Post #572
The Saturday standard of a swift and social spin was swapped for a strangely short, slow and silent circuit away from the homelands, Foster (Gippsland) offering a gloomy misty 12 degree morning minus the mates that usually make the sustenance of road bike life. I'd overcome the elevation of Friday (more metres done in a day than I'd normally do in a month!) so a road more like home was chosen to minimize the mental demons. East to Bennison and onward toward Toora was likeably level, a west southwester making mid 30's manageable. It might not be so helpful homeward. Those vistas of Wilson's Promontory were cloaked by cloud dragging across the sea, specs misting by the slightest suggestion of a sprinkle from above. And the social silence was shattering! No cackles from The Godfather or kind words from Kel, PistolPete wasn't there to prime the pace or Tina to inspire a drive at the red-line.......and without a draft to recover in, tempo was set at tame.
It was good to turn the legs over though and soak up scenery seldom seen. Bennison is but a smudge on the map, 3 houses at a bend in the road and it was over, 5 k's of almost level tarmac tapped to Toora's township, asleep at the base of a line of hills. Well ahead of schedule, I sought a little loop to make use of the extra minutes, what steered me to Downing's Hill Rd I'll never know ; an 8% climb up to the wind turbines was a hurry up for the heart. Just a k's worth of cruelty with the chain on the 38 / 25 got me to the top (surprisingly scoring a segment 7th overall), hopes the road would skirt around to the other side of town dashed when it turned to gravel 300 metres on. Damp and slippery gravel to boot, no place for slicks at 120 psi! U-turning for a slow and steady downhill to the South Gippsland highway, the west way back to Foster had me doing duty into an annoying (not destroying) head wind. There goes hopes of a respectable average! A smooth surface made music under the Michelin's even though the km/h was at a crawl, 3 tractors shifting round balers being the bulk of early Saturday traffic. The 10 k's back into Foster was judged to be sufficient for a sedate spin, but a queue of 12 for coffee at the cafe (just opened at 7:30) turned me back to base camp to ingest instant. Won't the brew at the Butter Factory be bliss when I return!
15/11 Sunday serene-ery.
The Tarra Bulga National Park was home base for a few days, a green valley filled with tall mountain ash, about 4 million ferns, a river running through it and a thin strip of tarmac twisting through the middle. Why wouldn't you ride it? Even on the sabbath! Lyre birds, kookabuuras, rosella's and wrens sang a 6am symphony to start my downhill drive toward Devon North, long strips of stringy bark, a couple of timber bridges and umpteen hairpin bends to keep focus sharp for 10 k's, and a scenic sun-up to keep my bearings.
The ground almost flattens at Devon North so I soon found a flat-land rhythm for the souths and easts to Yarram. Of course, a wind blew up to dial up the difficulty. I felt right at home now! Just into town and back would be the soft option, so I'd mapped an extra loop of Alberton, Tarraville and the Old Sale Rd to clock some k's and justify getting out of bed early on a Sunday (and to make up for my marshmallow-like effort on Saturday)
The wide open plains of farmland left me exposed to that wind whipping up, but I'd missed the Old Sale Rd sign (somebody stole it) and ploughed on to Mann's Beach in search of it. Google maps got me back on track (scoring a 2nd overall for my vintage in the hurry to make up for the 12k over-run) then toiled the 7k's of head wind to reach Pound Rd. (the reward an almost tailwind back to Yarram) Threading my way west and north back to the Tarra Valley Rd at least found shelter among the hills but what was previously downhill was now up.
The few lengths of 7% stung on wind worn legs, thankfully most of the ascent was in the 3's and 4's. Birds were still singing, the river babbling and under the cover of 3 metre tall ferns the last 4 k was serene and scenic, a far cry from the tedious Toaster circuit!
16/11 Balook for breakfast.
This was going to be brief, but a battle for me. Balook was 430 metres up with a twisting climbing 11k length of tarmac through a fern lined valley to it. There were 3 timber bridges (with gaps to swallow wheels), 78 bends and the debris of a vicious weekend wind storm to avoid. I don't like hills as you know, but Sir Edmund's quote echoed....."cause it's there"! Monday had just dawned rather humid, 17 degrees with the wind (to 40 km/h) bending the tree tops at the summit, but calm in the valley below. Straight onto the little ring and easily into a rhythm was the kindest introduction to a fella from the flats, keeping a cap on the heart rate was the trick if I was to make it to Balook without bursting. Eyes were wide open for the sticks, leaves, great lengths of stringy bark and branches carpeting the skinny tarmac (a metre wider than a single lane) up to Grand Ridge Rd.
