Post #499
11/5 For the times they are a-changin'.
Maybe it was my chance interception with newcomer Joe that opened a watershed moment, his queries on bunch protocols (admirable in attempting assimilation) highlighted the bunch evolution (revolution?) in recent times. Some regulars are becoming rarities and the divide deepens between the fast and the outclassed, or has the winter blues struck a little early? Bruce, TrekTrev, Wozza, Travis, Rocket, Kel, PistolPete, Bo, The Godfather, Liam, Superman, Tina, MyRideTrev, Lance, TatMat, Boof, TatPaul and Joe had lined up behind me at the carpark, so I paid the price of early arrival to lead leg one.
A gentle build up of pace (under the pretext of allowing the tailenders to get up to speed) was all this old engine could do in "feels like two degrees", Nev made his standard delayed debut at Kialla Lakes and Wozza kindly rode at an idle beside me as I suffered to Sanctuary's roundabout. Rocket and Wozz paired to turn up the tempo to the truck route, my glance back (between gasps) finding an abyss to the bunch behind. Off the throttle for a tad in leg three reassembled the rabble, Joe's original intention for a brief appearance at the front coming to nought (in fact, confined himself to the caboose for the whole lap). Quickness out of corners tested tail-enders to keep in touch, but Wozza and Pistol were mindful to tow the stragglers back on.
Bo had hauled himself from the depths of man flu, The Godfather in need of echelon education, putting the tail in the gutter. Feeling the bite of the cold as it cut through the layers, I was soon called back into the up-line by voices in the caboose, a popular place of late as the swift get supersonic and the part-timers toil. I was content with my contribution to Old Dookie Rd with Pistol then to the bridge with Bruce, the drive by Rocket and Wozz (there's that pairing again!) relentless to the Toaster and onward to the Church. Daybreak drew long on Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd as the headwind hurt the brave volunteering for the rushin' front, fitness measuring the length of labour at the pointy end as TatPaul rejoined from a Boundary Rd short-cut.
My calculations reckoned I'd get a turn in before the work in Wanganui and sure enough, paired with Pistol in Ford Rd, but legs wouldn't deliver what the head wanted so I called an early roll. Bruce sided sympathetically till my Garmin numbers said quit, time in the tow hoping a heart rate would calm. Speed got serious nearing the transfer station, I'd just rejoined the up-line when the real horsepower got their noses to the front, so plans of another turn at the front fizzled. Hanging on as gatekeeper, I called the faster to the front, a few more faded from duty so it became a conga line of survivors to the hill, all hoping to catch the tail in Rudd Rd and be part of the pack for the bolt to breakfast. It felt foreign when just eight rolled into the Lemontree breakfast table, but chat on record breakers, big rings and sleep deprivation occupied the few in the social epilogue.
13/5 Everybody hurts.
With a headful of HTFU, I faced Monday's nine degrees with summer knicks and fingerless gloves (bit optimistic?), south to the carpark with a resolve set in concrete to avoid the first shift (muscles in Mondayitis mood). Sherls, Wozza, The Godfather, PistolPete, not-so-newAvantiJohn, Col and Bruce had assembled for the opening salvo to the weeks' work, Pistol advising Bo & Kel's (punctured) eta. With barely a minutes' delay there was a team of ten to turn into Channel Rd's dreary darkness, guaranteed to drain every dram of determination out of you if it weren't for the magnetism of a lap with like-minded
cyclusts. I'd bought a bit of time before facing the flogging at the front, on Col's wheel (with Wozz behind) allowed a few k's to prepare for pace, to climb a mountain more mental than muscular really.
