Post #669
30/10 A Sunday in suburbia.
It's said if you don't like Melbourne's weather, just wait five minutes and it'll change. Well, I'd arrived there Thursday and the first chance to ride was Sunday! Needless to say, I was indignant, itchy and irate after three days without a fix. My usual practice was to do the Mordi to metro metres of Beach Rd and back again, but want for a change made St. Kilda the start for a new view on the metropolis (I'll admit an assisting breeze on the way out had something to do with it. The return I'd worry about later) Sunday must be somewhat sabbath in the capital ; very few bikes were about at stupid o'clock, particularly southbound. Not that I was craving company, just being atop a pair of rolling wheels was the prescription needed from three days of starvation. Although eight degrees wasn't that inviting, stoking the old engine up to a respectable pace would generate a bit of warmth.
The subtle ups and downs of Black Rock and Beaumaris were twenty minutes south so the almost imperceivable rise and falls of Brighton and Sandringham weren't going to crush the spirits early, passing a few (and being passed by nobody) was certainly massaging the ego too. Bikes began to appear further south as decent daylight took hold and by Black Rock, a bunch or two began to roll. I'm not one to gatecrash a bunch un-invited, so sitting 10 metres off the back was the proper place when one pack started south at my pace. It's a trust thing I guess; we've all felt that awkward discomfort of a foreigner in a group and the (sometimes) hair-raising habits that go against the grain. Staying upright in a group begs some sort of standards and trust does take time. Mordialloc was going to be the about-face place but reasonable progress got me there ahead of schedule, so the theory of an hour out and an hour back became the guide. Beach Rd bumps into the Nepean Highway at Mordi so the southern stuff to Aspendale and Edithvale became the focus. Straight, flat and several traffic lights wasn't so spectacular but hey, it wasn't Bells Armstrong Rd!
Seven a.m. became the u-turn time at Chelsea and wasn't that breeze in the face a wake up call - can't be all beer and skittles ; it was h.t.f.u. time! Getting my head around a slower speed back was probably a bigger effort than the push forward (accepting you 'aint got the wattage into the wind is a bitter pill to swallow!) so setting a sensible speed and sticking to it was the easy bit. Homing in on a few northbound junkies and passing them stuck some positives into the skull. Overly optimistic on overtaking and with sights set at Sandringham, I probably cooked myself on a few of those everso slight inclines at Mentone and Rickett's Point but the odd red traffic light gifted a moment or two to upload some oxygen. One (young) guy passed me as a reality check. Bunches began to appear spinning south (sensible o'clock Sundays in these parts it seems) and a concrete strip to separate a bike lane from traffic (in some places) is something new to get used to, but the end was nigh with St.Kilda's marina now in sight. Basking in the beauty of Bentley's, a McLaren and the some of the joggers on Beaconsfield's parade was a fitting finale.
31/10 Five of the best (and one of the slowpokes)
Emil's "I'm out" seemed strange, though I hadn't looked outside at 4:50 am. I'd made the decision to ride on the gap appearing on the Bureau's radar and placed the 20-35 km/h northerly on the 'get over it' list. I hadn't seen the damp on the front verandah as yet, or felt the spots falling from the sky. "Are you riding" came next and blissfully ignorant of the conditions outside, I replied "I'll risk it". That quickly changed Emil's tune but committed me to the lap when reality struck me outdoors. Double jeapordy! Therein lies the bonus of being in a bunch - commitment and enticement ; if it were a solo spin either of us may have gone back to bed! I could count the tailwinds to Sanctaury Drive on one hand and ignored Mr Negative in the head hollering hurt for most of the circuit to Old Dookie Rd ; just enjoy mid 30's for 10 k's Foss, without the tax it usually imposes. A few spits of rain, the damp tarmac and wind whistling between the ears wouldn't do much for attendance at Sanctuary Drive so it came as no surprise to find just Pistol. Rocket, Greg and Wozza as the "weirdo's" ready for duty at 5:39. Great! Five of the best and a slowpoke to make six. PistolPete performed his usual opening salvo to Mitchell with Emil at second wheel and me behind him. (Poorly positioned Foss; I'd get the headwind of Central Kialla up to River Rd as penance and these guys would discover what slow really is!)
