Week 12 : Fuelling a faster fire

Post #491
16/3 Swift Saturday.

A Saturday squad of Boof, Manny, Cate, TatMat, Shorty, Kel, MyRideTrev, TatPaul, Lance, Superman, Bo, TrekTrev, Tina, The Godfather and Lenny assembled in the carpark for the ritual ride at 6, Boof at the helm of course, steering south into a cool but still morning.  Cautious Kel contained herself in the caboose (understandably considering the horizontal hiccup in Rabbit Row), the remnants of the early edition (Wozza  and Rocket) attached en-route to Mitchell Rd, BigLen and MeridaAndy (now labelled GiantAndy ; new name with a new bike. Suits the stature) joining in Central Kialla. My sense of a southerly was scotched by the bureau, calm it said but I felt a breeze at the up-line on River Rd. Nath arrived at One Tree Dam, that pacy pairing of Rocket and Wozza at the front even noticed mid field as the tempo touched the 40's.

Lance backed away from a shift at the business end of the bunch putting me into the dream draft of BigLen's wheel, making my debut in the drivers seat at the channel bridge.  BigLen paired considerately to the fig farm, Manny not so compliant with a wheel ahead to Old Dookie Rd (but that'll be someone else's fault I suppose!)  Boof headed the pack with The Godfather toward the Toaster, Nath (in usual form) surging the speed to give grief to The Godfather (and cooking the caboose) but that'll be someone else's fault too.  A red horizon guided us to the Big Ring, smooth and steady with MyRideTrev at the helm setting a 2013 speed but spicy when today's tempo resumed on the next roll.  We crossed paths with a populated pack of Pussycats, the Rocket and Wozza combo again hurrying the huffs and puffs toward Ford Rd. 

Seems I'd escape the toil of a Wanganui workout as my shift came up in Ford's final k, a few in the up-line ducking for cover as the bunch thinned to Indian file at Wanganui's water treatment plant. Nath turned up the torture as I became a joining link between the few left driving and those surviving at the test track.  Boof mounted a launch at the line (with Manny as his shadow) for honours at the hill, the pack drawn long to Rudd Rd but merging together again when we halted at the roundabout to respect right of way (well, most of us did!)  Rocket wound up the velocity on the Boulevard to make us earn breakfast, legs being asked to labour longer and harder while I pondered what a handbrake the head is when a hurry up happens.  Back to base camp we joined the foot faction of Kate, Sim, Jen and PistolPete (on a slow recovery),  chat on the flats vs hills, kids and conflict and the multiple layers autumn demands filling the Lemontree breakfast table. Alas, holidays beckon me, I'm going to miss this crazy collection of Couldabeens.

17/3  Beach Road bliss.

An almost mild 15 degrees in Melbourne begged a Beach Rd blast on the Baum, an almost deserted billiard table tarmac was just too good to pass up.  With sea air soothing the nostrils and Michelin's mmmm'ing on the asphalt, I slowly stoked the boiler toward Beaumaris with barely a bike about at silly o'clock.  I kept a couple of bikes behind me as the road rose and fell through Parkdale, just one ahead to chase nearing Black Rock.   Two's and three's of varied aerodynamics and velocities spun south with the breeze at their bums, my nose northward doing ok.

By Sandringham bikes were outnumbering cars by two to one, bayside lights outlining the bay as the Strava segments "Smackie straights", "Flat stick" and "Cerberus lung buster" slipped by.  I tapped a good time on the Head St to Fitzroy St segment (chasing a red led ahead helps the hurry) but I'd passed a bloke who was none too pleased to be rounded up by an old dinosaur, sitting in my draft to St.Kilda.  Of course, this only fuels a faster fire, so the "BP to café racer", "Beaconsfield merge or die" and "Chewing bar tape on Beachy parade" were PB's as I took the devilish delight of riding the lad off my wheel.  Up to the Port Melbourne dock, I u-turned to soak up a tail breeze back, bunches now commonplace either spinning south or forming in the side streets.

I'd tagged onto the ARC team (minus ol' mat Trav B) for a sedate spin to Sandy, but 29 with the breeze behind was a little lame, so set off ahead for faster fellowship. A big orange sun hauled itself off the horizon, worthy of a pause to picture, restarting to be absorbed by a bunch punching out the 40's.  Chat on the final (?) weeks of worthy weather and finding a fellow Baum in the bunch (a 3 week old Orbis), the final two suburbs quickly slipped by, Mordialloc soon appearing for the fitting finish of coffee at Tour de Café.






19/3  Burnie & back.

Overseas (?) on the Van Diemen's Land coast offered new expiditions, base camp being Ulverstone and a battle to Burnie and back begged.  The Bass highway (the state's number one) was bliss despite the 5:45 darkness, hotmix as smooth as PistolPete's kit pampered the posterior, even the inclines were gentle as I headed west.  Traffic was sparse and a three metre wide emergency lane was mine, the casual 2k climb toward Penguin rewarding with a longer decline the other side.