Bo and PistolPete looked to be cruising in the drivers seat, though I could sense the handbraking of a northeaster but I guess hurt gets us all at some point, just that some are better than others at hiding it! The Godfather had trimmed ten percent off the tempo to the cypress trees, only inciting others to resume the prior pace, Col set a reasonable rate of knots at Boundary Rd's bridge but I felt fairly flabbergasted by the fig farm, Wozza the working my will to reach Old Dookie Rd before I relented to his rapidity. Kel had the best idea, comfortable in the caboose! Sitting at second wheel wasn't helping my heart rate, nor was second or even third, I could be quite sociable at fourth spot though, but then I was back in the up-line soon after to start that escalation again. Effort had eased in Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd with the wind at our rear regions, getting closer to town and closer to the front I had some comfort thinking of Monday's no-sprint rule. Beside Col at the test track my endurance was eroding, I called the shift short bracing for part two with Wozz. I'd levelled with the lad for a few hundred metres till Mt.Wanganui tempted his tempo, despite holding speed I was rapidly relegated rearward so hung on to the draft (at second last) trying to bank some oomph for the Boulevard leg home. Not-so-newAvantiJohn was bent at the brow and Bruce's cadence was cooking, so I was strangely satisfied it wasn't just me hurting homeward.
14/5 A hazy shade of winter.
I ignored the reasons of rising at stupid o'clock and riding into The Boulevard's blackness at 5:25, why I'd spin a solo prologue into four degrees I'll leave for my therapist! Lapping a golf course loop discovered the wind had stayed in bed but the cold was a class act to chill muscles and lungs. Hommie, Brendy, Sandy, Heady, Belly and Snow fronted Friars, and you guessed it, Heady headed the hurry (at Heady's specifications) out to the truck route. Coggo climbed aboard the single filed squad, a bit of variation in velocity (and length of turn) may frustrate some but at least they're doing much more than the snooze squad! Sandy's shift was short and sweet, Coggo's quick and constant, Heady's slowly sagged, Brendy donated a decent drive and Hommie was up to his old tricks of surge then sag. Feeling a hint of softness creeping into my cranium, I set a long target when handed the helm in Boundary Rd, gently up to speed to stick to Belly's instructions ("don't be a dickhead Foss".....ain't he lovely?) to drive a 3k shift to the highway (surprised there was a little left in the tank after). Happier with a metre gap to Brendy's wheel (call it variability insurance), the others put their two bob's worth in, each in their own distinctive style (better the devil you know). Filed like Indians is rather anti-social but it finesses the focus on staying straight and smooth, Brendy's elbow ushering me to the front again at River Rd's bridge. There was no escaping another shift before my early exit, so the last donation took them to River's end, I hollered my hooroo's and with 9k's to home and 16 minutes on the clock, the wheels hummed and legs warmed but fingers and toes felt the chill.
15/5 Hurts so good.
I shouldn't grizzle about the bite of four degrees when the minus's have yet to hit us, count your blessings mum used to say (till some Strava mate posts a sundrenched ride from some Spanish coast!) Kenworth, Superman, Joe, Tina, MyRideTrev, The Godfather, Cate, Kreeky, Rocket, Wozza, PistolPete, Boof, Col and not-so-newAvantiJohn had proved their mettle congregating at the carpark, Bo then Grumpy climbing aboard as we cranked a chilled course south out of town. The fitter faction (you know, the ones happily chatting at the front while most gasp in their wake) led the charge to the truck route while the lesser league hoped to find some fettle before being promoted to the pointy end.
The hurry hummed along to Mitchell Rd but the tempo was tamed when The Godfather was put in the drivers seat (to the delight of the cooked in the caboose). More had braved the up-line by River Rd (good to see Tina back in the rotation) but Joe and MyRideTrev weren't to be coerced from the rear seats. So often the head's the handbrake when the body's most likely to cope, even a short shift has no shame, 'tis better than cowering in the caboose! Booties and thick gloves were in vogue, even PistolPete had given in to long knicks, haute couture of course! Into Boundary Rd and that Rocket and Wozza combination struck chat off the agenda, heads down for the hurry less we suffer the shame and indignity of going o.t.a. The horizon blushed orange behind us for our charge into Channel Rd though The Godfather had the cruise control set at canter for his turn to the S bend. Odds of avoiding the hard labour in the ChaCha were looking rather thin as PistolPete powered to the Kinder, here's me at fourth wheel and Col bails out of duty into the down line. Bo dug deep at Hopeful corner and thinned the pack to Indian file, Grumpy given the helm at Prentice Rd. With an eye on his elbow I kept tucked into the tow but those signals of suffering soon surfaced, time for me to get to work. Some promise of success with 300 metres remaining was soon scuttled hearing Boof's wheels hunting me down, though the big gap behind him looked perfect for me to take second spot.