Despite it's uphill nature, it was easy to like this road, early light filtering through the massive fern fronds 2 metres above me while the 70 metre tall mountain ash waved in the wind. And plenty of turns to keep the scenery changing. It wasn't long before the chain reached the cassette's 25 limit, this engine's lack of wattage needing all the spin it could get to manage the bouts of 7%. With not a car to contend with in the early hours of a weekday (this would be a track well worn in holiday season), the bird-life sang my praises as the tarmac twisted up and up, the kookaburra's cackling at my gasps to grind up the hairpins with not another gear to grab. I'd kept that cap on 170 but was tiring of the relentless road up, around the 53'rd turn and Grand Ridge Rd appeared. "Yes!" was hissed through clenched teeth (stirring rosella's from the undergrowth). Thankfully this ridge road to Balook was a kinder incline of 3%, though the branches strewn across it made for some interesting chichanery. (is that a word? Too bad, it is now!)
Christmas came early with a gentle downhill or two, but an immediate uphill again felt the fatigue in the femoris. I spared a few minutes at Balook's outdoor dining area (cafe closed) to digitally reconnect (no phone reception in the valley) before preparing for the delight of the downhill (at a much swifter speed) through the twists and turns back to a coffee conclusion. It wasn't a descent at escape velocity, caution turned up to 10 for the hardware blanketing the road and my memory wasn't sharp enough to recall exactly where all those 20 km/h hairpins were.
17/11 Le Tour La Trobe.
Moe was my starting grid for Tuesday's tap, a Strava segment search finding the roads most ridden in this neck of the woods. Pays to stay on familiar grounds. But which way to ride this triangular track was the question, so I stabbed in the dark at clockwise. Clever move as it panned out. Exiting Moe stage west toward Trafalgar was a jarring 12k intro to the road-makers craft of cruelty, the M1 flanking this C road so why would it get any funding? The slight rise and fall prepared muscles for what was to come, northbound on Willow Grove Rd started pancake-like but with Mt. Baw Baw in the distance the ups were bound to come soon.
Nothing near the rank of a mountain but the rises quickly caught me napping, grabbing at gears to save stalling, the twangs from the rectus femoris and vastus lateralis (recently insulted by inclines) reminding me what's needed for this uphill stuff. Was 17 km/h ok for these slopes? And what percentage were they? Who cares, I just wanted up and over for the downhills of course! The only thing chasing me was the scenic sun-up so paused for a pic for art's sake ; not to get my breath back I promise!
Just a farmer or two were out and about, giving me plenty of roadway while I huffed and puffed up or did the slingshot down, even the timber jinkers courteously used the oncoming lane to make 2 metres matter (a bonus for riding the local laps) I'd finally found Willow Grove at the crest of the range, the turn east southeast effortless as the westerly got fresh at my posterior to propel me toward Tanjil South. The bonus? A steady yet subtle downhill all the way back to Moe. Wheels howled their happiness to hurtle down in the 50's in places though the weekends wild winds had broken branches in big numbers, eyes were glued to the blurring bitumen for the remnants of big limbs recently chainsawed to clear the path. Again the scenery prompted a halt for a picture's prosperity; can't do that in a bunch! 18 k's passed quickly to get to the Moe - Walhalla Rd, back toward town the one or two short uphills was the tax of the long downhill prior. Coffee Central made a recuperative brew to round off 47 k's, the social silence still deafening.
19/11 Port Phillips pleasure.
Gippsland was well gone by Thursday, Melbourne now the pit stop for two days as holidays began to trickle and dry up. Beach Rd begged a lap. It's a track often tapped when down this way, sea air, a billiard table smooth stretch of tarmac and bikes in bulk to chase (or be chased by). That'll push the competitive button after nearly two weeks of solo serenity. My standard Mordialloc start was in a wind-less 13 degree, the first k taken kindly on the engine after one day's holiday off the bike, that oh so smooth surface a backside bonus after the rough stuff of recent days.
