Week43 : The attitude for altitude.

Post #470
20/10 Drizzle dodgers.

Green scattered across the bureau's radar didn't deter the die-hard Saturday crew, despite a spit or to from the heavens the car park filled for the 6am flag fall, and caught up in conversation, I'd missed most of the arrivals.  Boof, Wozza and Rocket squeezed the gas gently to exit town, caution with the velocity less we poke the bear in the caboose (and nobody dared to make eye contact just in case!) TatMat joined from Kialla Lakes Drive as, cranking on eggshells, the bunch gradually built to Couldabeens cruising speed, the keen moving up and the wary waiting for the natural progression to head the hurry. Bruce, The Godfather, PistolPete, Kreeky and Lance advanced for driving duty, Tina, Shorty, Cate, Nev, Superman and MyRideTrev were pleased to be promoted later while Bo, TatMat and Temple were happy to hang onto the rear. Seems the back was bear-free, so no sting in the tail after all!  Wind whipped from the north west to slowly swing west, then south west just to keep us guessing, my fingers crossed I didn't get the head wind when it was my turn in the drivers seat.

 Gradually promoted forward in River Rd, my turn was blessed with a boost from behind in Boundary Rd, a short turn beside Cate then up to Channel Rd with Boof nudged the 40's, Rocket, Wozza and Pistol adding to the huff and puff toward Old Dookie Rd.  Lance and Superman were doubting their position of promotion in the advance line but the tempo tamed turning toward the Toaster.  TatMat bid his adieu's at the Pine Lodge Church and turned bound for Bright, just a casual little 218km ride for a brew! (he maybe monickered MachineMat from now on)  The wind had swung west to work us over for the long length of Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd, the Cat count down to single figures as we put heads down for duty west.

I'd progressed to the pointy end again, though partners Cate and Boof were sympathetic on the speed, rear seats filling fast in Ford Rd as PistolPete, Wozza, Bruce, not-so-newAvantiJohn and Rocket lined up as team tempo, messing with the mindsets of those considering facing the front.  Closer to town the pace settled, so I joined the volunteers to share the load,  but dark grey curtains of rain were veiling Wanganui Rd, so the call to escape the damp via Verney Rd got the seal of approval.  As if to justify our breakfast, the wind blew harder than a bag full of dim sims all the way to the Lemontree, but coffee and eggs on toast cured the convulsions, chat on emptying the nest, future bike weekends and fixing Garmin bayonets added to the atmosphere.

22/10  The wild, wild west (of Wyalong)

Holidays took me to mid New South Wales and roads not travelled, awakening an adventurous animal in me.  West Wyalong, surrounded by nothing, offers no circuits or laps, just long radiating highways to travel, so I worked west on the aptly named Mid Western highway at 6.  With a keen eye open for kangaroos at dawn, there was only the dead ones seen (or smelled) but a young fox did have a puzzled peer at an old fossil on two wheels.  Gentle rises and falls in elevation caught this flat-lander puffing into zone 4 quickly, the truck traffic has tortured the tarmac and its' 20 mm stone, pounding the posterior beyond the titanium frame's flexibility.

Vast plains of dry land offer little visual variety but the peace on a deserted highway as the sun struggled to make an appearance was refreshing.  All roads leading off the highway were of Dookie-red dirt, so the plan was to work west for 45 minutes then about face back to base.  On and on the grey strip stretched, Hay only a short 230km away, Adelaide just 655km further! (TatMat may have tried it?)  It's hard to cope seeing 28 km/h and falling as the road rises, a sense on inadequacy hard to supress when a downhill boost to the ego seems so far further away.  6:45 arrived and I climbed one more rise for the hell of it (no, not really, I wanted a downhill start for the return trip!) The sun was up to warm the spirits (10 degrees), just three trucks passing with professional respect I've almost become used to (keeping very visible and safely to the left courts courtesy I reckon)  Legs were feeling dead with all this incline insanity, thank heavens the downhills deliver a distraction to the distress.  The k's counted down to coffee (that's what was motivating the mindset) and before I'd returned to West Wyalong (how smooth the main street is!), 55km not surprisingly starved of Strava segments (but I suffered 402 worth).  Coffee was rather ordinary, but there's hardly a caffeine culture out this way.

23/10 Conquering Canobolas.
Orange was the base camp for a few days furlow and some crazy cranial conniption saw Mount Canobolas as a quest.  West of Orange on the Cargo Rd, larger rises and falls (than yesterday's West Wyalong bumps)  hardened up the attitude for altitude to Nashdale, turning south on the Lake Canobolas Rd (a skinny grey strip of tarmac that had patches on the patches on the pot-holes), weaving through the vineyards of the countless wineries here (HG territory?)
Past the picturesque lake and on to Towac, the wheels thumped and crashed through the Roubaix-like curves to finally reach the Mt. Canobolas Rd.  The tarmac thinned more and rose sharply (10%) as a real leg labourer for the first two k's, flashes of Rosella's colours and the odd wallaby bounding off into the bushland serving as some distraction,  but eyes were on the continuing pot-holes and patches that threatened to break traction.  I'd reached Watt's lookout where the incline eased, a chance to drag the heart back from 177 bpm as I'd guessed more ups were to come (the tips of the TV towers still well above me)

A little level ground for a kilometre or so helped till the road forked at the old mountain road to sharply rise again for part two of the torment.  1.5km at 14% brought me into company with that growling bear, dipping to 5 km/h in places with no more cogs to grab.

