An amplified asthmatic.

 Post #618

8/11 I'm givin' her all she's go Capt'n!

Choosing the right wheel to be on was critical Monday morning, the old engine felt a bit rusty after two days off and Bo was bound to be given a bit of grief with several division one's in the line-up at Sanctuary.  PistolPete led Bruce, Bo, Greg, Wozza, Lenny, Rocket, Emil, Kel, Joe (not Tony) and The Godfather south into the southwester (17-20 km/h) as two lines formed in a suggestion of social collaboration, so I slotted in behind The Godfather (keep him separated from Bo to minimise the larrikinism) and at a good arms length from the horsepower.  It's called self preservation!  Luck had Joe (not Tony) on my wheel, a considerate co-pilot for part two of my shift.  But that would come later.  Rocket and Wozza had distress to dish up to Bo first.  Low 40's early in the lap was hard labor but the entertainment factor was worth the tax.  The Godfather toned down the tempo a tad beside Emil to River Rd's bridge so I could at least manage the short shift to the dip.  

Captain Courteous (Joe, not Tony) conformed considerately to the white fence of the quarter horse stud, chatting away happily while I suffered oxygen deprivation.  Coach Rd felt easier as Greg and Kel then Rocket and Wozz dragged us north, a southwester helping the hurry to the highway.  Low 40's again was a little anti-social while Bo was burned for pushing the parameters of pace, the throttle wide open with me hanging desperately on.  I reckon I'm in the wrong league here!  There was hesitation joining the advance line when the lines swung west into Old Dookie Rd, doubts I'd have the drive if this pace persisted!  Bruce, Lenny and PistolPete kept 40's on the agenda to Central Ave, past Dobson's and beyond, but The Godfather wasn't in such a hurry to get to SPC.  I could pass as one of the team at that pace!

9/11  The late shift.

An alarm malfunction had me sleep in till a very late 5am, too late to prepare and get aboard the Couldabeen's train so I opted for the late shift and a chance to associate with the endangered species.  There maybe a Goat or two that still can swing a leg over a bike.  There appeared to be about a dozen at Ford and Verney for a 6 am launch but getting closer found it was the '51 train about to leave.  Heady and Brendy were the two remaining as the express steamed away.  Hope for other arrivals had eyes squint south and west, just a solitary light approaching half a k behind, so a casual roll toward Grahamvale Rd allowed the arrival of JB to climb aboard.  Au du Mr.Sheen filled the nostrils  (makes a Pinarello shine).  Heady and Brendy did a sneaky little shuffle to the rear, leaving JB and I paired at the front.  

With the sun well risen as we arrived at Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd  I had a feeling of running late, not that there was a rush to be anywhere.  JB rolled ahead and across in the expectation of Brendy or Heady advancing to make a contribution but that was wishful thinking.  JB and I had more to do. Low to mid 30's seemed to be JB's want (seems it's always the other guy that sets the pace!) and nothing but silence came from the rear seats.  

I did sneak a peek behind to see if the passengers were still on board. Brendy did come forward for a contribution in Pine Lodge North Rd but that came to an end at New Dookie Rd.  1500 metres of respite and I was back at the business end again.  The bureau said a southwest breeze was our only handbrake though there was little strain to get to the Toaster.  That supposed wind was barely stirring a leaf so I continued on Old Dookie to benefit the passengers, but Heady was cooked by the bridge.  JB and I tried to tempt Brendy and Heady to follow if we set a pedestrian pace but their resolve to ride Old Dookie back to town was cast in stone.   JB and I continues south to Channel Rd chatting withering wattage and the white flag effect of watching speed and heart rate.  There was a slow burning fire within the rectus femoris keeping to JB's pace so eyes were well away from what the old faithful Garmin 500 was showing.  JB had employment to get to (I vaguely remember those days) so I indulged in the Butter Factory's long black and raisin toast, seeing I'd skipped breakfast sleeping-in.

10/11 Faith in forecasts.

All the eggs were in the bureau's basket Wednesday ; the forecast for an overcast day was looking a bit dodgy as spits fell from the sky (just as I swung a leg over the bike).  Have a little faith Foss!  The tarmac was yet to be rated wet as Emil and I paired to tap the 8 k's to Sanctuary, finding Rocket at the showgrounds roundabout looking like he was about to hightail home ( I reckon we'd ruined his retreat)  Dry patches under parked cars in Archer Rd spoke of something more than overcast but there was yet to be any gloss on the grey strip south.  Fingers crossed for kind conditions to come!  PistolPete was absent (did he know something we didn't?) but Boof, Bruce, Lenny, Bo, Kel and Kreeky turned up to ratify the ride decision.  If the heavens opened we could use Rule #9 I suppose.  

Boof had the horsepower to drive into a 20 k southwester to Mitchell Rd and Bruce was no slouch to drag us to Kialla Central, Rocket kindly forming the second echelon to keep Kreeky, Boof and I out of the gutter.  I had an interest in Bo's place in the pack and readied for the possible pain he may serve.  Lenny made the most of the wind up the exhaust pipe to move us rapidly to River Rd where a caution was called for the off camber corner dampened by the drizzle.  Safely steered east, Emil set the 40's benchmark to the bridge and beyond....this wasn't the social Wednesday I remembered?  

