Hunting (and hurting) in packs.

 Post #614

9/10/21  Back in bunch bliss.

It was a Saturday to celebrate when the region was released from lock-down, bunch rides were back to break the week long confines of riding in pairs and on a distance limit.  The social stuff had been sorely missed but doubts loomed on surviving the speed.  Last week crawling around in the low thirties would do little to prime me for the packs' pace.  A northeast breeze eased some stress toward the Sanctuary start-line, I guess just diving in the deep end would give me the answer.  Rocket, PistolPete, Kreeky, Grumpy, Emil, Wozza, Bo, Greg, The Godfather and Trav assembled for the 6am off, so finding myself in forth wheel gave a bit of time to harden up for the work at the front.  Rocket led the line to the truck route and it seemed like we were destined for a single filed suffer and survive Saturday, so the appropriate mindset was firmly engaged.  

Leg two to Mitchell Rd and the menu changed, PistolPete formed an advance line, so what was thought to be swift turned to social.  And my turn at the front was moved well down the anti-clockwise order.  I'd survive this.  Mid thirties found favor and sentences flowed, this would be a gentle introduction back to the bunch.  (Fingers crossed!)  Lenny had short-cut from the Archer St shop to intercept in River Rd and joined us at the bridge, attaching himself at the back as I was promoted to the advance. 

 It's barely a week since the buzz of chat drowned out the hum of wheels; whether I'd be chatting away at the front was doubtful, I reckon the want for oxygen would be the priority! (it's easy for those blessed with wattage to burn, I have little to spare!)    But all's good when you're vacuumed along in the slipstream at 15% better than your solo speed using 50% less effort, but inevitably the reality of driving the train yourself will be the true measure of your worth.  And that time came in Coach Rd beside Greg.  To make light of my task I was about to say "Be gentle with me darling" so there was relief hearing his call for calm first (he was probably conserving jelly beans in the jar for a Sunday 150)  

As much as I wanted to drive a decent distance (just my luck to score a northeaster at the right brow for nearly four k's), reality decided the Broken bridges was far enough for part one; Lenny was the part two partner to the highway, though he kindly weakened his wattage to stay alongside to the highway.  With some sense of contributing to the cause, I could settle back into the slipstream and swap sentences, a comfort knowing that northeaster would help our 11 kilometres back to town.  East to the Toaster and north to the Church continued at a sociable speed but the velocity was bound to be turned up with the wind behind for the west way toward breakfast.  

The entertainment commenced as we crossed paths with the Cats nearing Woolshed Rd, The Godfather's sledges gushed at maximum decibels in some strange language that Google translator would struggle with  (something about phalic shaped skulls I think).    Speed slowly crept up as the distance to town diminished, Emil (apparently under instruction) turning up the tempo as The Godfather paired with him in Wanganui Rd.  That must have triggered Greg to launch his solo sprint to the (faded) finish line at the top of the hill.  I did get a second shift in the drivers seat alongside Trav (the consummate gentleman) on the Boulevard, questions being raised behind on the berth for breakfast (the Butter Factory had closed for the weekend)  Stellar's sufficed.  The rigors of Roubaix and the subject of snakes had talk filling the footpath, the real value of that social bond absorbed after a weeks' starvation.  

Let's hope lock-downs are now history. 

11/10/21 Feels like June in October.

The glass half full was that the southwester would help for a fair proportion of the circuit, the glass half empty was the suffering headed south to Sanctuary's start-line.  I'm convinced Emil has become the master at suppressing snoring ; he was considerate staying alongside at my snail-like speed to get there.  Bruce, Kel, Wozza, Kreeky, PistolPete, Rocket, Trav, The Godfather and Lenny formed at 5:40 with nobody but PistolPete keen to take on the first shift.  How kind he was to peg back the pace to the high 30's to Mitchell Rd while the wind kept the line behind skinny.    Suffering last weeks restrictions to pairs was long forgotten, we were back to hunting (and hurting) in packs.  Kreeky led us east to Kialla Central, Lenny taking charge to River Rd.  This was a different ball game to the social spin, heads were down, all lined up silently and waiting to exert the effort at the business end.  Don't you just love the serenity!  I'd hoped to get a turn with that wind in my favor and starting seventh in line I had a good chance - 

