Post #517
7/9 Wind worn.
A wicked wind from the west would send some deeper under the doona on Saturday but it didn't deter Boof, Kreeky, MyRideTrev, TatPaul, Rocket, Blyth (Batman), TatMat, Col, PistolPete, Bo, Wozza, Lance, Superman and GiantAndy from filling the carpark for a spin. Off into the Archer Rd darkness, the ridiculously rapid (as usual, Rocket, Wozza and PistolPete) took up the task of forming the advance line as Boof set the speed standard south, the usual long line behind void of volunteers, all just waiting till fate forced them forward. With a k covered and just two in the upline, Bo and I braved the move forward, the tailwind to come some consolation. It's been two years since the extra eighteen k's were added to the Saturday circuit, some have come and some have gone, others have slowed, a few are fitter but the ride ritual remains the same. Blown eastward on River Rd, it was my turn to face the music at the front, to the bridge with Bo then digging deep to the dip with Col, it should have been a breeze with the tailwind but I was battling for breath when Col rolled across to put me out of my misery.
And the hurt into the headwind homeward was yet to come. Lance advanced for punishment at the pointy end but MyRideTrev had found his happy place at the back, GiantAndy had Di2 dilemmas (minus volts and stuck in a low gear) and Batman was in circuit studies while doing his diploma in bunch dynamics. A couple of drops from the sky began to multiply and soon glossed Boundary Rd, quickly turning eyes westward to forecast our dampness.
Thankfully the drizzle soon fizzled and the bunch bore north to the highway, those few seconds in slowing savoured by the suffering till it was back on the gas again. The sun struck through the grey over Pine Lodge's canola as I worked my way to the front again, with Wozza then Col up to the Big Ring then tucked into the draft as the headwind hurt on Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd. The caboose became a popular place as troops to lead the charge thinned, my legs none too happy being pushed ahead among the Division 1 drivers but Rule #67 (do your time into the wind) nagged at me to forge forward. Fitness facing the front figured in the speed but I'm a fan of maintaining motion, better to be short and sweet preserving pace than rubber-banding the bunch. Kreeky took an early exit via Verney, the remaining hoping to hang on for the Wanganui work. Rocket hurtled toward the hill (was he aware of the headwind?) as the bunch broke into bits, PistolPete picking up some of the pieces to regroup in Rudd Rd (collecting MyRideTrev on the Boulevard as he emerged from the Kittles Rd shortcut). Three chose an alternate base camp but the majority seated at the Lemontree soaking up the sociology, the breakfast babble on wildlife encounters, Hollywood's return and the TDU put the prior punishment behind.
9/9 Feels like? A fridge!
An extra layer to heed the bureau's "feels like" and I stepped out the door, the west southwester still cut through me like a knife. Winter just won't go away. Bruce, Kreeky, Kel, The Godfather, Bo, Grumpy and PistolPete were dressed like Douglas Mawson but keen to welcome the week with a wee spin, and just like Saturday, to be blown out of town and battle back home again. I'd squeezed in a turn at the front with Kreeky using the last of Channel Rd's tailwind, into Boundary Rd beside Kel as her "I'm so not fit" kept me speechless to the highway. Pistol's Pinarello-less still, Bruce's Bossi bright and shiny, Kreeky's aboard the ageing Avanti while the wet weather keeps the new one stabled, but there were a few (nameless) who hadn't blessed their bikes with a bit of weekend TLC. Rules #4 and #65 folks!
The honeymoon was over reaching Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd, with noses into the headwind and head into hurt mode, Bruce sensibly suggested to single up, so I joined the line at fifth wheel and prepared for the pain to come. Bruce and Grumpy set the speed swift enough toward the bridge but Bo just had to do better, respect for the rhythm cast aside in pursuit of personal pace. Kreeky turned down the tempo a tad when he took the reigns in Ford Rd, The Godfather creeping it up a couple of clicks as he steamed westward. I'd missed his early elbow but the deviation left spelt he was spent, six hundred metres to Grahamvale Rd seemed a little shy of a turn to me but the kudos from the crew told a different story. We needed torque but couldn't talk as Pistol powered to Verney Rd, The Godfather choosing to sit this one out but he'd snookered me out of a turn. I jumped a space as we crossed the highway to enter Wanagnui Rd but Bo had the bit between his teeth toward the hill so I was saved the struggle for a while. Lungs were refilled in Rudd Rd as we waited for Grumpy to reconnect, Bruce guiding us along the Boulevard to the roundabout for me to head the last leg.