Emil pushed on to the dip but I was hoping that didn't bait Bo to go longer!   Ironically, Bo's elbow flapped "enough" to Kel at the quarter horse stud.  (Recent paybacks must have driven home a message to Bo?)  The road was as dry as a chip out here.  Kel had the Specialized humming to polish of River Rd and Rocket set the speed smooth for the 3.6 k stretch of Coach Rd, all standards I felt obliged to duplicate when my turn came due at the highway......it'd be a shorter version of it!  For the moment, second wheel wasn't a bad place for the preparation ; I'll take a polished pace any day! Time was up at the Pine Lodge pub, performance time old boy!  That wind behind and Boundary Rd's billiard table surface helped the head, I'd managed to stoke up the speed to standard and for a moment, I'd imagined I'd make it to the fig farm.  That moment lasted a millisecond, then reality kicked in.  Hope and the horsepower were two different things! I gave Kreeky the elbow 200 beyond the bridge 'cause that's where reality struck, besides, I reckon Kreeky would appreciate a share of the tailwind.  A grey curtain of cloud masked the sun up and some breath had returned in readiness for Boof to drive us home on Old Dookie Rd.  The southwester wasn't slowing his speed!  Bruce lived up to that standard too, towing us to town, me content I'd lasted this long and wouldn't face the front again.  Coffee was compensation for a not so social 37.5 average.

11/11 Pop! goes the puncture.

On one hand the Squirrels speed would be sustainable whereas the Sanctuary speed would sting.  I had a choice Thursday morning.  Decisions went to and fro on the southbound spin of Archer Rd and tempting as it was to steer east into Channel Rd with Emil and Kim, a serve of suffering with the Sanctuary crew was what was needed.  It would prevent softness setting in.  Few had formed at the roundabout, just Greg, Kel, PistolPete, Kreeky and The Godfather gathered, and I was almost in at the deep end second wheel to Pistol (though I'd avoided facing the south southwester.  That's Pete's forte) The flat as a biscuit 2k turn to Kialla Central wasn't so tortuous.....till half way when the energy had evaporated! Too many watts spent getting up to speed soon left little to sustain what I'd started.  The second k was spent trawling the depths of determination.  

Kel next in line was some comfort, she's considerate on the throttle.  Half a minute later and velocity was nudging 40, I'd taken a peek rearward on traffic lookout duty (the often neglected role of the caboose captain) and a shot rang out to rattle the nerves.  It wasn't some gun toting redneck scaring off The Godfather's disturbance of the peace,  Kel's tyre had blown off the bead from the tube's 7.6 Richter scale explosion.  A swift and orderly repair was underway as the shop squad shot by.  Greg had hurry back on the menu in River Rd though the tail-enders struggled to find shelter in the gutter, but Kreeky set the echelon etiquette right at the bridge to get all under cover from the wind.  And wasn't he a good lad to drive on to the quarter horse gates! There he handed the helm to The Godfather who felt duty bound at reaching River Rd's end ; and that gave me the bonus of a tailwind in Coach Rd  (yeah, too much thinking!)  

The Broken bridges lay 1800 metres ahead and that's where my lungs, legs, head or heart hits it's limit; the elbow's thrown and the next in line drives on to the highway while I do the rendition of an amplified asthmatic at the back.  But today was different.  Things were still in focus at the bridges.  This might be worth a longer aim?  What's the worst that could happen? (Oh yeah, that boom! and o.t.a. thing!)  The oh-so-subtle descent off the bridge was a help and by stroke of luck, the ascent toward Channel Rd had a passing car donate a brief draft to help me scale the dizzying 3 metre elevation. The next k turned cruel though. That thought of reaching the highway had taken hold, and the Pine Lodge Pub was but a speck in the distance.  Turn up the stubborn and throw a bit of angry in the tank Foss!  That magnetic pull in the Garmin dragged the eyeballs to the data it displayed, and it wasn't the Hiroshima heart-rate that worried me, the speed sagging below 38 was really rattling the inferiority complex!  Slightly smoother tarmac beyond Channel Rd was my savior, the speed rose .3 and the head was happier ; I could deal with the howls of protest from legs and lungs to the highway now.  

Kudos from the five advancing for their punishment helped my head and thanks to PistolPete's diplomatic use of the accelerator I could tuck into the draft of recovery.  (If my legs of licorice would get me there!) 40 was easy for PistolPete to bolt to Old Dookie Rd, the focus of holding the wheel and settling the heart-rate distracted my inferiority complex.  Kel towed us on Old Dookie Rd and Greg took his leave via School Rd.   Kreeky's Movember moustache had little aerodynamic resistance on his drive to Central Ave. I was suddenly second wheel again (so soon?)  The Godfather's turn toward the truck route was spent banking breaths in readiness for my (expected?) swift shift to SPC, the hinderance of that south southwester felt like three clicks pulled on the handbrake but buildings soon helped with some shelter. The gods of recovery smiled on Wheeler St's traffic lights, turning red to end the hurt, but getting wheels rolling again on the green light wasn't fun.

This week 182km       YTD 11,940km