Sometimes it's just solitude needed on the bike, pigeon-holing life's bits and pieces into some form of priority and just enjoying the silence (and viewing) the start of a new day (#21,323 in my case). A self inflicted Strava Grand Fondo bait inspired an early start, a clockwise toaster lap at 4:50 to join the Goats in the unwind of an anti-clockwise return. Proportioning pace to distance handbraked my hurry out to the Emu, a light SSW breeze would give me something to grizzle about in Pine Lodge and Boundary roads (though not too tiresome on the 17 toothed cog). Dalts, then Vince and Jase were northbound on Boundary, River road slowly bathed in yellow light as the sun got out of bed behind me. Tapping away at 139 bpm seemed to be the recipe for survival, calculations for the arrival at the Goat grid timing neatly into the schedule. It was a relief rounding Roubaix corner with the wind finally behind me for the 10k back to base, touch down on the 6:30 knocker at Friars, finding Tina, Coggo, Hommy, AvantiAndy, AllegroJohn, Deb, Sandy and Belly (with newbies Ric and Paul) ready to roll. It was good to be in a social fold (and tucked into a draft) for the spin south to Raftery starting a reverse Toaster tap, some toil to Mitchell, but then there was the benefit of the breeze back. Stacked up the road bearing east (against the wind bearing south) is an automatic action for many, newbie Ric was educated and enlightened in the delight of a draft, although cranking with his shoulders spinning in a cog too high (you have much to learn Grasshopper!), but Belly's pace shortening his turns to retreat. The business of velocity in Boundary Rd (tailwind heroes!) silenced social sentences, impressive turns by Tina and Deb to take us to Old Dookie Rd where it was eased to echelon to the Toaster. The newbies had vanished as we turned from Emu corner (possibly pickled by pace?), the 12k back to civilisation being shared amongst the seven, but then there were six as retirement became popular. My legs started an argument with the head's wishes in Wanganui Rd, content to sit back in the midfield and let sprightly sprinters spruke. Breakfast (part 2) menus miraged rolling into town, the reality of Mandy's eggs and bacon on toast savoured with the post ride chat on evolving riding styles and vended booze.
A little loop of the Ford-Boundary-Channel tarmac was Monday's precursor to the Couldabeens, don't you just love the serenity at 5:20, a silent symphony to serenely settle senses, even before the fledglings were farting! I cranked calmly along at 145 bpm, an excuse for a southerly (4-11 km/h) in Boundary barely hindered (helped Vince northbound to a "Cattack") then a sheltered Channel Rd cruise back to town, just across the truck route to join the Couldabeens contingent (Pistol, Jase, Boof, AvantiTrev, BigMat, BigRon, with probationary peletoneers Ross and Gazz attached). I slotted in beside BigMat (cypress trees to the S bend), then almost paired with Gazz (S bend to Boundary) as enthusiasm and apprenticeship varied his velocity......Gazzagrasshopper a better moniker maybe? AvantiTrev trimmed a couple of clicks off the tempo in Boundary Rd but Pistol and Jase turned it back up again when cutting the River Rd atmosphere, Ross in the caboose, sitting his VCE (virgin Couldabeens exam). We passed P&W mainstays Princess and Fee at Laws Drive, a solo Sully (Cat spat?) jumping aboard a k later for a tow home. BigMat pushed half of Central Kialla Rd at the front, Gazzagrasshopper rolled up beside me and stayed, still half wheeling / half biking to Mitchell, and then on further to Archer, perplexed on protocols? (a knowing grin from Boof when he finally succumbed to roll). The turns remained routine all the way to Conrod, BigMat and I positioned at the pointy end till out of the first dip, Gazz arriving for duty as the pace percolated. I wound up the wattage as the finish line beckoned, just the luscious lead out that Jase and Boof wanted, holidays hadn't hindered Boof's velocity for victory.
