Week 27 : Foss fission fizzled

Post 403
1/7 "Brass monkeys"

The brag factor over-rode the Saturday temperature, minus 4 was all in the mind anyway!  In a test of dedication, similarly strong willed Couldabeens (Cate, Boof, PistolPete, TatMat and The Godfather) assembled at the Antarctica (sorry, Archer) car park, deciding a shorter circuit (Channel, Boundary, Lemnos-Cosgrove, Ford and Wanganui) would be in the best interest of survival.  Low 20's felt fresh but I felt obliged to match PistolPete's pace in the mid 30's on leg 1 (thou shalt not covet Pistol's heated gloves), 82 rpm being my heater but the heart rate was in deep freeze (74 bpm).  There'd be plenty of turns today with just 6 to share the suffering, but make that 7 when ScottMatt appeared (missing with a myotherapy muscle mending mission).  The multi insulated TatPaul was barely recognisable under a camoflague of polar kit but The Godfather was fondly familiar with his usual exuberant energy.  A sudden snarl at Sellmans startled several, Darth Vader suddenly mashing his molars from the dark roadside culvert had come out to cajole.  Pub bound on Boundary, Boof's bother was a slowly deflating tube, so we forged on to the Pine Lodge Hotelerry to extract a sliver of wire from the tyre and taxed tube.   TWR rims made the refit rigorous but it was a tougher task to remount the trust steeds and resume speed.  I reckon I shivered for a k till climatized, but its all for one and one for all in this weather.  The Godfather and Boof faced the frost while others basked in the tow behind (at least 0.00002 degrees warmer back there), ScottMatt appearing effortless on his turn when the roles rolled.  It's believed to be 15% harder at the front but an arctic adrenalin drives the extra effort on mornings like this, thoughts of coffee under the heaters and the Lemontree's hot porridge driving the desire west to town. Finding that rhythm at the pointy end soaks up the distance, my malfunctioning heart rate monitor (now just 82 bpm) casting a false calm over the mindset.  Cate continues to compulsively crank out the turns, Boof braving the bitter cold he's known to despise (while those who slacken from Rule #5 soften in their slumber, to pay a price on pace in Spring)   Fingers were feeling the freeze in Ford Rd, gear-changing not the issue (an over-rated pastime) but it was hard work on the brake levers.  The end was nigh as Wanganui Rd came into view, thankfully the (unspoken) vote of a sprintless finish was unanimous......warmth at the post-ride breakfast taking the priority.  Bikes vs wildfife, Beach Rd and Strava titles was the chat from chattering teeth at the base camp, votes of kudos or craziness issued from the cafe patrons

3/7   Internationalists

Heady fresh from London and Amsterdam and Tina fresh from Italy and Ireland faced the fresh flat-lands on the Monday Goat peace train with Sandy, AvantiAndy, Cate, Jen, and Hommy, aquainting ourselves with the battle of the breeze ((NE'er at 17-28 km/h) out to Boundary Rd immersed in the social sentence swapping.  Heady suffered the Di2 dilemmas (no volts = no cog swapping) while Tina was tuned from the Stelvio's 75 hairpins and 2757 meters of elevation. Sandy's still happy in the caboose, AvantiAndy, Jen and Cate still soldiering on in the shivering season.  It felt good to be out of the northeaster and sailing south on Boundary Rd, Hang on! here's me grizzling about a little breeze after a windless fortnight! Westward on River Rd needed a little echelon education with the NE'er at our starboard side, pitch black consuming all but what 8 lights could pierce.  So soon it was time for my usual exit, buoyed by the breeze along the truck route but a battle to steer up Archer Rd.

