The scourge of softness

 Post #601

29/5  Cold, Covid constraints, coffee and company.

Facing the prospect of a solitary Saturday felt foreign.  It's normally the social satisfaction of the week but Covid restrictions scuttled that.  And a forecast that the mercury would drop to zero did nothing for the motivation.  I was almost resolved to the torture of my own company when Joe (not Tony) threw me a lifeline on What's App.  A bunch of two is better than enduring self's serenity (or the racket of your own inner thoughts!) Circuit choice was limited to 5k from home so we reverted to our last lock-down lap of Verney, Ford, Wanganui, The Boulevard and Balaclava. An almost civilised 7am start treated us to daylight and swapping turns seemed the sensible thing to do (keeps the average up too)    Joe (not Tony) took on the first shift up to Ford Rd, my turn west to the highway seemed very shy of an equal effort so I stayed on for a more fair share.   

Was that a breeze behind?  The drive on Wanganui wasn't so taxing but it was pleasant to get back into Joe (not Tony's) draft for Rudd Rd and a little of the Boulevard.  Not measuring turns mind you, having another along to donate a draft at times is easier than doing it all yourself!  That breeze must have been imaginary, progress wasn't too bad east to Tarcoola.   A swing into Balaclava Rd presented a traffic light intermission (and it had one of those "special" sensors in the road ; the moment of un-clipping and putting a foot to the tarmac, the light changed green.  Don't you love that!)    Joe (not Tony) took on the chicanes of  the 26 man-hole covers along the Balaclava bike lane (how conveniently placed!)  to get us to Verney again but must have felt guilty 'cause he stayed on as captain to Ford Rd again (can't blame him really, it's a jolly nice stretch of hot-mix getting there)  

That sense of obligation hung over me to repeat my lap one shift to Mt. Wanganui, happy that the perceived breeze was making the drive feel easier (not a flicker from the leaves in Wanganui Rd's trees but I'll go with what the imagination said)   I reckon lap two felt easier still, engines were up to operating temperature and a degree warmer might have lifted the game.     Time (or the restrictions surrounding it) would make lap 3 the last and wouldn't you know it, shifts were a carbon copy of laps one and two.  Creatures of habit or what?  I swear I could smell coffee nearing lap three's end, the Milk Bar's brew drawing us to a short footpath session of sociology as is Saturday's want.  

31/5  The chill commitment.

The list of reasons grew longer.  Coffee and porridge warmed the inside as the outside temperature plummeted.  I'd been drawn into a comfortable coma of Strava scrolling through the rides of Takis, Guiseppe, Bjoern and Luiz (ahh, the warm scenes of Europe and Brazil!)  and that scourge of softness was suddenly felt sneaking in.  I was going to say carpe diem Foss!, but the term extractus digitus was more appropriate, I was close to being infected with BeerMat syndrome (a minute later and it would have been the more fatal Hollywooditis!)   With more layers than an onion, I braved a smaller loop of the Boulevard, Knight, Verney, Pine, Parkside and Ferguson, a 10k loop of the city streets for want of variety.    Out the front door and minus 2.4 bit hard, one cog lower used to warm the legs with a bit more spin.  I'll admit there was a fair amount of "where others fear to tread" motivating the ride - so it had better be worth it!  

I was quick to use the excuse of respiratory restriction to blame a lower speed, 32 was all the engine was happy to run at.  Strangely enough, there weren't a lot of people out walking.   The moment's pause at Wyndham St's lights almost felt warm, though I feared having a foot frozen to the tarmac if I stayed put too long.  Eyes were well open for Knight St's mass of markers, man-hole covers and tarmac blisters, Hawdon St felt like heaven in comparison, but another set of lights put another hold on progress.  That half minute halt recharged the battery to drive 1500 metres of Verney in search of Pine Rd.  The pressure was off without PistolPete's pace to match but something keeps the effort up, and it wasn't a rush to start another working week!  A couple of k's through the curves of Parkside and I'd returned to Ferguson to start all over again.  The second lap didn't get any warmer and the third grew a little lighter though the feels like minus 4.7 probably hurried lap four along.  I reckoned I'd thawed out by mid morning!

1/6  Mining motivation

You never really know what you've got till it's gone.  The motivation a bunch brings had all but vanished (thanks to Covid's constraints on numbers) and dragging yourself from a warm bed gets really tough when the temperature struggles to reach four, and there's nothing very inspiring about the course when you've ridden most of the tarmac within five k's from home already!  The regret of not riding was about all that got me layered ready to face the "feels like -0.6".  

