Week 7 : Egging-on the ego

Post 435
10/2  Satiated Saturday.
A prologue pedalled new ground to break the boredom of the same old same old, across the Causeway at 5 to Mooroopna and back via Watts Rd to start a Raftery Rd loop put some diversity into the distance. 

A spin down to Mitchell Rd and up Archer to intercept the Couldabeens crew, temperature tepid and wind worryless.  TatPaul, TatMat, BeerMat, Big Len, PistolPete, Wozza, MyRideTrev, TrekTrev, AvantiAndy, Boof, Bruce, DeterminedDan, Tommygun, SuperMario, Weapon, Sean and Rocket had just set off south setting the speed as I settled in to sit on SuperMario's wheel.  An earlier effort by Trav, Kel, CatCol, Bo, BamBam, Ralphy and ScottMatt had timed their arrival in leg 3 to perfection, blending aboard the bunch back.  Rottions stalled through Central Kialla but resumed rolling rapidly by River road's dip as the less fit found the front fatiguing.

Wozza's chuffed to be back aboard and on a new green machine by crikey (by Scott) and BeerMat's broken all records riding more this week than all year.  Lycra's translucence was the serious subject of sentences with Weapon, we figured a universal  and subtle signal or a key kind word needs to be adopted within the cycling world to discretely divulge the dilemma to an unwitting sufferer. Suggestions please! (if there's enough witty response to this significant subject, the best entry wins a copy of the 190 page bike bible, "Velominati-The Rules", beautifully illustrated with fantastic photos from the early TdeF etc.  Seriously, post your response).
 


Belly joined in at Channel Rd (doing a daily double for distance),
I got my time at the front (finally) at Hosie Rd, half-wheeled by Bo (his standard sit) to the fig farm, the rudeness repeated by BigLen (strangely), but it didn't fuss Foss, but it does dangle debate on that driving dilemma ; who does set the speed standard? The one already at the rushin' front or the one just arriving? The younger or older? Do the rapid relent or the harried hurry? It's a bit chicken or the egg isn't it? Refer Rule #86 peeps.....

Cats steered south as we nosed north to the Big Ring, a posse of pussycats plying their way prior to Dookie and it's hills, kidnapping Cate and Tina to hang out in them thar hills. The sun finally got up as we got down to business in Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd, questioning the speed proved to be unfounded, vacuumed along by two dozen made 40 on Ford elementary.
The gap that opened in the down line was too tempting as we streaked into suburbia, sprinterest was sparse for me, so I tucked in for a tow. 
Traffic split the squad at Numurkah Rd, the frontrunners respectfully waiting for an all in charge at Mt. Wanganui.  Bruce bolted at DECA and drew the pack Indian file, Pistol and others toasted at the tempo on their turns. Wozza's wattage wasn't waning, a credible third to Boof's blistering blast at the hill.  The calm to collect the crew was short, the bunch barrelling along the Boulevard on a mission of motion to breakfast (several scoring Strava success)  So many diets, the ruination of reality tv, calamatous careers and exit strategies tattled across the Lemontree table, the sociology hard to escape as a weekend and two weeks leave beckoned me away.

12/2  Mounting the mount.

A few hills to Harcourt was a heart starter from Castemaine, holidays taking Foss to foreign fields, far from the flatlands .  I cranked a few more cool k's north (funnily enough to Harcourt North!), then turned east to the bait of Mt Alexander (like Mr Hillary, 'cause it's there).  
Along Harcourt-Sutton Grange Rd with an apple orchard aroma overload, steering to the serious stuff of Joseph Young Drive got me questioning my motivation.  Six per cent soon shifted to eight, the road thinning as it rose.  A few k's more had the legs burning and lungs busting, ready for the tarmac to turn to eleven per cent.  "Big Red" was hammering the headspace to quit, skippies had asssembled at the roadside for breakfast and the sun streamed through the trees.