The whiff of sea air stirred a little speed, a few slight inclines delivering a dose of reality for a while till the downhill got the bitumen blurring again. Nice to see the grand old "Edgy" at Mentone's beachfront under restoration. The relaxation of lockdown and decent weather has pelotons in plague proportions on Beach Rd, most spinning southbound though twos and threes were getting active northbound by now. A few young ones passed me but I'd rounded up several others on my path to Melbourne's middle. Ah, those Strava segments and their titles (what creativity the locals have!) ; Flat Stick, Gone in 60 Seconds, Chewing Bartape on Beachy, Ohhhh Boy!, Go Go Juice, Cerberus Lung Buster, Questionable Architectual Taste and Love to Sylvia among the 400+ along this eastern side of Port Phillip Bay. I'd scored 13 PB's along the way to do the ego a few favors. The ups and downs lessened at Sandringham, the temptation to "sit on" as big bunches passed was strong but being a wheel-sucker doesn't get you anywhere.
Even in the draft of two gave me the guilts, so summoned some wattage to drive onward independently. That worked well through Brighton and St. Kilda, moving up a zone in effort, but I'd grown a threesome on my tail doing exactly what I was avoiding. If they must draft they were going to work for it. I took the old engine up to the red-line for the BP to Cafe Racer Sprint (a PB 40.7 average made the work worthwhile), lights at the Esplanade halting progress (I'd at least got a nod from the freeloaders I'd dragged there)
The k on the cool-down had plenty of jogging distractions along Beaconsfield Parade and I took pity on the guy doing the chamois thing on his black 2019 Aston Martin Vantage with his week old black Ferrari Stradale still to do. Some are doing it tough here! Hadn't I timed the about face toward Mordialloc to a tee, a light north northeaster building to assist my southern passage back. Fingers remained crossed that Tour de Cafe would be open for a brew. Bike numbers were down now and car traffic up, though comfort levels stayed cruisy as all traffic gave a wide berth. Mostly solo for the 25 k's back, the motivation came by trying to keep tempo with small groups a few hundred metres ahead rather than infringe on their fellowship un-invited. Again, a few young ones passed but confidence grew as I'd passed plenty, what started as an intended steady roll finishing with pace in the low 40's and the h.r. in the 170's to justify banana bread and coffee at Mordy's Tour de Cafe for a finishing trophy.
20/11 Bay ja vu.
Beach Rd called again for Friday (can you ever have too much of a good thing?) but wind would change the mindset quickly in the opening k's. A westerly had whipped across the waters to suppress any thoughts of setting a special speed, the battle was to steer a straight line and manage something in the 30's as 35 km/h gusts worked wobble into the wheels. I really wanted that draft of the 7 that sped by as I threw a leg over at Mordialloc, battle as I did for several k's I couldn't quite close the gap they had sharing the load (and the sea-spray) alongside Mentone's beach. There was a subtle sandblasting on offer too where the road hugged the beach. By Cerberus I'd abandoned hopes of scoring that slipstream so soldiered on solo (and sucked up the slower speed) though there were a few passed struggling slower than I. Those southbound bunches seemed to be smirking as our paths crossed. Beach Rd was understandably familiar for the second day riding (not running), although the inclines took on a more tortuous look with the wind factor thrown in ; not much better on the open flats of Sandringham either. Maybe there'd be some wind assistance on the return?
Plenty of Brighton-ites assembled in the side streets for their 6:30 spin, the shelter from two-storied real estate a brief break before facing St.Kilda's windswept esplanade. I had a lot riding on the wind working in my favor for the return, feeling I'd burned too much city-bound to make the return respectable. Bikes and bunches were notably fewer (a bit of wind seems to have dulled the desire for many), the u-turn at Port Melbourne a disappointment finding that wind still at my side instead of at my backside. There were few to pass on my way back (and a couple of young 'uns to keep me in touch with reality) but that wind eventually blew from the 4 o'clock position rather than 3. With just a few k's left at Parkdale it was safe to empty the tank and make some impression on a segment or two, mid 40's a satisfying conclusion to finish 50 k but the Tour de Cafe was closed.
This week 270km YTD 9,997 km
No comments:
Post a Comment