Small wallabies are the standard road kill in these parts, not the speed hump you need on a 50 km/h downhill, so the Cat Eye's lumens were a lifesaver.  With each descent comes the downside of an uphill after, though Transport Tas has smoothed the inclines to a minimum (favoured by this flat-lander)    Pre-dawn light painted a hilly horizon, highway one hugging the coastline and revealing Burnie's lights in the distance.  A red led ahead was a surprise sight and challenged a chase, passing a young Pinarello pilot backpacked for work.  Into the timber town time u-turned me to follow the coastline back, a lot more light on the scenery now as the sun struggled above the horizon.  I steered a course through Sulphur Creek and Preservation Bay, a thin strip of tarmac following the coast to Penguin (famous for,  you guessed it!)   There was a short climb above the rocky coast, 9k's twisting and turning with the rail line alongside, past a rather rugged Goat Island and back into Ulverstone to polish  off 54k, warranting  a fine brew of beans from thirtythree cups.

20/3 Ulverstone uphills and Devonport downhills.

A little overnight damp hoisted humidity for Wednesday morning, the odd puddle to dodge on the Ulverston exit toward Forth.  The gentle ups and downs loosened the rust from holiday legs, unchartered territory being lit by the Cat Eye into the little village of Forth to find a sharp uphill to huff at (category 4 is sharp for me!)  Up to the top I steered south onto Forthside Rd, the rise and fall somewhat gentler now.  It was surprising to cross paths with a bunch of a dozen  (so I'm not the only silly one riding at stupid o'clock!), continuing south delighting in the descents and cursing the climbs to Melrose, a hint of pre dawn light showing yet another climb to crucify me.  A quick grab for the little ring as I faced the Melrose fire station climb, down to 12 km/h for the 12% masochism to the top.

Northeast onto Buster Rd took me on a delicious downhill to Aberdeen, though flattened wallabies and a little loose gravel kept the brakes warm.  I reached Spreyton and turned northwest onto a wide and heavenly hot-mixed Sheffield Rd, a bit of downhill making mid 40's most manageable.  I could take plenty of this!  Of course there was a payback, a sharp rise to Stoney Rise (the outer fringes of Devonport) then west to Don.  The highway home had speed simmering in the forties  (redemption for all that slow motion nonsense of going up hills earlier) sailing along with the sun warming my back and the speedo inflating my ego till the next rise brought reality.



21/3  The grind to (and from) Gunns Plains.

Twas a misty morning Thursday and heaps of humidity made a ride like pushing through porridge, a southerly exit of Ulverstone followed the B17 and aimed me at Gawler.  Darkness made the course mysterious, rises and falls to North Motton a surprise till the headlight lit the white posts rising.  The Preston Road tarmac rose to put me into labor, any elevation above my usual channel bridge ascent is a challenge!  The little ring was employed more today than it has been all year, the head heated, the mist thickened and the specs were pocketed, maybe I was in the clouds en-route to Gunns Plains Rd?  The aroma of expired wallaby motivated a push to crest the hill, a very long descent to enjoy as it snaked through the tall timbers of the state reserve (though the road kill and loose gravel kept senses sharp and brakes warm).  Gunns Plains levelled out, I set my target south, happily tapping a relatively flat and winding South Riana Rd till 'rounding a bend put me straight into a sharp 3k climb.

8% was nearly tolerable but short bursts of 16% has to be against the Geneva Convention!  That growling bear was heard as the 38/25 combination barely coped at 9 km/h, all the while cursing my course of cruelty (don't anyone say it builds character!)  After many minutes of masochism the road dropped, a sigh of relief as legs relaxed but another sneaky peak of 15% laid in wait.  Switching to angry mode got me over the last crest to relish a long gradual drop to South Riana, speeding me to Pine Rd to point to Penguin.  Through the mist of dairy and potato territory I finally found Penguin township and opted for the Bass highway back to base, that hotmix heaven of a downhill made 40's easy for the 12k return to Ulverstone.  62 k's had an ordinary average of 25.5, but the surprise of 1000 metres of climbing jacked up a suffer score to 325.

22/3  The Strahan strain.

There's two ways out of Strahan (Tasmania's central west coast) so choice was limited to northwest or northeast, the tarmac to Queenstown selected as Friday's lap for lax legs.  Again, the darkness made a mystery of elevation and sure enough the road rose gently (then gruelling of course) through a tall forest with ferns at it's feet.  Stubborness stays on the big ring when the chain reaches it's 25 sprocket limit, but eventually the reality of the rise soon gives the little ring employment.  Silence was broken by the purr of the chain then shattered by big breaths as I got down to the business of uphill, the (eventual) downhill bringing auditory overload with the wind whistling between the ears.  Only logging tracks branch from the bitumen in this sparsely populated section of the state, so the plan was to ride 50 minutes then double back in search of coffee. When 6:50 struck at the top of a climb I turned tail to at least start the return with a downhill.  3 cars passing constituted peak hour, motorist most respectful of riders in these parts (or maybe they're just on a wary wildlife watch)   A few previously noted landmarks arrived earlier than expected which told me it was mostly downhill back to town, an upside down wombat at the roadside causing caution to the gathering pace on the sharper descents.  The wheels rolled on back through that forest then arrived back into town, nostrils now seeking a caffeine fix (but the bakery's brew was basic).

Week 12        307km             YTD 3,301km