Week 18 : Beyond the boundaries of ouch!

Post #497
27/4  The cull of the cold.

Winter turned up five weeks early to test us with a trial by temperature, two degrees culling the grid to Rocket, Bruce, The Godfather, Bo, Kreeky, Lance, TatMat, Joe, Boof, Kel, TrekTrev, Grumpy and CatKel.  The long forgotten apparel of shoe covers, knee warmers and heated gloves were suddenly back in vogue, though Joe had braved short knicks (no forecast? no long ones? or no feeling?)   Lungs were gripped with Archer Rd's chill as Boof led us up to speed, toes and fingers frosting with the joy of another 50 km of this ahead.  And there's 16 long weeks of it yet to come!  TrekTrev was the Cheshire cat having finally cured the irritating click, click, click in the left pedal, though the whisper of a tink, tink, tink from my front wheel won't disappear. (178,000 km may be the reason?) Rocket was rolling with ease and Bruce signed his shift at the front with the characteristic gangly gait but Kel confined herself cautiously to the caboose, a slowly fading legacy of the horizontal hurt in Rabbit row many weeks back.

My time for toil had arrived through the mist of River Rd's dip, Lance then Boof compliant partners in pace, or had a well hydrated reunion tamed Boof's tempo to something more manageable?  TatMat and Rocket paired at a prodigious pace, but I should remind myself of the 20 year advantage they hold over me. To Boundary Rd's fig farm and The Godfather (skinned like a sausage in neck to toe blue lycra) clamped the velocity at 33, that got tongues flapping now that there was oxygen to spare.  I'd reached the back as the bunch turned toward the Toaster, the sun struggling to appear but had lined a distant jetstream pink to suggest it was sometime soon.  Grumpy cackled to a sentence shared with Bo and, recharging his determination in the rear seat, Joe returned to the rotation to offer some sort of contribution, a little out of his depth maybe but at least doing his bit toward the tempo.

A part payment to the pace if you like and a bit toward the bunch belonging.  At least it wasn't boom then bust ; we've had that before and suffered the rhythmic tsunami.   An oncoming collection of Cats crossed our path (better numbers than ours) collecting CatKel to their crew, wheel shadows ahead in Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd signalling the sun had finally risen to give us psychological warmth.  To the front again (nearing the kennels) with Lance, I'd guessed his turn would be somewhat short but his speed was spicy enough to keep me silent.  Boof's another matter and I gritted teeth for a long grind till "that'll do me" shortened my aim of reaching Boundary Rd (that reunion reason?).    Distance had dissolved reaching Ford Rd, gloved fingers pointing to the fractured fragments of tortured rubber and radial plies from the evenings' donut sessions, thanks to mindless mushrooms (big heads, little stalks)   Kel, Joe and Bo opted for a Verney Rd exit leaving ten to tap the remaining k's, the cold crushing any inkling of a sprint to the lofty Mt. Wanganui.  Temperatures shrinking effect, football's foibles and wheelwrights made the chatter on the (ever shortening) Lemontree breakfast table.

I diverged to the big smoke Saturday arvo to slake my thirst for things bling and bespoke in bikes, the Handmade Bicycle Show displaying the bike building art of Chimera, Wood's, Curve, Parlee, Baum and Stoemper (to name a few) and components by Enve, Columbus, Craftworx, Zipp and Partington.  After disturbingly dribbling over delicious wheels, I was lucky to meet Phil and eye off  his '82 Peugeot (and Baum's oh-so-cool homage to it)



29/4  Monday's motivational.
With hot coffee in one hand and warm porridge in the other, the temptation to drop anchor on the couch was almost irresistible.  
Something breaks that softness, maybe it's the the lure of a  lap with like minded cyclusts, a craving for the euphoria afterward or maybe it's the bollocking you'd get failing to front!  Rocket, Cobbles, Kreeky, Cate, Bo, Col, Kel, The Godfather, PistolPete and Grumpy filtered into a dark car park, some still a little fragile from BeerMat's 40th frivolities.  First to arrive elected me to the drivers seat, not troubled by the pairing with Rocket (always respectfully level) but doubting I'd do a decent distance.  So there was satisfaction reaching the truck route 3k's east without imploding (was that Rocket sneaking in a snore beside me?), slipping into the tow as Kreeky and Rocket dragged us to Orrvale Rd.  Cobbles drew alongside, appreciating the tolerable start, should I have told him that was my 'flat out'?  'Round Kinder corner and on to the cypress trees, the now customary caution for rabbit row let the heart rate holiday for a moment.