The Godfather did his unique turn to River Rd's bridge and Bruce towed us to the dip, Emil's excess energy however, delivered us all the way to Coach Rd, effectively toasting me at second wheel in the process.  Well, that was my excuse for a slightly slower spec shift north to the Broken bridges.  There was just enough south in the southwester to make my turn appear decent before handing the reigns to Kel.  With luck I'd get a draft back to town 'cause there were lots of good engines ahead as I caught the caboose.  Wozza made it look easy to dash to Old Dookie Rd and to keep the hurry happening, Rocket took on the wind west toward town (like it was a tail-wind) 

12/10/21 Four-mation.

The slightly slower squirrel squad has become a treasured weekday tap among the weekday workouts, a few k's below the thrash threshold for what increasingly feels like an ageing engine.  Spending an hour below a zone four flogging feels like Christmas, though in a somewhat twisted contradiction, I don't mind a lap on the limit to measure my worth.   Kim and Emil were at Tarcoola's roundabout at stupid o'clock, Wendy an addition, drawn to the parameters of pace. Joe (not Tony) was a late apology with his Avanti in the pits.  Four in formation would guarantee us all a couple of shifts (if Emil could contain his desire for driving a distance)  My turn was overdue when he stayed on as Captain to Orrvale Rd rather than the truck route change-over.  Reaching the Kinder and staying on to the cypress trees was my reply. 

Wendy acquitted her apprenticeship well to the S bend and added a further 1300 metres to the end of Channel Rd as an encore, so maybe that put the incentive into Kim's turn north to the highway with the extra k to the bridge?  Not suggesting any rivalry or a competitive retort, more like feeling an expectation to equal an effort?  The lure of being in a bunch essentially.  Going beyond what we'd do solo (but with the bonus of a draft after as reward)  Emil contained that desire to drive an epic shift and rode tempo to New Dookie Rd, keeping the speed steady (plus or minus a k) to aid all surviving.  My turn to Lemnos-Cosgrove seemed like short change so added the way west to the main eastern channel.  It was another day feeling more like June than October, four degrees kept the effort up to stop the blood freezing in the veins but "feels like minus 0.5" nipped at any exposed skin.  Wendy earned a red number driving to Lemnos North Rd and Kim should get the malliot blanc for the best young rider on Ford.  Emil, of course, did the distance from Grahamvale to Verney then added the extra stretch south into town so we could quaff caffeine to warm up.  The Couldabeens crews berthed at the Butter Factory soon after, Rocket cackling at the damage done in the shop squad, the Sanctuary's telling of close kangaroo calls.

13/10 The want for wattage (till the tail-wind home)

Spring gives you fifty seven different varieties ; cold and a southerly one day, mild and a northeaster the next!  It beats the repeated refrigeration of Winter I guess.  Wednesday had an assisted spin to Sanctuary's start but there'd be cruelty for most of the circuit from there.  Why should it be easy though?, this game's all about suffering.  Rule #67 says it.  So, every bit of the commute was relished, the rest wouldn't be so restful!  There was a struggle sticking to Wednesday's social standard with the (26 km/h) northeaster and nobody was keen to join the advance line behind PistolPete, Wozza, Boof and Emil till reaching Kialla Central while the long line of Kreeky, Bo, The Godfather, Kel, Greg and Rocket strung out behind. I'd taken The Godfather's wheel when he finally joined the advance, Bo hiding at the rear till the rotation forced him forward.  Wozza and Boof served up the horsepower to drag us to River Rd so the inevitable hurt at the front came due for me beside The Godfather at the bridge.  The effort into the wind wanted wattage....and plenty of it!  

My tank was running empty as early as the dip so the head was in the wrong place even before part two had started.  Rocket kindly leveled his wheel alongside but I waved the white flag well before the quarter horse gates.  I'd hit my use-by date.  (Insistent questions while I gasped for oxygen were most amusing Grumpy!)  Kreeky was clever dialing back the pace a touch so he could last to Rooster corner (yep, he's vocal again).  Lenny and Bruce joined the clan from the north and Greg provided the grunt on Coach Rd to the Broken bridges.  I could answer Grumpy's questions now but he was occupied with work at the business end.  

