeing my bidons, snacks and spare tube strewn across the road.
My first thought? Total baws. When I got up from the tarmac the Climbing Cyclist and I inspected the blowout, marveling at the damage to my bike and body.
My front wheel was fatally damaged, the rim sheared; the brake levers were scratched to pieces; the carbon soles of my (new) shoes were cracked; my (new) helmet was split up the back.
The scrapes on my shoulder, back, love handles, hips and leg were a map of the impact and subsequent sliding; the fuzziness in my head made it hard to think clearly.
Oh how we laughed when we realised this had all happened 45km of hilly ground from the car, in Noojee, and that, evidently, I was grounded for the day. We decided the Climbing Cyclist would cycle to Noojee to get the car, while I waited by the side of the road on Baw Baw, eating witchetty grubs and/or my final energy bar.
But after 10 minutes I started walking, carting my mangled bike, probably still in a state of shock. There was very little traffic, but the first vehicle to pass contained a retired couple who stopped and offered me a ride.
And so it was. I was driven off the mountain, bruised to bits, listening to tales of how the couple were about to caravan across Australia. All three of us watched out the window for the Climbing Cyclist and when we saw him – about 20 freaking kilometres away – he looked as grateful as I was that these beautiful strangers had rescued me. Not only that, they were heading straight for Noojee.
I sat in the carpark feeling sorry for myself. By the time the Climbing Cyclist arrived I was more skeleton than peleton. He asked if I’d mind if he went off to knock out the last 4km of his century, assuring me he’d only be eight or so minutes. That’s the kind of guy we’re dealing with, readers – a ruthless gentleman. [ed. in retrospect, this seems like a pretty selfish and pointless exercise. My bad.]
As I write this my bike is knackered, and I’m popping painkillers like a filthy addict. The boss of the LBS I bought the tyre from has very kindly offered me a loan wheel, while the blown-out tyre gets examined in Germany with a view to compensation. My grazed, bloodied fingers are crossed.
Will there be a happy ending? I’ll keep you posted.
Amazing story of survival. You were very lucky. Great baws
Ouch! Hope you have a speedy recovery.
Given the high quality of the German-made tire in question, one can only assume it was a freak accident.
Wow, you did well to survive that. Imagine the crash if you were descending at 70km/h like some of the other blokes I see out on the hills!
A blow out like that (and subsequent crash) is my biggest fear in descending. Would be fascinated to read an update when you get the blow out analysis back from Germany!
So what tyre pressure were you running?
What might’ve happened, particularly since it was Baw Baw that was being descended, was that high use of the brakes may have caused the rims to heat to such an extent that your tube exploded. The few times I’ve descended BB, I’ve used the brakes carefully to try and avoid this happening; coming to a complete stop in some shade for a few minutes to let the braking surface cool down (if required) could be a lifesaver. Just feeling a rim with a finger should be enough to tell you whether you can carry on or not.
As the braking surface does stay warm for a little while even after braking pressure has ceased to be applied, it’s possible that even after you’d started freewheeling, the tube was still at risk of exploding (which it unfortunately did).
Best of luck for a speedy recovery.
Accidents on a descent are as scary as it gets. Glad it’s just your bike that’s a little broken.
Milo is right about the heat from braking. Descending Baw Baw I stopped about 3km downdown to check the rims – they were almost too hot to touch. I waited another couple of minutes to let them cool down properly before continuing.
Great narrative!
I had a front Conti 4000 sidewall blowout comin` off the back of Checkers Hill SA @ 84.6kmph…tire never left rim, made a hell of a racket as it takes some stoppin` from there with no air in ya tire…. stayed up, patched sidewall with boot… rode to Strath and back home no probs….one shaken n lucky bloke!
Good grief Jim. What a story. How on earth did you manage to stay upright?! And where did you find a boot?
I sat up n cuddled the top tube with me knees waited n prayed…boot in my patch kit was a lesyne glueless that come with a tire boot in the envelope…two other well know riders from SA with me on the day.
two chaps with at the time were as amazed as I…Dennis Brown and Robert Rau.
Must have been a fluke, as the next month I locked my back tire and went bush on return from The same ride ….not so lucky… one sappling amongst many, barbed wire fence, luckilly there really,2 wrists and an elbow badly busted requiring 7hour surgery to pin up…smashed left leg….rode myself back up to speed in under 3 mths but have lost enthusiasm for the bike since…
lesson…lockin` ya rear on a fast decent can be worse than a front blow out!
PS
Baw Baw is on me list when I get …”enthused” again!
…good luck wi` ya mendin`!