4/7  Carpe Diem
A fickle forecast fairly flummoxed Foss for Tuesday, but carpe diem rules in winters wacky weather.  An empty radar gave some hope to tap to the 5:45 ride, assisted by the NNE'er finding the ever effervescent Cate en-route.  KillkennyPaul, Temple and HBK made up the set of 5 (the same old solid soldiers), my job description ; to tow the team for leg one while Cate's loss of lumens confined her to the caboose. HBK did leg 2, Temple Leg 3 for KillkennyPaul to let loose to the Kinder, enthusiasm fading to reality by the cypress trees.  (the art of pacing yourself sometimes has a long apprenticeship)  The Boundary Rd bliss of a tail-wind didn't last long, I was soon back in the drivers seat to fight the breeze, though the smooth surface put a positive on the push.  My handover goal (the kennels) kept extending as the legs co-operated with the determination, on and on toward the dip but the head gave up one white post early.  HBK polished off River Rd nicely as a few drops fell from the heavens, Temple driving a solid turn down to Mitchell Rd.  Cate's call of Hare lights behind drove the determination west, KillkennyPaul giving his all to Archer Rd.  A passing car or two gave me a few moments of draft to get to the highway, a clear crossover giving us some hope over the Hares.  My standard shift at the front in Conrod straight was waiting on cue as KillkennyPaul powered past Arcadia Downs, the heavens opening to soak our sprint.  With buckled brow, soggy socks, gob agape and rainwater pelting its way into places better left unsaid, I sank myself into the headwind toward the line, knowing HBK lay in wait behind to pounce for the sprint spoils.  My meter expired with 250 meters to go , HBK and KillkennyPaul taking the 1-2, my freewheel finding Temple and Cate behind, the combined roll into town all soaked but satisfied we'd headed the Hares again.


6/7  Hare sprayed

A turn up of ten was reassuring in Thursday's cold and foggy start, Pistol, Bruce, Troy, Softa, Cate, KillkennyPaul, Temple, HBK, CatCol and Avanti-not-MeridaJohn meant there'd be some chance of recovery between turns at the rushin' front.  CatCol (confrontingly kitted in Cat colours, clashing with Couldabeens convention) was lamenting a highrise heartrate on the comeback trail as he and I took on the first shift into Channel Rd.  Fog soon pocketed my specs as Pistol and Troy turned up the tempo toward the cypress trees. Seen a split second before, a big branch prostrate in the left lane was close to a chicane calamity.  So much for a clean bike and kit as the Hare spray from the wet tarmac sullied the steed, rear retirements racking up in River Rd elevating me among the Energiser bunnies (sorry, Hares in a hurry).  And so the rotations rolled to Raftery Rd, left to Bruce, Troy, Pistol, Avanti-notMeridaJohn and I to tow the troupe for the culmination in Conrod.  Like clockwork, I'd been handed the helm just beyond the dip, the only option to bury myself and draw the bunch thin till Foss fission fizzled (at the 150 marker) where Bruce and Troy bolted for line honours,  Somewhat soaked yet strangely satisfied, we steered for home, some time taken removing helmet and shoes with fingers frozen.

6/7 Ride or regret

Only Bruce, Cate, Boof and PistolPete were the brave (barmy?) enough to front Friday's saturated streets to tally up a few more k's, single file chosen as the sensible (survivable) standard.  Bruce, Boof then Pistol's pace pumped up the heartrate, an energetic easterly (15 km/h) to fight as we worked into Mitchell Rd.  Still grubby from Thursday's thrash, the bike was looking rather second hand with an extra layer of road grime and grit, not long into River Rd I'd come to terms being second wheel to Pistol when Bruce called a puncture pitstop (a fashion faux pas repairing a filthy wheel wearing white leg warmers!).  Repaired and remounted, Pistol drove the train possessed into the headwind, I'd hoped he'd tow us all the way to Boundary but his elbow signaled it was my turn just beyond the kennels.  I coped rather well for 500 meters but the long wait for the ripple strips (nearing Boundary Rd) seemed longer than a Hollywood hiatus, my mindgames now murdering the muscles.  At last the white lines appeared to ease my effort, the Catless and Goatless Boundary Rd a consolation we were the solitary soldiers while others succumbed to soften in bed.  Boof captained the charge to Channel Rd where Bruce monopolised the tail wind to the cypress trees.  Cate carried us to Central Ave where Pistol slowly turned up the heat for the ChaCha, flogging the forties to Hopeful corner, two long thin puddles in the wheel tracks of Channel Rd kept the file of five Indian style.  Cars behind and ahead squashed any thoughts of a sprint finish, Pistol continuing the pace on toward Doyles, the dregs of my effort drained to lead the last leg home.  

Week 27:    194 km             YTD: 6,791km

And onward soldiers Amanda Coker for the 100,000 mile world record, her usual 400k a day habit spiked with a 647k effort!