I seized the opportunity, with a few days in the big smoke, to make the pilgrimage to bike Mecca (Beach Rd), a Mordialloc start at 16 degrees to St.Kilda and return (46k's). The tarmac was filled with bikes, north and southbound, in solo's, pairs, small bunches and over populated trains (50+), young and old, large and small, a few commuters and the inevitable hero or two, and bikes of all descriptions and colours. A light ESE blew sea air into the nostrils, a big orange ball dawning atop the ocean on the Beaumaris bends. The grand old "Edgy" (the 1880 Mentone Hotel) stands proud but empty amongst the rows of concrete and glass boxes pretending to be mansions, at least the ridiculous rates have provided a hot mix billiard table to roll on for all to enjoy. Passing a few ones and twos (and being passed by the vexed and virile) up to the slight inclines of Black Rock, a monster bunch behind had slowly swallowed me up. Offered a berth midfield, I counted 30 ahead as concentration was sharpened to razor edge, the pack powering on to Hampton in the fourties, strangely synchronising an endless forrest of stale green traffic lights. A courtesy holler from a faster bunch passing filled the lane with four rows, then swelled wider as slower soloists were overtaken. With the comfort meter showing empty, I withdrew from the precarious packed train, joining a smaller bunch of 6 behind a bit. So many side streets of Brighton were filled with small bunches readying to join the Beach Rd brigade, the Marina with an abundance of Lycra wrapped candy jogging the paths to court the corneas, I was more impressed by the manners of the engined traffic negotiating our swarms of carbon clad chicanes. Beyond another grand pub (the 1878 "Espy"), I pulled over to prepare for a u-turn, and a chance to snap a seaside pic of the bike (does that make it a 'beach Baum'?). There were smaller groups on the return (St.Kilda's cafes packed with peletoneers quaffing coffee), for a steady tap back to Mordialloc, striking up a yarn with SunburyFrank (Corsa SR) on bike culture and its addiction, impressed with my custom made titanium. It was 7:30 and bunches large and small still plied the northbound route, our pace south climbing back into the fourties to finish on a high. With no apparent social final resting place (cafe) at the pier, I wheeled my way to Main St for a solo flat white finish.
Back home for Thursday's Goat gathering, the southwester (22-44 km/h) had frightened a few away. Deb, Heady, Belly, Brendan, Sandy, Hommy, Phil and AvantiAndy had braved the starting grid, exiting town Brendan took the limelight with a dislodged light as we picked up Tina. Barely 60kg wringing wet, 'foreigner' "Kha" had infiltrated the ranks, wriggling his way along (the Focus seat post 40mm too high) with see-saw hips and pointed toes, a close call with Goat Phil's wheel setting off a code red amongst the ranks. Some were on short shifts against the stiff southerly, Deb holding the caboose rights following the muscle murder of a myotherapists massage. Bickers was caught nearing Benalla Rd taking the numbers to a dozen, I plugged a long turn with Tina in River Rd, with wheels whipped by the wind. A tough slog into the wind in Central Kialla, then a chorus of sighs on the sharp turn to Roubaix with the breeze off the brow, pace primed for Conrod. Arriving at the business end as the pack crested the first dip, I found Kha tucked in behind me and with no others volunteering their services, they were going to pay for a tow! A Garmin glance read 55 clicks, the finish too far away at that pace, I eased a bit to suggest Kha have a turn (buying a brief breathing window to challenge the finish). Out of his draft and into the final dip, I'd inherited the inertia to take the chocolates, 191 bpm cancelling the chat till east (and eased) of punch-up bridge.
Summer suffered a setback Friday morning, 10 degrees a stark contrast to Thursday's 20. I trawled the cupboards depths for the long abandoned base layer and arm warmers to survive the southwester chilling the ride to the Couldabeens grid, a band of 16, similarly rugged up, assembled for battle. (Jen, Wozza, Boof, Pistol, newbie Bruce, Shorty, Nev, SuperMario, Bo, Choppy, Kel, Cate, Temple, Jase, Rocket and AvantiTrev) Six bells and chocks away, a translation of toil was interpreted from Bruce's body language on the slog south, Cate caring in her turn beside me to Mitchell, Pistol punishing. Socially warmed in the conversation on the anti-clockwise roll back through the ranks, Bo on a 40th, Chops on Adelaide, SuperMario on schedules, Temple on prologues, AvantiTrev on a stick incident, Shorty on sun gazing, Nev on Ballarat and Rocket on beaches, but pierced by Poppa's passing parable in River Rd and a probationary Pain Train (Brendan, Hommy and Dipper, with HG Phillo 200 metres OTA) in Boundary. All the way to the kinder before my turn on the front again, drawing the short Cha Cha straw leading to Hopeful corner beside Jase, then rolling to drive to Prentice Rd. Being gobbled up by almost the entire field can put the negatives in the neurosis but it's the reality of the real estate rule in a sprint; position, position, position is the prescription, served with a large measure of Velominati rule #5.
Week 2 294km YTD 578km
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