At least darkness brings with it headlights to give us a heads-up of cars coming (the ones that remember to turn the lights on), safely swinging into Boundary Rd to commence my promotion to the up line.  As soon as Old Dookie Rd, work at the front beckoned again, Kel working me over to New Dookie Rd where just a k beside Rocket had me spent.  And this was "cruisy" Monday!  (Perhaps I should supplement porridge for concrete?)  Zoning in on the blur of wheels and whir of chains, breathing soon restored to be sociable, Col was somewhat seedy and Bo certainly second hand from the 40th festivities though their speed didn't suffer.  The 'yep, nah, maybe' split the bunch on the call of car at Numurkah Rd and of course, a long line of traffic opened a gap of several hundred metres, the chase for the "nah's" to get back on digging well into the reserves I'd had banked for the next turn at the front.  Legs burned climbing Mt.Wanganui beside Rocket, so it was easy to call him over in Rudd Rd and ignore the feeling of inadequacy.  Kreeky managed the muscle to bolt the Boulevard with Rocket, threading the thin line between parked cars and commuting traffic commencing the working week.

30/4  The Tuesd'y smoothie.
Just up to rhythm with the Michelin brothers singing their happy tune when another traffic light halted me (call it interval training if you like) , at least there's only a few sets to battle on the commute to the carpark.  It must madden Melbournians!

The 5:40 fling proved popular with Bo, TrekTrev, PistolPete, Grumpy, Kel and Col arriving, the more to share the suffering the better the chance of recovery between shifts.  PistolPete piloted us single and south out of town, and as if to prove his worth, went beyond the standard Sanctuary roundabout target to the truck route....and then to Mitchell Rd to be sure.  With wattage worn at second wheel, Bo laboured the leg to Central Kialla, his primeval "aarghh" the reply to my "well done Bo".  Mrs.Smooth delivered me to River Rd and, convinced I was facing an easterly, I put my head down for the hurry to the bridge.  Happy I could hold the previous pace lightened the mental load for the 900 metre task, the hurt actually easing nearing the bridge said shelter from the trees was to thank.  But guess what?  The bureau said calm!  Back in the tow of six, my composure took a k to calm, it was TrekTrev then Col's turn to suffer for the squad.   PistolPete trimmed his turn to tow us to Boundary Rd, the long line of Hares hurrying south.  It was Bo's turn now to go above and beyond, driving long to the highway before handing over.   Kel smoothed the way to Boundary Rd's pig pen, elbowing me to my second shift, a little downhill off the bridge just the kick start I needed.  The wheels did their thing at 40 as I'd tuned in to staying smooth, it'd be nice to reach Old Dookie Rd but let's see if my drive lived up to the dream.  I'd survived the 180 bpm at 90 rpm beyond the fig farm so stubbornness did the rest to reach Old Dookie.  Kudos eased the hurt but Col and Kel (keen to be towed home) called me back into line early, legs of jelly to catch Bo's wheel.  Delighted that TrekTrev, Pistol and Grumpy divided the drive back to town, my tank nearly empty but the contentment cup overflowed scoring a KOM.  Might last for a week if I'm lucky.

1/5  Carpe Diem!

A nose out the back door confirmed my doubts on the bureau's numbers, it was 19 degrees and the northerly was blowing at 24-35 km/h!  A leisurely, less layered kit-up was followed by a quick commute to the carpark, being blown there was a bonus but there'd be a tax to pay back to town.  Boof, Rocket, Tina (back from holiday) and PistolPete had gambled on the gap in the radar's green and with a nod to Velominati's Rule #9, set sail south under Boof's captaincy, collecting The Godfather exiting town.  The changing of the guard at Sanctuary's roundabout put Rocket in command, Tina (on his wheel) quickly opting for a back seat as five heads lowered for Rocket's drive to Mitchell Rd.  I'd braced for the wind blast at the portside toward Central Kialla, but preparing for the pain at the pointy end ain't like meeting the real thing, that northerly nastier than expected.  The lads (and lass) would have to tolerate my lowly 36 km/h or lump it.   PistolPete wound up the speed to River Rd which gave me a case of liquorice legs, The Godfather scoring the lead for the leg to the bridge, but suffered the wanders from the wind.