10/9 The Tuesday test.
I really didn't want to. It was going to hurt. And that southwester would be the death of me. PistolPete wasn't at the front, it was me. An early arrival had thrown me unprepared into the deep end of the first shift, there were standards to uphold, Bo & Kel were missing in action and there were just four to share the load. Time to stop sookin' Foss and h.t.f.u! A foot fumble clipping in didn't do the confidence much good but we were soon underway south as this old engine puffed and spluttered to reach a satisfactory speed. Batman, PistolPete, Kreeky and Col were lined up behind, the pressure to perform was weighing heavily on the head, the heartrate was on a stairway to the heavens and I'd only reached Adams Rd! Legs were getting lazy but my elbow was keen to flap, blurring the bitumen to Hoopers Rd and into the depths of despair, the roundabout still seemed worlds away. There were very few breaths left in the bank to catch the tail, so at three hundred metres shy my elbow gave Batman the lead so I could recover at the rear.
The visiting Kiwestralian powered the Propel to the truck route and a bit beyond, PistolPete setting the pace to Mitchell Rd, nah make that Central Kialla, nope, to River Rd ('cause he can). Col had settled into a long drive east, the southwester of some help to his hurry to the dip and out the other side. Kreeky drove long and strong to River Rd's end but that put me back in the drivers seat for Boundary Rd to aim at reaching the bridges, the eastern sky blushing orange ready for the sun's arrival. Lungs were clamped by the cold and legs were cooked by the cadence though strangely, there was pleasure in the push to the Broken bridges. Batman did well in his hurry to the highway, my reserves at the ready for Pistol to take the drivers seat at the Pub. Focus narrowed on the five millimetre gap between caliper and tyre on Col's rear wheel (it diverts thoughts from the messages of massacre from my legs), Pistol powering into the forties to reach Old Dookie Rd. Kreeky and Col took to the west way home in a hurry and another turn was on the cards for me, short and swift from Central Ave to Dobson's bridge then gasping into the tow for Batman to get us to close to town. There was a millisecond of mayhem as a stone kicked my wheel sideways, but then quickly off the seat in sprint mode to catch Pistol's turbocharged turn to the traffic lights. Sudden silence behind me told of Batman's absence, an about face for a few hundred metres found him already removing a punctured tube (the same stone that had my posterior puckering previously).
11/9 The fellowship of the frost.
Surely this was the last of it? Minus zero point six questioned why you'd bother and answered why the 'wouldabeens' dived for doona cover. Lungs were gripped vice-like in the 'feels like' minus two point six, a calm commute to the carpark with Batman was tough enough, how would the team's tempo treat me? Boof, Rocket, Wozza, PistolPete, Superman, Col, The Godfather, Batman, MyRideTrev, Bruce and TrekTrev had toughened to the temperature, the wattage gifted to Wozza taking us swiftly south at six. The horizon glowed at Wednesday's arrival and fog coated the canola, a scenic consolation to the cold as we shivered toward Mitchell Rd, The Godfather's comic castigation warming us with a laugh.
Shuffled to the rear, I was called into the advance line by MyRideTrev (no takers for an early lap today, seems the 'woodabeens' have stalled just after they started) In TrekTrev's draft through Central Kialla, the rude reality of the frozen front hit me in River Rd, took me back to my breathing capacity on a thirty-five-a-day habit. Reaching the bridge was out of the question so rolled across three hundred metres shy of the mark, Rocket most obliging levelling with a wheezing old engine over the bridge.