With no route mentally mapped, I relied on "winging it" and see where it led me.  A pessimist could interpret an easterly in the face as a hint to stay in bed but that would be like BeerMat wouldn't it?  I could use that breeze as an excuse for the sluggish speed on New Dookie Rd but heading north on Grahamvale Rd didn't get much better.  It's just one of those days Foss!  The old engine was only running on three cylinders.  And revving it didn't fix it.  Heading to Congupna may have been to the last millimetres of Covid's five k leash, the draft donated by a pair of B doubles a brief boost to morale.  The highway back to town had little of the expected easterly assistance, the coarse 20mm stone in the tarmac acting like a handbrake.  Wanganui Rd's smoothness was welcomed but convincing the head a tailwind was with me made no improvement at all.  I could do with a bit of The Godfather's garble, Kel's cheeky grin, Emil's burst of enthusiasm (followed by Kreeky's restoration of rhythm), PistolPete's haute couture, Rocket's cackle, Tina's tenacity, that little shoulder thing Grumpy does, the chorus of two dozen carbon wheels performing a symphony on tarmac, or any of the little nuances the Couldabeens congregation brings.  (each bunch has it's own unique signature of course; we just underestimate the magnetic properties until solitary confinement puts it's value under the microscope)    Rudd Rd and the Boulevard has been traveled a thousand times, it's unique bumps, patches, narrowing sections and ridges could almost be navigated blind, but keeping a watch on the CatEye's beam wasn't a bad idea.  Lots of mice and the odd rabbit scuttled about in the dark.  The spin south aimed at circling the lake before heading homeward, enough k's clocked to justify all that lengthy preparation prior.  The average speed was nothing to brag about, but turning the legs over keeps them in the habit.

2/6 Boulevard boredom.

Mapping a course that was remotely inspiring was difficult ; seems I'd worn out most of the options within 5 k's of home already!  There's been a few who's boundaries have been questionable (to say the least) but I'll be a good boy and conform to the Covid constraints.  

The best I could come up with was a roundabout to roundabout hot-dog course on the Boulevard, 4.3 km between u-turns would need a few laps (small things amuse small minds as they say) but at least there's a few sweeping corners to amuse me ; another straight length of tarmac would send me around the bend!    Traffic's pretty thin at stupid o'clock and the first couple of k's to the town hall's roundabout was taken moderately. A hint of east northeaster favored the outbound leg though I wasn't about to burn all the biscuits this early, there was a few laps to do to justify getting out of bed.  Cemetery hill's towering 2.7 metres of elevation prompted a push to keep the tempo simmering, a brief half k to the roundabout then about face for a southeast passage back into town.  Yep, that breeze was obvious now.  Speed didn't suffer too much and that made Mr. Morale happy.  After yesterday's flogging of a dead horse, hopes were raised a little, enough to jack up the heart rate into zone 4 on the outbound again and try for a slightly swifter spin.  The Boulevard's half dozen big radius bends cleared the rust from the headstem bearings and wore a few mouldings off the sidewalls, about face and inbound again had me reconsider what might be left in the tank, so just a k was trimmed off the tempo as an insurance to get a few more laps in.  As always, time was the enemy, so too and fro Foss went till rounding off lap 5 before heading homeward.

4/6  Group therapy.

Being released from Covid's confinement was a new found freedom.  It felt like being excused from some freaky Pavlov mental experiment!  Bo, Tina, Emil, Kel, PistolPete and Greg (who just made the grid at the third stroke)  converged for the 5:40 flagfall but I'd expected a crowd after a week's worth of solitary.  Still, The Godfather's absence was easy on the ears!  (The shop squad chose to spin their separate course.  Solitary steam to blow off?)   No prizes for guessing who led us to Mitchell Rd, the half dozen others quickly getting into the slipstream for a free ride south.  Just a week riding bunch-less and I'm already rusty at sitting on a wheel.  The draft's nice though, the newfound speed a massage for the ego.  

Kel took us east on Mitchell to Central Kialla, an easterly (13-20 km/h) easing us into this pack performance from the sluggish solo's we'd nearly grown accustomed to (PistolPete the exception ; fast regardless)   Bo seemed to do the shift to River Rd under sufferance, dare I suggest his mojo is a no-go of late?  Tina was handed the reigns and tapped the 2 k's well to the bridge, Emil then taking charge and yeah, me on his wheel again!  Is it pure circumstance or has the La Pierre got special titanium magnets?   Emil delayed his standard demonstration of determination till Tina was comfortable in the caboose and for a moment I thought there'd be a full throttle thrash to Coach Rd, but fairness kept him under 40 (just!) to the white fence of the quarter horse stud.    I should count my blessings really, given a 2k turn at the front with a tailwind is nothing to grizzle about.   

Greg caught me napping as I rolled rearward in Coach Rd, his acceleration toward the Broken bridges had me chewing bar tape in an effort to connect as caboose.  Pity there weren't more along to share the load but that's reality in winter isn't it?  Greg didn't do his usual Channel Rd exit but stayed on to the highway, for a moment I thought he'd buckled to the bunch sociology to stay for a complete circuit but used Hosie Rd as his short-cut to town instead. Duty called.     PistolPete did the honors of towing us to Old Dookie Rd where the delights of a headwind awaited, Kel braving the torment toward School Rd but handed Bo the job a little shy of reaching it. A little Bo mojo had returned to do a decent drive to Central Ave, credit to Tina for facing the front for a shift to Dobson's.  Emil earned an elephant stamp squeezing the throttle slowly to the truck route, mid 30's was all that could be forced from me but cars and a red traffic light could be used as the reason for the sedate shift to SPC.  Great to get that fix of social stuff at The Butter Factory after enduring self (and instant coffee) for nearly a week.  Fingers crossed that lockdowns are now consigned to the history books.

This week 213km     YTD 6,153km