One of the great loves of many triathletes is the bliss of a beautifully brewed cup of coffee, especially after a long and arduous training session.  Whilst not a coffee aficionado or drinker myself, I have a wife and many good friends who are only too happy for me to enjoy a cup vicariously.  I have been regaled endlessly on the esoteric subtleties of a “great cup”, and viewed first hand the ecstatic looks when the brown-gold meets their palate; if only to emphasise the folly of my atheism.

A joy being here in the Philippines are the little gems of human knowledge that percolate your way, whether you like it or not.

Such was my situation several days ago when in the context of a “great cup” a most engaging Filipino asked me if I knew what a “Civet” was.  Being better versed in biology than perhaps the science of coffee, I suggested a wild cat, but I was at a loss as to whether it was closely related to an Ocelot or not; but that didn’t matter.

Anyway, it turns out that the best and most expensive coffee in the world comes from the Philippines compliments of the humble Civet, called Civet coffee.

The hapless feline is fed coffee beans, which in due course pass through its digestive tract.  After a long and arduous passage the beans are excreted.  The transmogrified bean is then washed, dried and roasted, prior to being brewed, then consumed.

The next time my aficionado coffee-drinker friends regale me in their caffeine ecstasy and tell me “… it is the best coffee you can get ..”, I can at last relax in my atheist stupidity, safe in the knowledge that things brown, now matter how delectable,  should not necessarily be poured down your throat.

 

 

 

 

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Pico de Loro, Nasugbu, Batangas, Philippines

May 7, 2012

After weeks of riding of riding laps on an 18km (11mile) flat circuit near Pico de Loro, I decided that today I would ride repeats on the big hill to the north.

Pico de Loro Beach and Country Club is the resort where I am based with my pro-triathlete wife Ali, in the Philippines.  Pico de Loro means “Parrot Peak” because of a rock formation at the summit of a local peak that looks like a Parrot’s beak.

It was named thus by the Spanish 400 odd years ago.  Nasugbu is a regional town around 18kms away on the other side of some big hills, and for some reason that I do not understand the address of where we stay  includes this town.  Probably the nearest place of significance.  Batangas is a state on the Island of Luzon, which is where Jungle Training happens.

This adventure actually only takes me 6.6km (4miles) away from where I live, the distance being split roughly in to thirds – the first third is flatland, the next third is steeply uphill, and the last third is less steeply downhill the other side, then a u-turn and back to where I started.  I did this 4 times, to give me roughly 50kms (30 miles) of riding today.

The flat part was fast and easy through subsistence farmlands, slowing for a small village called Patanungan around half way toward the start of the hilly climb.  Patanungan provides for a multitude of novelties, least of which is a small but growing knot of little kids who position themselves strategically and yell “HI!” at the top of their voices as I go past.  I have found over the weeks that I can actually “train” different “knots” as some I yell “HI!” and they say “HI!” back to me, whilst others I yell “HELLOOOOOO”, and they mimic the same back to me.

In the village and associated approaches there are a host of dangers that I need to watch out for, including cracks in the concrete road, rocks on the road, cattle, water buffalo, goats, roosters, chickens, dogs, cats, kids, people, motor tricycles, cars, trucks, motor-bike riders, and my friend goose.

Goose is a particular concern, for when he/she/it as a large he takes a proprietary interest in his patch of road and defends it with much energetic honking.  He strategically places himself (usually dead ahead of you) so that you have to brake almost to a stop.  When stopped you are at a great disadvantage from goose attack.

From being goosed you can move on to cattle (and sometimes water buffalo), who are smart enough to know that roads are great for getting from A to B quickly, but leave a long trail of pads advertising their passage.  Again ya gotta slow right down – they are rarely aggressive, but are too big to tangle with at speed, and they are inclined to do sudden and unpredictable things when startled.

From the lowlands you angle sharply upwards, by my estimate an average gradient of 10%, for another 2.2kms (1.4miles) to the top of the hill, then a winding slightly less aggressive downhill to the end of the road a similar distance beyond.  The concrete road then ends abruptly and beyond is an unknown wilderness to me.

This hilly part is through tropical jungle, which combined with the incredible rainfall they get here, provides significant challenges to the engineers trying to provide safe and reliable roads.  The rain saturates the soil and accompanying rocks, which then seek to find the shortest and fastest route to sea level.