 
The 10 degree temperature was in contrast to previous weeks, the heater of hillclimbing kept the old engine warm though.  Telecomunications towers pinpointed the peak, that growling bear following me again till the peak's sweetness.  There was a holiday for the heart on the downhill but a wary eye needed for wildlife, the road winding downward through the vineyards to Faraday.  Gearchanging re-started southbound on the old Calder Highway, a few k's uphill to earn the pleasure of a long descent to Elphingstone.  Turning onto the Pyrenees for a short pinch upward and westward, then the dreamy downhill 8k's back to Castlemaine, whistling through historic Chewton, choosing the caffiene conclusion of Saffs for a long black.






13/2  Circling Castlemaine.

The lure of Fogarty's Gap drew me to Harcourt North (again), that short sharp ascent a challenge since nearly breaking me 18 months ago.  Down on the 38/25 and up on the effort, the brief 600 meter masacre (13%) turned into a PB, helping the head as the lungs recovered on a long roll down to Walmer (an intersection, a house and an abandoned caravan)  A few smaller inclines reminded the legs of the prior punishment, eventually reaching the Lockwood road to point south to Maldon. Few had stirred as I rolled through Australia's first notable town (1856), a bonus gradual downhill toward Welshmans Reef egging-on the ego, super smooth tarmac a treat on the sit site. But, with each decline comes another rise, more work to do toward Newstead, though the sun streaked scenery of Mt.Alexanders' shire (all the way to Mt.Macedon) made the work worthwhile.

A turn east onto the Pyrenees at Newstead started the ups and downs again, I've done more gearchanges in the past three months than the past three years!  16k's through Green Gully and Muckleford South were spent getting over less than 35 km/h averages, thoughts of the Das Kaffeehaus finish line prodding the pace.




14/2  Where the hell's Glenluce?

Off at 6 to explore new territories (again), south from Castlemaine to the half dozen houses that make up Yapeen.  Off the Daylesford Rd and onto the rises and falls that are Vaughan Springs Rd, disturbing the 'roos and wallabies as I huffed and puffed the inclines and swapped the ratios. There was a bit of detective work to find the right roads, past Vaughan's historical "boot hill" and right onto the Drummond-Vaughan Forrest Rd ( more ups and downs than a toilet seat in a mixed school!). The quick descent into Glenluce suddenly found a timber bridge ready to make a meal of my Mavic's, by luck I made it over upright. 

5k's onward the road ran out of tarmac and turned to loose gravel,  not the stuff for 23mm Michelins @ 125 psi.  An about face (and abandoning the course set for Malmsbury) I retraced and steered to Irishtown and Fryerstown, a skinny but peaceful 17k length of road winding through 1860's gold diggings country.

There were more ups and downs, although the old legs seemed to cope (but it was hardly the Koppenberg!), the thin strip snaked past patches of history to finally descend into Chewton, a west northwester building quickly to a 35 km/h blast, another promised prize of a Das Kaffeehaus finish helped the hurry homeward.



16/2  Mollongghip masochism.

Yet another voyage of discovery to keep in tune on holidays, this time from Creswick.  Aiming at oddly titled townships, for want of a better course, an afternoon ride was a treat in twenty degrees (though hard to get used to all that daylight!)  There was a heart starter climbing to Springmount to loosen legs, up onto almost level ground at Newlyn felt almost like home. Taking Telegraph Rd east found Mt. Prospect, but I steered south toward Rocklyn, potato fields and rolling hills to view as a south southwester blew at the brow (why should I get it easy climbing hills?) The road rose up and up at Mollongghip, steadily for a couple of k's till a pinchy final 200 meters as masochism for muscles. There were gasps and groans to the crest but the view was worth the workout, a distant Mt Buningyong the big bump on the horizon.

A rough and thin tarmac strip dropped down to Bullarook, west to Pootilla (3 houses and 3,000,000 potatoes) then north on another long slow climb to Clarkes Hill was enough to erase the energy ego (what a contrast to the long smooth downhill to Dean).  I was hammered homeward on the Creswick-Dean Rd, the bumpy bitumen brutal on the backside, so the slick strip of Melbourne Rd was a fitting finale to return to Creswick, downhill with a tailwind just can't be beat!.

Week 7      262 km              YTD 2,005 km