Fartleks & Flatulence Page 7

  As the evening wore on it got windier and colder, tiredness was making me trip over my own feet and had anyone been watching me they may well have thought they were watching a drunk staggering home.

  After a while I realised that I had not seen a single runner since leaving the previous CP. Then, scanning the terrain ahead I spotted a small white light. Without realising it my speed increased, why, I don’t know. I can only assume that we humans must have some inbuilt “chasing” gene.

  A little while later and after my ‘increased speed’ had decreased I realised that the ‘runner’ in front was not a runner but the CP.

  Arriving at CP12 I was immediately asked if I would be sleeping, and am I okay? (I must have looked rough). When I politely said I wouldn’t be staying they said that this was the last chance to sleep as the last CP had no facilities for sleeping. I think they were a little bored and just glad that someone had turned up.

  After about 15 minutes I was off - now I was wondering if I should have stayed and slept - but too late and not having the balls to turn back, I kept plodding along. After a while the track became more defined and seemed to be littered with used bits of rubbish, old tyres and tins. Then the sound of dogs barking, the smell of smoke and finally lights, climbing a rather steep, twisting incline and suddenly I was in the village of Taiyiba. It was dark but there were a lot of people about.

  Walking through the village I was joined be a small group of people, mainly children. They were intrigued and asked if I had run from Wadi Rum. They stayed with me for about a kilometre. Leaving the village the route took me onto the tarmaced road - this road was steep, cold and windy. Moving along the right hand side of the road, with thoughts of finishing, food, showers and bed I could see what appeared to be headlights approaching. They were moving fast and were very bright, then I realised we were on a collision course. Self-preservation took over (I’m glad I had not eaten or I may well have had an accident in my shorts) and I jumped down into a drainage ditch. The car stopped and I heard the car door open. I thought “Oh fuck, I’ve just covered God knows how far, I’ve nearly reached the end of this fantastic race and I’m about to be mugged!” Too bloody knackered to fight and too knackered to run I was working out what to do when I realised the car was a police car. The very helpful officer helped me up, asked if I was alright and was I one of the runners from Wadi Rum? He told me there was a CP up ahead and that it would be better if I was on the other side of the road. Phew!!

  Within 30 minutes I was at CP13, the last CP. It was extremely cold and windy and I had decided to have a short break before the final few kilometres. However on arriving I saw that I was not the only one with that idea:- half a dozen runners were doing exactly that: huddled down beside the landcruiser that was the CP, it was too cold to hang around so I decided to plod on.

  On leaving the CP I was given very clear and very precise instructions on how to proceed. The first km or so were apparently ‘treacherous underfoot’. They weren’t wrong:- it was very difficult, steep and slippery (I later found out that some of the runners huddling down at the CP had attempted to get down and discretion being the better part of valour had turned back and were waiting for daylight!). I slowly, very slowly, made my way down. The loose scree petered out, and finally the steepness started to level out. Just as I was getting the hang of moving along, the whole canyon lit up, bright light everywhere! I could momentarily see the whole steep canyon, sheer drops and narrow paths. Then as quickly as the light appeared it disappeared along with my ‘night vision’. What the hell had just happened or was it the dreaded ‘sleepmonsters’ coming out to play?

  I then heard a voice shouting and looking around I spotted a small light on the other side of the canyon. I shouted back and waved my head torch in the direction that I had seen the torch. It turned out that the runner was Spanish-he was okay but stuck. He had either taken a wrong turn or attempted a shortcut, whichever it was it was a mistake. The moment he used his flare he was out the race. What made it more galling was that he was so close to the finish - maybe 4 miles as the crow flies. I told him I would inform the race crew.

  A little further on I started to notice the little green fluorescent glowsticks marking the way. Then turning a corner I was presented with the wonderful sight of the steps that led down to Petra, each step had on it a candle lighting the way (I still managed to trip over!).