The road has evidence of significant land slips in several places, large boulders that have dislodged and come to rest by the road, huge wash-outs at the edge of the road, and lots of small rocks over the road from fretting in cuttings.

Add all this to cracking in the concrete road, sundry cattle and jungle animals, plus countless cow-poos, and you have an interesting ride.

The positives are that whilst I am only around 80-90kms (50-55miles) as the crow flies SSW from Manila (near the West coast), the area is considered relatively remote, and traffic by Philippine standards is negligible.  Those tricycles, motorbikes and Jeepneys that do pass you are intrigued by your novelty, and energetic waves are accompanied by friendly toots on horns.

This little corner of paradise is about to change, as in the unknown wilderness beyond the end of the concrete there are people digging a tunnel through a mountain.  Once this is done and a few last stretches of road are paved, then the travel time from Manila will be almost halved, and this little-trafficked road will become a major thoroughfare.  Paradise to hell currently stands at around 9 months hence.

And a few people familiar with the local area have told me that this area was, until quite recently, a favoured haunt of PLA (communist) guerrillas.  I assure myself that the occasional guns discharges that I hear are simply local farmers out hunting game.

The real challenges, notwithstanding, are the heat and humidity, which are suffocating.  There is no breeze, and the uphill grind gets you really working.  I end up drinking around 5 litres (1.3 US gallons), or a litre every 10kms (a quart every 6 miles) for my 50kms/30miles, then I drink non-stop for several hours after I finish.

My bike jersey and nicks are saturated in perspiration, with sweat sheeting off, draining in rivulets down my arms to my gloved hands, and down my legs and across my calves, and inside my shoes.  It all then overflows to the road.

I ride the obstacle course slowly downhill, squeezing my rear brake really hard with my sopping hand, my rear rim becoming red hot.  Then out from the right darts this big monitor lizard, around 1.2m long (4 feet); I brake harder to avoid him, and he darts back in to the jungle.  A near miss.

On my last repeat up the hill I stop at a tiny shop in Patanungan to top up one of my 4 bidons as I was getting critically low on water.  A little boy, maybe 5 or 6, quietly sidles up to my bike and checks the pressure in my front tyre, apparently very pleased with himself at being so bold.  He gives me a cheeky smile.

There are 8 or so teenagers’ playing cards in a shady alcove nearby.  The appearance of a “white-skin” shopping, an oddity and a rare occurrence in their little village, is accompanied by giggles and laughter, no doubt someone making the sort of joke that people the world over make in such situations.  It is probably a little rude, and understandably so, or else it would not be so funny.

I smile and laugh too, which is taken in good grace and everyone looks around sheepishly.  The girl serving kindly fills my bidon no charge, and risking further ridicule I chance my hand and say “Salaamat”, my version of “thank you” in Tagalog, the local language here.

The leading jokester playing cards corrects my faulty emphasis and says “Tagalog Salamaat”, with a stress on the final syllable.  I mimic exactly what he says, “Tagalog Salamaat” to the approving chuckles of everyone, and head on my way.

A gathering crowd of little kids, both the “Hi’s” and the “Hello’s”, watch with big eyes as I disappear down the road, dripping sweat behind me.

Not a long, but an interesting jungle training ride.  Average speed 17kms/hr (10.5mph).

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My Philippines adventure …

I find myself in Pico de Loro Resort, literally “Parrot Peak Resort”, a hidden paradise by the sea some 3-4 hrs drive south of Manila on the west coast of the Philippines.

This is the idyllic setting for the second Pico de Loro Invitational Triathlon, starting at 2:30pm – the hottest part of the day in this tropical country.  And, thanks to my ever-helpful and dynamic Philippine Timex Multisport Team-mate Ani Karina de Leon-Brown, I am one of the “invited”.

 I am excited.  My first ever visit to the Philippines, a new country full of dramatic contrasts, with a shy and polite peoples.  Standing at nearly 6’3” I also find that I am a giant amongst non-giants – the average Filipino man stands 5’4” – the average woman 4’11”.

The event is limited to 200 competitors, a good move given the highly technical nature of the 35km (22 mile) bike ride.  In particular a 14% climb up the road on the ride out of the resort, a descent of the same section on the return, and 6 x 180 degree turns.

The 1.2km (0.75mile) swim is two laps of a roped course out in to Pico de Loro Cove, with a 50m/55 yard beach run in the middle.  We will be swimming through small smacks of jelly-fish that tingle your skin.