Bo had finally fronted for duty at the highway so Kel silenced him driving Boundary in fast form, most behind anticipating the ease of effort ahead in Old Dookie though the wind almost directly behind us would stoke up speed.  The worries of the wind before was quickly forgotten as Pistol, Wozza and Boof got stuck into the speed westward toward town, Greg taking his leave via School Rd.  A halt was called at the truck route for traffic (though The Godfather crept through ahead) so the charge to SPC had renewed pace to catch and pass him.  Cold crept in seated outside at the Butter Factory, but coffee warmed internally, the test of temperature on the first k homeward always a tough one.

14/10  Doc's 8 

With time no longer a thorn in my side, why wouldn't I ride in warmth and daylight?  Charging around in the pre-dawn dark and cold only has masochism with mates as the draw-card (Oh, and the status of toughing it out where others won't).   Overnight rain was my excuse for a sleep-in ('till a very indulgent 6:30am!) so Doc's ride on a sunny afternoon made the best of both worlds.  

It was a strange sensation to head out wearing minimal insulation and bare legs - I reckon I've been layered like an onion (or should that be a parfait?) for months.  19 degrees outside ; bliss!  The roll 'round the golf course loop rid rust from the legs to find Frizzy, 'lil Brendan, Doc, DeepFry, Irish Tony (not Joe), Minty and Chilly loitering at Matilda Drive.  The 2pm flag-fall was stalled a minute awaiting young Brian's arrival, but he failed to front. The widely accepted two row format taking anti-clockwise turns was the standard, the easterly drive on Ford and Lemnos-Cosgrove  having a north northwester to push against.  Turns at the front varied proportional to seniority and fitness, though nobody was putting a tape measure to the efforts.  Age excused a few. I could nearly count myself as a young fella in this lot.  

A different bunch shines a light on your regular ride ; funny how different habits and protocols develop and become the standard and expectation in other packs.  I'll go with the flow....but with eyes and ears open.  The way south to the Toaster was easy with the wind behind, though headed along Old Dookie felt that wind shifting more westerly.  The Doc called it quits to head homeward at Boundary Rd but shifts swapped southward for the seven remaining.  A concession on pace was granted for Minty to upload more oxygen nearing the highway...kudos to the octogenerian surviving mid thirties.  Frizzy was keen to keep a clattering Reynolds wheel half ahead of mine in Ford Rd (zip the lip Foss, you're a guest here) and DeepFry signed his turn at the front with a brief burst.  The forecast showers for 6pm looked doubtful as blue-grey clouds loomed way too early on the horizon ahead.  

Single file was called to thread the traffic at Kialla Central, but resuming the two row format didn't seem popular thereafter. I could sense some may be saving themselves for a Conrod straight sprint.  (Already?)     I paired with 'lil Brendan to Archer and with Frizzy to the dip, DeepFry rattled the tempo with his surge to the highway then the line turned single again.  Mid to high thirties kept the file Indian style with Frizzy leading to Galbraith's gate then DeepFry took a short-lived lunge toward Arcadia Downs.  I'd played right into the hands of 'lil Brendan (glued to my wheel) as I drove to Conrod straight ( Frizzy and DeepFry waiting in the wings, keen to collect the crumbs) and of course nobody wanted the lead role as we rose from the dip.  (Wheel suckers!) My only tactic left was to make them hurt but a brief visit in the mid forties burned all my biscuits.  'Lil Brendan bolted with 250 to go, DeepFry in the box seat taking the (cheap) chocolates.  The dot in the distance behind was Minty, so I waited to tow him into town as others kept headed to Degani's.  Irish Tony (not Joe) berthed a minute later for caffeine and conversation on big buck pedals and the science of wheel rotation, but chat was given a hurry up as spits fell from the heavens.   I copped a soaking on the 6k commute homeward as 2mm of rain and a wicked westerly (28-50 km/h) said Ha Ha! to the decision to ride with minimal insulation. 

This week 255km      YTD  10,590km