It was well beyond the dip before I'd regained focus, enough to spot the Cat pack westbound (well, two had ventured out) Boof, Wozza and Pistol kept legs in labour to the quarter horse stud, Laura and Weapon (on a quiet circuit) overtaken at the ripple strips. The Godfather's sledges slipped into overdrive in Boundary Rd, (seems he's only silent in the drivers seat) regardless of the speed set at the front, that jaw kept on flapping. I lined up behind TrekTrev in Channel Rd, guessing I'd squeeze in a turn just before the challenge of the ChaCha, under the cypress trees with Rocket then to hang on for the hurry to the Kinder. The sun hit the horizon just as Wozza hit the throttle, the squad stretching long and laboured to the finish line (The Godfather silent, at last)
12/9 Goats a go go.
Six (starters) at six (a.m.) in six (degrees) wasn't bad for the remnants of the remaining Goats, winter has worn away a once popular peloton. Birthday boy Hommie, Coggo, Snow, Tum and Belly had fronted, Batman along to supplement the squad. To when Dippa, AvantiLeigh, Jen, Principal Skinner, Brendy, DeepFry, JB, AvantiAndy, Speissy, Phil, Baz and HG will return is anyone's guess, or are some already an extinct species? Coggo commanded that I set the train tapping out of town, the sky lighting up like a tail-light as I gently turned up the tempo to Dobson's.
Was my (self imposed) limit of 35 km/h breaking Belly's heart? His "I love you Foss" answered the question as I rolled to the rear at the bridge. Batman followed my cue to Central Ave, Tum, Snow and Coggo taking their turns into a niggling northeaster to get us to Boundary Rd. Hommie, inspired by the breeze at the backside, set a good speed to the Pork Palace, my shift to the highway barely breaking out of zone three. How pleasant to ride
not on the rivet! Batman was keen doing the distance to River Rd, building my hopes I'd score a tow for the length of it before my shortcut home. The scenic start to the day had dissolved to a dull grey, Tum, Snow and Coggo thoughtfully taking their turns at the roads centre to shelter those behind. Hommie drove a long shift from the bridge to River Rd's end, delivering me fresh at Central Kialla to battle the breeze solo back home.
13/9 Frisky Friday (& a Poppa podium)
It's almost the same old, same old. Boof, Wozza, Rocket and PistolPete high tailing it south as division two (the few who are left) cling to the rear in hope of holding on, or maybe brave a turn or two. But each ride has a different angle or moment, something to learn or laugh about, and a slice of social enlightenment to savour. Even if each day were Groundhog day we'd still ride, that dopamine drug is what we're hooked on, and a lap usually keeps the 'crazies' at bay. Bruce, Kreeky, Shorty, Superman and The Godfather were the only others for the Friday fling, three degrees feeling almost tropical after recent zero mornings. A hint of a southwesterly had no effect on division one but felt almost gale force to others, I'd joined the up line and with a little luck, arrived at the front in Mitchell Rd scoring a little help from that breeze. A kilometre at speed beside Rocket and my internal gauge warned there wasn't a lot left, so I begged an early roll to share part two with Kreeky.
Just a k off the previous pace was a life saver, reaching Central Kialla to then bask in the bliss of a draft. The tempo was then dialled back 4 km/h en-route to River Rd, making me wonder why I'd sacrificed myself to speed a minute ago, the bunch treated to a few moments of serenity while The Godfather donated his drive at the front. Turns turned shorter as the less swift reached the reality of the drivers seat, putting me back into the advance line again to see the Pussycats had pulled out all stops to field a pack of eight on their clockwise circuit. For me, it was time for toil again at the rushin' front in Boundary Rd and mind over muscles wasn't working too well, what the will wants and what the legs deliver are two different things, regrettably shortening my shift with Rocket and shorter again with Kreeky.
Bruce was in a lather matching Pistol's power so I wasn't the only one in stress street. Channel Rd's hurry homeward felt thankfully more manageable, others were contributing to the cause and I'd fallen in love with the rear seats, a free ride home for me felt justified recalling the week's work on two wheels. Rocket and Wozza had settled into a steady forty on the front for the ChaCha, effectively stalling a sprint finish, but from the back, The Godfather seized a sneaky chance to pluck a podium. The sight of the 'wouldabeens' (a ride a week spells a long comeback trail) ahead kept speed spirited back into town, my week ending deflated with a nail through the rear tyre on the way home.
Week 37 256km YTD 9,391 km
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