Maybe it was PistolPete's charity that kept him as captain for the second leg to Central Kialla (or maybe that first shift to Mitchell didn't have enough challenge?) but I thanked my lucky stars that Emil would have the headwind to battle to River Rd, and not me! (Mind you, sitting at second wheel wasn't a lot of fun). Well out of the league of these lads labor, I still felt compelled to make some sort of contribution, so the opening 2 k's of River Rd wasn't to be sneezed at ; there'd be a lot worse to come. 37's became 36's half way to the bridge (reality has no sympathy for suffering!) so my shift was probably considered cruisy. Plenty of kudos as I gasped in retreat to the rear was nice though. Hanging on became the real task as Wozza wound up the watts to the 39's. I should hide the heart rate display on ye olde Garmin 500 - it only certifies the suffering to see 170's still on show 2 k's later, despite Greg kindly calming the pace by a k in the hour.
The rooster was silent on the turn into Coach Rd, he was probably sensibly sheltered from the wind, sleeping (like Emil or I would be if we hadn't messaged earlier) The word headwind isn't in Rocket's dictionary 'cause 38's were on the roster to the highway, PistolPete preserving that pace on Boundary Rd too, though his shift shortened to the Fig Farm. My sole place of residence now was the caboose - I'd need a tail wind tornado to do what these guys do into a headwind! Emil's exertion to Old Dookie Rd kept my Chewbacca impersonations going, though the slow to turn west finally dropped the heart rate to 160's. Wozza's watts to Central Ave tempted dropping off the rear to get a breath back, but taking the easy option gets you nowhere. There was just Greg's shift to Doyles and Rocket's burst to SPC to survive before the life-giving elixir of coffee could be consumed. Slightly slower to the truck route gained a breath or two for the squirt to SPC, but jellied legs couldn't catch the crew till their slow at the railway line got me back on board. 34's through the streets to the Butter Factory felt like snail's pace!
2/11 Wasn't Winter o.t.a.?
Was anybody prepared for Wednesday's feels like 0.1? (Here's me thinking Winter was o.t.a!) The sneaky suspicion that the cold might come back had the heavy duty insulation within reach, though applying all those layers needed more minutes in readiness to ride. A westerly chilled the bones en-route to Sanctuary with Boof, Emil and Tina and although a few regulars were missing from the grid (namely Wozza and Rocket) the 'entertainment' (The Godfather) had returned to the fold. Positioning at second wheel when PistolPete set the team south into Archer Rd was the tactic to score the tailwind leg of Mitchell Rd, but two rows formed shy of the truck route so I was demoted to last instead. (More time to prepare for the pain at the pointy end I guess (I just hoped to get the shift done before the headwind home!) Bruce, Kel, Lenny, Bo and Greg made up the ten to spin the anti-clockwise track, The Godfather (wearing his Road Ranger's hat) warning of yet another pot-hole enlarging at the turn north to Central Kialla. Maybe we need a radar to keep up with these holy hazards?)
With Tina ahead and PistolPete behind as I joined the advance, it looked likely a drive fighting the side wind was due for me in Coach Rd. (Gotta do what's due in this game less you slip down the slippery slope of softness and become a permanent feature in the caboose) Tina had second thoughts about the effort at the front and withdrew to the left line while Bo and Emil headed us toward the highway, so when Bo called it quits nearing Channel Rd (no full block Bo?), I had Emil to measure up to reach the Pub. I reckon I could get away with calling a roll crossing the highway, hoping I was due a little senior citizen's sympathy?
PistolPete went easy on the accelerator (just to make me look like I could keep up) but Boundary Rd's bridge looked further than 1200 metres away. I'd carefully saved one breath reaching there to call "Thanks Pete" before all oxygen was diverted to the recovery in the draft to the fig farm, Greg alongside wasn't getting an answer to his kudos 'cause I had none to spare! PistolPete and Greg faced the hurt of the headwind on Old Dookie Rd, Boof and The Godfather elected for duty to head us to Dobson's, though The Godfather seemed to be stressed by speed and retreated to the shelter of the left line, sparking sledges aplenty to the truck route. Bo scored lead duties for the swift shift to SPC.