The 8km (5 mile) run is four laps around the Pico Resort loop, which has a modest rise in the middle.

As start time approaches we are treated to a great lightning display, with dramatic bolts hitting the surrounding hills accompanied by cacophonic claps of thunder, and pouring rain.  Just what you need to get your HR up!

The swim was uneventful; I started in the front rank, with former Timex teammate, wife, and now teamTBB competitor on my left.  My goal was to shield her right flank, knowing that we would both benefit not being crowded on one side.  But she quickly swam away from me, and I had a wonderful feeling of freedom all on my own – the leading pack ahead and drawing away; me the best of the rest.

I found good pace and rhythm, first lap done, short beach run, wave to cheering spectators, than back in for the second lap.  Around half-way through the second lap, pro-triathlete, fellow Aussie and Ani’s husband, Dan Brown, dropped-off the lead pack, and jumped on my toes.  Dan was fresh-off being sick; in fact he had gone to race IM in Melbourne the previous week, but was too crook to start.

Anyway, it was good having Dan tapping my toes, as I suffer from galeophobia, a morbid fear of sharks, and my brain wiring rationalizes that any shark that wants to eat me will sample my toes first; so having Dan there meant that all the sharks crowding in for a meal would sample his toes first, so one less thing for me to worry about.

I was second age-grouper out of the water, and sixth outright if you include the 8 pros.

T1 was pathetically slow.  I had covered my transition gear to keep it dry in the pre-race storm, so there was a bit of searching and re-organizing to do.

The ride was similarly uneventful, mostly.  The 14% climb out of the resort, then a long downhill the other side.  Then we did two laps on the flats, through small subsistence villages, rural farmlands, roosters, water buffalos and lots of enthusiastic if somewhat bemused subsistence villagers and families into whose quiet world we had abruptly intruded, who were cheering us on.

Some 6 or 7kms (4-5miles) in to the bike leg a competent cyclist effortlessly cruised past me like I was standing still.  This actually occurred some 900 times to me in Kona last year so I was well practiced; I call it the curse of the good swimmer, but then I guess not all good swimmers ride as slowly as I do.  I figure that if I can lose around 24kg (50lbs) then I will weigh roughly the same as Crowie, and maybe then I can ride a bit faster as well.

But I did my best, kept up the pace, stayed hydrated, and waved to the adoring crowds who appreciated the interaction.

There were also blue-clad officials; lots of them.  Not sure if they were police, military or what, but they all carried very impressive weaponry; typically rifles or stubby shotguns, plus pistols as side-arms, which they had “at the ready”.  In Australia the public display of firearms is very rare, so I felt reassured that I would not be attacked by a water-buffalo, roosters, donkeys, horses, mules or ass’s.  My only regret was that this impressively armed honor-guard were not aquatic, as I felt very threatened by sharks until my mate Dan covered my toes for me.

The downhill ride back in to Pico was as exciting as the uphill ride beforehand was breathless.  The roads were wet and slick, and in my enthusiasm I went too fast, then got the death wobbles, then failed to negotiate the sharp corner at the bottom.   There was much sliding when I went down, but relatively little pizza given the very wet road, and I was (thankfully?) covered in black slime.

My ego was as bruised as my knee and my elbow, and with my steering bent at what felt like 90 degrees to normal I bravely rode the last 2km loop back to transition.

T2 was much more speedy than T1, and I was off like a flash, denying the aches and pains from coming off my bike.  And unlike the Ironman I had not been contorted for hours on the bike and found good running in a few hundred metres.

Again, not much incident.  Somewhere near the end of my first lap the eventual second-place getter Fredrik Croneborg from Sweden streaked past me on his way to recording the fastest run split of the day, doing 6 minute miles.

From there it was just grit the teeth and focus.  On my second lap I started to lap other competitors, and no doubt as Fredrik drew strength from passing me, I drew strength from passing others, although it seemed to get harder and harder to keep the pace up.

So across the finish, no one in sight either in front or behind; although the course marshals, no doubt making value judgments about my antiquity, attempted to flag me around to run a fifth lap – I resisted the temptation.

I won my M55+ age group, plus placed 3^rd overall age grouper, behind two guys in the M30-34 age group; one just 57 seconds ahead, the other several minutes.  My time was 2:06:58.