  Reaching the bottom and the familiar smell of camel wee and poo. Up past the famous Treasury and the final couple of km to

  the finish line, I crossed the finish line at 01:05 in 82nd place.

  A very attractive French lady placed a medal around my neck, embraced me and kissed me on either cheek. Unfortunately for her I smelled like a rotting carcass and I knew it. I’m sure she was aware of it but was far too polite to mention it.

  I sat down with my medal. Another finisher was there and a few moments later we were both taken to a hotel. I was lucky that I had a room to myself.

  I unwrapped my feet and was pleasantly surprised to see just one small blister -I had got away with it virtually unscathed. I was chuffed. A quick shower and bed. As I stood in the shower washing away the accumulated grime I suddenly jumped and clenched. What the %^&* hell was that? It was like a bee sting, a sharp stabbing pain right between my buttocks. It continued and was very sore, sore enough to warrant further investigation so making good use of the full-length mirror I bent over and like a somewhat nervous amateur proctologist I set about checking the damage. What the *&^%$? The damage was severe, red-raw and angry, it looked and felt as if someone had sandpapered my arse.

  Even though I thought I had been clever in applying Vaseline, I was wrong. The Vaseline/sand combination mixed together made a very effective abrasive!

  Forty-one years old and suffering from nappy rash - did I get any sympathy from my wife? No, she laughed.

  The Jordan Desert Cup was an odd race, though I thought it tougher than the Marathon des Sables, I had enjoyed it more. The one stage factor suited me more. I didn’t like the stop start aspect of the stage races.

  Lloyd Scott, aka Indiana Jones, annoyed the hell out of the French by finishing - still listening to his Elton John CD collection!

  The following April, Lloyd completed the London marathon in his deep sea divers suit, a suit that weighed some 140 pounds. He managed to finish in a little over 5 days!!

  WHAT NEXT?

  A rather dapper looking Lloyd Scott AKA Indiana Jones

  The calm before the storm!

  Checkpoint 9 I felt worse than I look!

  Getting organised

  RAID AMAZONIE 2003

  What is it: An Ultra-distance jungle footrace

  When: March

  Where: French Guyana

  Distance: 160 km (100miles)

  It is: Tough, hot, humid and unforgiving and was supported by the French Foreign Legion

  What a nightmare start! I have travelled quite a lot in my life, from places as diverse as India and Sri Lanka, Jordan and Syria and even the Great Sahara Desert but nothing compares to the nightmare journey from Paris, Charles de Gaul airport to my hotel, the Hotel Escale.

  For a start, the simple trip from Charles de Gaul to Orly (my connecting flight) was fraught with problems. I finally arrived at Orly, with the instructions to phone the hotel and a courtesy vehicle would come and pick me up.

  However, my money was not good enough for the card only telephone so I decided to get a taxi to the hotel. Spotting a couple of taxis pulling away, I decided to wait for the next one - after waiting for sometime I decided to ask a member of staff about the taxis and was told that this was a drop off point only!

  Taking the hint I gave up and went to buy a phone card. On my way I spotted the information kiosk and asked directions for the taxi rank - I then joined the world’s longest taxi queue. After forty minutes I finally got into a taxi, though my French is limited and the taxi driver’s English even more so. Luckily for me I had the address for the hotel written down. I pas
sed the address to the driver, he nodded his head in acknowledgement and we were off. Paris and Rue Pierre-Marie Curie were found but the Hotel Escale was not - up and down we went checking each number one by one. We found the right number, 15, but the building was in complete darkness and most certainly was not a hotel - this was confirmed by the rather large lettering above the front door that said ‘The Institute Geographic’.

  Fortunately, I had tipped the driver well and he returned the favour by getting on his mobile and making a couple of enquiries. He seemed pleased and relieved so off we went. After some time and some miles he pulled up outside a taxi rank and asked fellow drivers for directions - this seemed to work and we were off, eventually finding the elusive Hotel Escale.