3/11 Wonderful one way, work the other.
I'd drawn the short straw when handed the reigns into Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd, a southwester blowing at the left shoulder was in stark contrast to the assisted passage of my first turn in Channel Rd (the usual Doyles to Orrvale) I'd rather have the toil before the treat, but wind direction isn't a matter of choice. Grin and bear it old boy! (This was like being served the black forest gateau before the Brussels sprouts!) We'd all done our first shift with the prevailing southwester on Channel and Boundary and Emil had driven the last leg north from New Dookie up to Lemnos-Cosgrove (just a millimetre of water still standing and stinking at the little dip) so O'Flaretty's Law applied to me pointing west. (O'Flaretty reckoned Murphy was an optimist!) Taking aim at Lemnos North Rd was a bit heroic though finding 34's on the Garmin as I built up speed out of the corner was far better than expected.
Being this easy this early it was worth aiming long. Worth it till reality hit me hard at the bridge! There was another 1500 metres to drive Foss! (My enthusiasm is my enemy sometimes) Gaps between the orchards had the sting from that southwester to bear, but I made it to Lemnos North Rd to hand the lead role to Tina. Hopefully Wendy, the 5ft Ninja, Troy, Jen and Emil would tow me to coffee from here. (Kim had taken control of the caboose) Tina's aim at Grahamvale went blurry so she gave Jen the joy of getting there, Wendy doing her duty to Verney Rd where Emil jumped the queue to deliver his drive to Balaclava. It's as predictable as a politician's u-turn! And just as predictable as the traffic lights being red when we arrived!
4/11 Watts wanted.
It was most likely the mental negatives of pushing into a headwind for 10 k's that did it. I felt like the pea-shooter among the big guns for most of Friday's circuit, despite have a southwester assisting for the short time I'd fronted for duty. (some days you're on fire, others you're just toasted!) The empty tank syndrome at the starting grid didn't do much for the confidence but a decent roll-up of Jen, Greg, Bruce, Rocket, Bo, Trav, PistolPete, Kel, Troy, Boof, Liam, Emil, Kreeky, Wozza and Grumpy meant that the load would be well shared. A hint of orange on the horizon at 5:40 and you could almost smell summer's arrival ; feels like 5 had the head in Winter though. It certainly was serene minus The Godfather.
A couple of k's above social speed needed more muscle than my legs could muster so the slipstream was the savior till Central Kialla. Trav's wheel in the advance line would make a considerate co-pilot when promotion put me at the pointy end though exposed to the south southwester along River Rd wore away the few watts I'd saved. What's up for the weekend was the social stuff swapping sides as the bunch bore down on the dip but it was watts that I wanted when Trav rolled across after pointing to the tarmac craters at the quarter horse stud.
I had some sort of urge in the engine at first, but that quickly evaporated a half k into the shift so reluctantly rolled across hoping Jen would have a slightly slower standard of speed. Yeah, as if! Another 500 metres and I'd flogged this dead horse well and truely, so the white flag was raised for Jen to donate a draft. She and Liam had no trouble touching the 40's to rooster corner. Kreeky calmed the rush a little on Coach Rd which may have frustrated a few but my lungs loved it! Troy was content in the caboose, Wozza and Rocket happy to serve the speed to the highway. Patched pot-holes are difficult to get used to after weeks of pointing and avoiding though new ones appear almost daily to keep wits sharp (Jen put her new wheels to the test striking one near the old pork palace) Bo keeps the horrors of a high heart rate off his worry list by not wearing a monitor (I should try that!) reckoning he knows when he's spent (I do too, everything goes blurry!) Heading home on Old Dookie Rd has a certain comfort (caffeine fix soon!) provided pace doesn't turn supersonic 'cause I need something for the swift bit to SPC. I survived, but had the engine almost miss-firing to stay aboard through town.
This week 256km
YTD 11,012km
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