16/5 Six shooter.
Six shot south along Archer Rd's length in Thursday's early hours, picturesque in the half light with fog layering the lower fields. Pistol Pete had perfected the first shift starting slow and bringing speed slowly to simmer into the high 30's (well, the draft was delightful at fourth wheel!) Blessed by breezeless conditions, Bo took turn two in what's usually leg three, so my calculations for the lead role in Central Kialla allowing ample time to get in the groove for my move. Kreeky capably captained Mitchell Rd and put me in the front seat as planned, so I stuck to the principal of smooth-and-straight-and-the-speed-will-sort-itself to get to River Rd, the caboose containing Kel in cold convalescence. Cate did a short shift to respect rhythm, Pistol Pete back in charge and turning up the speed screws to the dip. Bo delivered a long drive to River's end, Kreeky conscripted for Boundary Rd. I kept a fine focus for an elbow but not a flinch was forthcoming by the Broken bridges, Kreeky cranking all the way to the highway before handing over.
Steadily winding up speed so as not to disconnect others, I struggled with pace (and probably pessimism) to the bridge, that category three climb of at least 400mm certainly felt by this flat-lander. Then out of nowhere that moment arrived, the tarmac turned smooth, my heart rate levelled, I was on top of the gear, the legs stopped screaming and all turned cool, calm and collected with the world. Where's the switch that turns it on? Or can you buy it in bottles? Getting "in the zone" arrives without planning or fanfare, can vanish without notice, but 'aint it sweet when it stays! It hung on till the Fig Farm when hard labour came calling again, the h.r. began to climb but determination was now the driver to reach Old Dookie Rd. Relying on others for long turns to aid my recovery, I tucked into the tow as Pistol piloted us to Central Ave. Bo and Kreeky continued the long shift habit all the way to town saving me another effort at the rushin' front (bless their booties) , homeward bound early for Cate and I as the rest steered south in search of Scottish coffee with Hares (not hairs).
17/5 Sprint spice.
Friday was the fourth consecutive day of four degrees but I still struggle to climatize to that chill when I open the front door! Five k's at 86 rpm got the internal heater working, Boof, Bruce, Shorty, Superman, Rocket, Tina, Bo, MyRideTrev, Grumpy, Liam, Kreeky, Kel, Wozza, not-so-newAvantiJohn, Travis, PistolPete, Cate and Col were tattling temperatures at the carpark in readiness for the 6am launch. MyRideTrev led a leisurely start to the bridge before tempo turned toasty, thanks to the usual masters of motion.
The up-line started to form on the outskirts of town while I played 'pick your partner in pace' : Wozza? nice guy but nope, Pistol? too pacy, Travis? too torquey, Kreeky? compliant to my lax legs, so I joined the up line while tail end of the down line grew longer. Not till River Rd did I find the freshness of the front (feels like 1.7), and there's the joy of July yet to come! To the dip with Kreeky and half a k with Cate, back into draft (with less of the chill) while 13 of the 18 came forward to donate to the drive. Despite the temperature, the half light before daybreak is worth getting out of bed to see, our turn north into Boundary Rd turned heads east for the horizon's hues.
The Godfather was hollering sledges to the front (in the comfort of the draft mind you) while most got down to the business at hand. There's always an expectation of effort in Channel Rd but it was all rather cruisy to the cypress trees, watching Rocket, Wozza and Pistol edging closer to the front as we neared Central Ave told me to hang on for some hurry. Mid forties well before the Kinder doubled the bunch's length and halved it's width, Rocket unleashing his wattage all the way to Hopeful corner and beyond. I'd been lucky to catch the tow of the front few as the pack splintered into pieces toward Prentice Rd, Rocket releasing Wozza for the final assault but Boof and Liam took flight to fight to the finish line. The once casual cruise back to town is history, a solid spin back to the suburbs (to silence The Godfather?) kept the bunch busy. Back at Archer Rd northerners and southerners parted company for coffee and/or careers, first sighting of some in the caboose for me.
Week 20 253km YTD 5260km
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