  I ended up paying 90 euros for the taxi ride - I had only brought 100. It was now 23:15 and I was knackered and stressed before I had even got into the jungle!

  At breakfast I met a few of the other runners, 3 of which I recognised from the Jordan Desert Cup, 2 years ago.

  The flight was uneventful but long. We landed at Cayenne, the capital city of French Guiana and were met by the wild looking, bandana wearing and slightly eccentric race organiser Alain Gestain.

  Alain met each one of us, shook our hands and herded us on to the waiting minibuses for the 4 and half hour drive to the town St. Laurent.

  The hotel was run by a family that had settled here from Vietnam - lovely hotel, very friendly and hospitable but the one drawback with this was the beds:- they were a little on the short side. I, however, am a little on the long side and not very good at Maths, but I could work out that a 6ft 4inch body would have a trouble with a 5ft 4inch bed. It would have been okay had the bed been one of those that would at least allow me to hang my feet over the end - not one of those that had a bed end so effectively not allowing my long legs to straighten out.

  2/3/03

  Up early - breakfast and a walk around the town Saint-Laurent-du-Maron.

  This town was once a famous penal colony and a huge prison still stands on the banks of the river. Though no longer used as a prison it is open to the public and as I work for the prison service it seemed only right to take a tour.

  Walking around was a bit of an eye opener. It was a tough place to do your time:- the humidity and the eerie atmosphere just added to the harshness of the place.

  A little later I went for a wander around the town and even walking slowly I was sweating!

  The colours and smells of the market place were fascinating. I only wish we had more time but it was lunch time. Lunch was (or would have been) lovely - a beautifully cooked and wonderfully aromatic Vietnamese meal. Unfortunately soon after lunch we were to run 20km - it sort of took the edge off most peoples’ appetites. After lunch there was a race briefing, after which we were to be transported to the start line.

  An afternoon start was somewhat unusual and after arriving at the start which was on a nondescript track, we were again given another quick talk.

  This first section was a relatively short introductory course of 20km. This section was mainly on forest track and was therefore pretty straightforward.

  Hard work, yes, hilly and bloody hot, but the chance of getting lost whilst running along a well-defined track were practically nil - I hoped!

  After a few km I found myself running alongside another British runner. Jeremy had taken part in last year’s race - we ran the remainder of the section together, our paces were perfectly matched.

  The campsite was a collection of huts, there was no electricity. It was a question of finding a place for your hammock - we had all been issued with hammocks. I for one had never been in one let alone put one up so it was with some trepidation that I got into it. Would I roll out or would my knots come undone?

  After a successful (I didn’t fall out of the hammock) if not sweaty night, we got up and had breakfast - coffee, pain au chocolat, croissant, very typically French and very impressive but with the French Foreign Legion as our helpers we knew we would be well looked after.

  3/3/03

  07:30 start - incredibly tough run today. The terrain and distance were not the problem - challenging yes, but do-able. However, the heat and humidity were something else. I have run across deserts in hotter temperatures but this heat coupled with the humidity saps your strength and to add to my woes I am constipated - a new and rather unpleasant experience for me and a real pain in the arse, so to speak!

  This night’s camp is an amazing place:- Volpair - stunningly beautiful, tranquil and very peaceful, set beside a river.

  After a little swim, I sat on the riverbank watching huge butterflies the size of pigeons apparently drinking from the river and resting on the shore. I was aware of an intense fluttering by my right ear causing me to swat whatever it was away - only to realise it was a hummingbird, no bigger than my little finger!

  Butterflies the size of birds and birds the size of butterflies: very strange!

  The intermittent downpours are impressive and heavy but refreshing. Some of the runners are off to see some waterfalls which are supposed to be a fantastic sight. However, the 5 mile round trip is more than I have to spare.

  Lunch was once again fantastic. Apparently, the few people that did get to the waterfalls were less than impressed:- they were good but not that good!