I wrestled with the conscience trying to call it quits a few times, but sheer pig-headedness drove me on, surely the next corner was the last....nope, the next one....oh really? the next? You have to be kidding! One more bend, and the sight of the TV towers brought a strange relief,  a final 100 meters on rubber legs and an empty tank and Canobolas was conquered.
I hobbled a few steps around the top to calm the cramps (and a pic for posterity) before I set off on a tip-toed descent, trying to recall to worst of the patches and holes to avoid.  A pause half way down to view the vista to the east at Watts lookout, then gingerly down the last two k's to the base.  I diverted via the Canobolas township to change the view back to Orange (and get relief from the rough stuff), legs happy to cope with the few sharp inclines (but nothing like 14%) through more vineyards and apple orchards to return to Orange for a luscious long black and banana bread bliss (straight out of the oven) at The Burrow.

24/10  How green is Orange!

Vexed for variety, I steered east on the Mitchell Highway Tuesday, a course via Lucknow and Shadforth to then bear south to Millthorpe.  The Michelin's hummed on hotmix as smooth as Pistol Pete's panache, long and gradual gradients an inviting introduction to the rolling green hills of the Central West.  Plenty of commuting traffic passed, a decent shoulder to the road reassuring, then tranquillity turning south onto Millthorpe Rd (although the breeze at the brow slowed ascents further).  With lots of green left, right and to the horizon, I plugged away on the 8km to Millthorpe, hopes of a respectable speed when the road levelled banished by the breeze.  Uncertain of the roads south, I about faced in the historical village, the tailwind lifting spirits toward Spring Hill.  Whiley Road is pounding patchwork of bitumen, brutal on the backside, several unpatched holes setting steering skills a test all the way through town and into Forrest Rd.  Past the airport and on to Spring Terrace, kangaroo road kill was multiplying, at least the road was gradually swinging north where I could benefit from the breeze behind.  Through Springside and Spring Creek (village names are no-brainers in these parts!) I drew closer to Orange, road surfaces improving as the k's counted down.  (Ooops! spoke too soon, roadworks at the city limits)

25/10  The Orange oracular.

Attempting to find a bunch ride at Sir Jack Brabham park found the carpark empty, so a backup circuit solo on Huntley Rd was substituted.  The tarmac was a little kinder, the gradual climbs I don't think I'll ever get climatize to.  Wind worked me over to the airport and down to Spring Hill, but the turn south to Millthorpe eased the effort.  A lot of 1860's Millthorpe remains so I kept my distance from the bluestone cobbles, turning east on Vittoria Street and climbed the hump, the town had vanished so it was just me and the headwind uphill and down (unfair on both counts) for several k's. 

Reaching Pretty Plains Rd pointed me back to the Mitchell highway with a couple of sharp rises thrown in, employing the 38 ring again (but the lure of the highway's heavenly hot-mix and a tailwind to boot was the bonus back).  Traffic thickened for the 8-8:30 working classes (ha, ha! I'm on holiday!), back through Shadforth and Lucknow delighting in the downhills and even helped uphill by the wind. Deliberating coffee into the outskirts of Orange, a malevolent magpie struck repetitively, even clawing at my ear to spur some speed, so it was flat chat for a flat white and the bliss of banana bread for post ride recovery.

26/10  Banjo country.

With no sign of bikes at the Orange meeting point, Friday's ride was another solo affair.  A course toward Ophir was a northerly tour of discovery, more of the uphill and down dale to exorcise the flat-lander in me!  The breeze was bracing at 6 degrees till the uphill heater cooked legs and raised a sweat for the few k's to Narrambla,  passing Banjo Patterson's birthplace.  The 38 chainring has had more use in the last week than the whole year, getting legs and lungs climatizing to climbing is the hard bit.  The proliferation of pot holes and patches started again (breaking in the backside?) and the road's rise and fall had me questioning the decision of direction but the super scenery made up for the toil.  Rapidly downhill and crawling up 'em became standard operational procedure, wheels thumping through the odd concrete floodway showed strength of spoke and proneness of posterior.

I'd reached Summerhill Creek where a Doberman (the size of a pony) hurried my next climb over the crest, a few more k's through the tree filled hills but then the tarmac ran out.  Nothing to do but u-turn and repeat the ride in reverse.  A gravel truck and trailer crawled past me grabbing at gears for a 12% rise, I'd run out of sprockets but the legs hadn't run out of steam (though lungs full of diesel smoke didn't help).  The return trip seemed shorter, the previously quick descents were now not so steep ascents (surely I'm not getting used to this uphill nonsense?), so it was pleasing to return to the Orange outer suburbs ahead of schedule for the ritual infusion of caffeine.  With a week almost full of solo's, I'm craving the camaraderie, conversation, characters and cackle of the bunch.

Week 43    293 km           YTD  11,362 km