My overall placing was 9^th overall from 177 starters, which included 8 pro’s, and 12 age group competitors who DNF.

Timex Team mate Ani, former three-times Philippine triathlon champion, was first age group female, winning her F35-39 age group and placing 17^th overall age grouper.  Very well done Ani, just 4 months after giving birth, and two weeks after completing Singapore 70.3 – you are a dynamo!

Wife Ali placed first elite female, 3^rd overall, “chicking” 4 of the 6 pro blokes, just two weeks after placing 4th in Singapore 70.3 where she raced sick.  She also managed to take almost 30 minutes off the female course record, plus bettered the old men’s record by almost 4 minutes.

Now back to training, and planning for my next race, at the beautiful Pico de Loro resort.

Thanks to Glenn RunningDead Colendrino who provided a number of photos in this blog.

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A blog from Your Man DownUnder

“Mob” is a wonderful word.  In remote central Australia where I once worked, the indigenous people use “mob” as a collective noun for everything.  Gone is the confusion of collective nouns such as shrewdness, sleuth, sloth, sedge, siege, sounder, skulk, skein, sneak, span, sowse, or even fesnying (of ferrets), to name a few.  “Mob” captures the whole mob.

To simplify things even further, “Mobs” come in three sizes; “small mob”, “mob”, and “big mob”.  Further unnecessary detail is left to your imagination.

And it was in such a frame of mind this morning out running in the rain that my mind meandered, as I came upon this small mob of kangaroos, grazing.

Usually these marsupials with walnut-sized brains scatter on your approach.  But this small mob had a big-boss kangaroo in charge, and he wasn’t moving for anyone.  Let alone a soggy-jogger with a meandering mind.

Thoughts wandered to rare reports of ‘roos that hop up to hapless humans, grab them in embrace, balance on their powerful tails, then use their long toe nail to arc powerfully upwards then downwards in a sweep of evisceration.  Damp reflections of my gizzards slumping warmly on my feet encouraged a wide detour of boss-man roo, who continued contentedly grazing.

Not long back from Timex camp in New Jersey and still in the throes of jetlag, I think about “Big mob”; my nearly 50 Team Mates, plus all the support mob that made camp an unforgettable experience that Big mob raves about.  See much of the detail of my fellow Big mob’s blogs on this site.

But what exactly is Timex Camp and what does Big mob do there I wonder if Blog readers wonder?  Let me share some of this briefly with you, in no particular order …

•  product briefings by sponsors
• distribution of SWAG – “stuff we all get”, including Timex clothing
• Big mob bonding, usually over breakfast, lunch and dinner
• athlete testing, covering sweat and electrolyte testing by the Korey Stringer Institute of the University of Connecticut
• feedback session from Korey Stringer Institute from Kona study last year
• social media briefing
• focus groups
• early morning fun & splash at pool
• Team photos, individual head-shots
• formal dinner, presentation and talks by notable persons
• tearful farewells.

It was quite an intense few days, with much good-natured catching up with old mates, and welcoming of new.  Credit to Tristan, Keith, Tom and the support mob for their excellent work, and huge thanks to the sponsor mob.

So jogging-on my thoughts wander to the brilliant product briefing we had from our new bike sponsor, Quintana Roo http://www.quintanarootri.com; in particular the guy who actually designed our latest bike, Brad Devaney.  At some stage in the briefing they asked “Why ‘Quintana Roo’?”  It seems that the original idea was conceived on a drive to the Mexican state of that name, with some deference/double meaning to Australia with the name “Roo”.

Well I was now surrounded by Roo’s on my run, and was honored by Quintana mob naming it so, especially when North America abounded in its own unique fauna.  I was doubly grateful that they had not named themselves after bison, rattlesnakes, or even perhaps skunks; for to be surrounded by such would be perilous indeed.

And so it came to pass that my run ended, I showered and dried, and my thoughts moved on to less exciting things.

Such is the nature of random thoughts running in the rain.

 

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The first day of the Australian spring today was interesting.  I did a 124 mile ride out bush, on my beautiful 2011 Timex Team Orbea Ordu.  I was visited early by a magpie.  He swooped down, squawked loudly, gnashed his beak near my ear, flared his wings, took off, then came back again in a Kamikaze dive.  Then again, and again.  And if that was not enough, his mates visited me, surprisingly, at least a dozen times during the day.  A PR.

(Photo pending)

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