A small contingent of Cats approached as Boof dragged us out of the dip, too tempting for Tina who u-turned to tap a tamer pace with them.  Sitting second wheel to Rocket's relentless two k turn of torture was erasing my energy, if he'd plough into the pies and sit up a bit I'd get a decent draft!  Taking the lead role in Boundary Rd was meant for sadists, I was almost inside out and barely nudging 35 when Rocket called a slow (praise the Lord!) 'cause The Godfather had popped 200 metres back.  We'd regrouped and I slowly resumed the torture to muscles and mind reaching the Broken Bridges, PistolPete took over to get us out of the headwind in Channel Rd with The Godfather strangely silent stuck in the caboose.  There was no let up working west, Pistol and Boof showing what they were made of (tougher stuff than I!) to Beckham's bend but a k was knocked off the pace (in respect for rampant rabbits).   Competition was the dopamine to drive the muscles beyond the boundaries of ouch, it was now up to heart and lungs to keep up as Rocket resumed his rapidity (appearing to be just above an idle).  It smacks of elitism but I was surviving the speed better than another,  it's fuel for this old engine to keep up you understand. A blur haloed  Rocket's rear Zipp as we sped to Kinder corner, hoping like hell an elbow wouldn't elect me to the drivers seat. Dragged for another k of cruelty, my tank was almost dry, the last drops used to catch Boof's wheel when I slipped back to 4th wheel, guessing (correctly) the leg to town would be set at suffer speed.  The moment's slow at the truck route was heaven then back on the gas to town, The Godfather popped again but I was determined to be counted among the crew at the finish.  (ps; blessings to Boof for dragging my jellied legs homeward)

3/5  Moist 'n misty.

Fourteen millimetres of wet was welcomed by a dusty autumn, the road damp and dismal after Thursday's rain, but just try and stop the possessed pedalling!  Bruce, Grumpy, Tina, Boof, Cate, Rocket, PistolPete and Wozza formed a tight-knit team, hopes that more may join to ease the workload were deemed preposterous, a hint of winter weather and the soft turn scarce.  Nev cruised in from Kialla Lakes as the rolling regime got underway out of town, all the joys of winter riding (a gritty chain, grubby bike, foggy specs and rooster-tails of water up your nose) came flooding back...literally!  I took a berth between Nev and Grumpy when Tina took permanent residence at the rear (holiday legs hurting she says ;  no doubt a ride with "a little bit more" will cure 'em!)  Nev cranked kindly beside me as I faced the front through Central Kialla, Grumpy my next partner in pace to River Rd's bridge, though he cut the shift short.   I thought he was doing the gentlemanly thing but self preservation was the agenda, his pairing to the dip with Rocket followed.....make that Laws Drive instead.

The Cats crossed our path in silence (presumably Godfather-less), bunch numbers noticeably diminished on our drive to Boundary Rd. And winter's not here yet!  The odd puddle unavoidably ridden through guaranteed a groan from the bike behind, yet PistolPete remained stylishly unsullied. How does he do that?  My turn came up again to donate to the drive, alongside Nev to Channel Rd's S bend gradually turned up the heart-rate, now just to get my head around doing the distance with Grumpy to the cypress trees.  Hiding the Hiroshima of 180 bpm to Beckham's bend went well and I'd prepared to dig a bit deeper but Grumpy took the pressure off with another early roll.  There's something strangely satisfying about having the roll called by another, your own call seems like an admission of defeat.  The vote for a Poplar Ave diversion was unanimous, avoiding the ChaCha's long puddles and taking in different scenery to finish.  Puncture practice on the roll home with two separate flats was frustrating, but then I've been spared that chore for many months. Might need that practice with the season to come?

Week 18      206km               YTD 4,728km