  That evening meal was delicious, but during the course of the meal we were given a big lecture on what to expect on tomorrow’s section. The translation from French to English was done by an Irishman. The whole thing frightened everyone - it was to be 45km of hell on Earth, apparently!

  4/4/03

  Today’s stage was incredible, the first 20km were undulating and challenging, but at the 18km mark I came across a box of Danish pastries - very surreal but very welcome.

  Once we got to the halfway mark we had to swim across a river, watched by some Legionnaires.

  I’m not a great swimmer and am prone to getting a touch of cramp in my feet when swimming, so I was now in a bit of a dilemma: Do I wear a life jacket or not? (Now I know how my wife must feel, “I just don’t know what to wear”) A difficult decision, the French Foreign Legion were there watching and acting as safety crew and they are not the sort I wanted to look wimpy in front of. I’ll either look stupid putting one on or look stupid getting cramp floundering and need rescuing, bollocks. I decided to put one on and pretend that I thought they were compulsory. I put a life jacket on while trying to look macho, got into the water and sort of doggy-paddled over to the other side. A quick scramble up the bank and then into the jungle proper, thick and very dense. After a couple of kms, we came across a steel and wooden bridge, the steel was rusted and the wood was rotten. It required some nerves and a lot of concentration to cross. I managed to put my foot through one of the planks and then listened and watched as bits of rotten timber crashed to the river below! (It very nearly cured my constipation).

  During this stage I once again teamed up with Jeremy, the English guy that had done the race the previous year. Trying to run in such difficult terrain was just about impossible so we speed-marched our way through and caught a couple of runners, we were certainly shifting because not once were we passed!

  Stepping over a log that was lying across the path, I managed to catch sight of a grey snake right where I was about to place my foot. The thing never moved, I slowly pulled my leg back and decided to kick the log to frighten the snake into moving off, but no, this snake had balls. It just looked at me as if to say is that it, “Is that your best shot?” I’m no Dr Dolittle but I fully understood what the snake was telling me “Naf off, Sunshine” and, with discretion being the better part of valour I decided on this occasion to make a detour!

  We finally emerged from the jungle after 7 hours.

  The finish line was again on a river bank, in a small town called Apatou, not a lot seems to happen in this small town but the place is being modernised.

  Tonight’s accommodation is in what appears to be an old warehouse. The locals find us fascinatin
g to the point of staring/studying us, picking up anything that gets discarded and watching our every move.

  The evening meal was again preceded by another French waffling session, officially called a briefing. The English and Irish contingent sat outside, the French managed to do enough clapping, cheering and self-appreciating for all of us!

  5/3/03

  Today’s 20km section was along the river, running along forest tracks - these tracks were open and exposed and gave a short respite from the claustrophobic density of the jungle. However, being exposed to the sun’s rays so close to the equator meant an increased risk of sunburn. Consequently I just wanted to get back into the jungle shade.

  Running through the small villages we were always greeted with smiles and a friendly wave. The river and jungle made for a great run and I felt good all day. However, my running partner for the last 2 days, Jeremy, really seemed to struggle and came in a long way behind me. Not to worry, he seemed okay and I’m sure my bad day is just around the corner!

  The jungle section was once again fantastic with more reported snake sightings.

  At the finish line, which was a small clearing on the riverbank, we were collected by canoe and ferried over to the campsite, which was stunning.

  Had a really good day:- felt good and ran well, the whole day was capped off by having a beautiful campsite!

  Again the local children made an appearance and looked at us as if we had just landed from another planet!

  6/3/03

  Up early again, the mornings on the river are always beautiful. Breakfast was a cup of coffee or two, bread and chocolate spread sandwiches.

  Whilst getting myself sorted out, by faffing and farting around as per usual, one of the runners asked about my shoes. They were Salomons and had no laces but had a unique ‘quick-lacing system’ - basically a thin Kevlar cord with a ‘pull toggle’. Just slide toggle to fit and then tuck away into a small pocket on the tongue.