Week 34 : The drive you thought wasn't within.

Post #514
17/8  Bay day.

A bike and the bay was bait for a Saturday lap while in the big smoke for the weekend,  an almost tropical eight degrees and a lazy east northeaster was about the only company on the Mordialloc end of Beach Rd at six. So much for the Saturday sociology.    A few minutes spin got the engine stoked up, ready to get angry for the first of the gradual inclines beginning at Mentone's 'Edgy'.  An occasional southbound bunch reinforced my rationale to ride at this hour, sea air doing something for the enthusiasm as a distant red led beckoned a chase.  The h.r. went on an escalator on the bumps to Beaumaris, the roads gradually populating with southbound bunches of eights and twelves chasing a few soloists.  I'd caught and passed the few heading north, wheels humming on the super smooth hot mix as the "Beauy bumps", "The Anna Meares crush", "Cerberus lung buster" and "Go Go Juice" segments blurred by.  The odd glance back confirmed I had none in pursuit, more blinking leds ahead seemed to Morse code "chase me" to Sandringham.  The CBD lights drew me ever northward, mowing down plenty of ones and twos, wasn't that a balm for a thin-skinned ego!

The forecast had promised a little southbound help for the return, so a push to Port Melbourne went on my agenda in Brighton as bunches formed in the side streets.  Luscious lasses in lycra jogged St.Kilda's beachfront to distract my drive but I'd found my way to Luna Park and set about burning the legs onto Beaconsfield Parade for a seven k push to the Port.  I took a couple of minutes as a breather in Bay Rd before about facing and setting south, the promise to self for a relaxed return was soon ditched as others (seemingly snail-like) were reeled in regularly (or was it International Day of the dawdler?)  You have to laugh when a flurry of red traffic lights halt you at every intersection (we are blessed riding rural roads), passing then being passed by a pair of matching Specialized (even suited the same) through most of Brighton. 

Traffic lights lessened in Sandringham and I'd forged ahead of the pedalling pigeon pair, sensing one of the Specialized had stuck to my wheel.  Well into the groove, I'd gobbled up a few threes and fours en-route to Black Rock, "love to Sylvia", Ohhhh Boy!" and "Yeah, another useless segment on Beach Rd" slipping by as I began to tire of the dag still drafting (without a hint of help). Perhaps a five hundred word essay on Rule #67 as homework? Steadily stoking the speed and keeping the cadence cooking (what a delight that Dura-Ace close ratio cassette is), total ignorance was given to the heart rate,  I scored a couple of PB's on Mentone rises (helped by  hearing the huff and puff from Sir Specialized battling behind) and with the addiction to a long black biting me, emptied the tank to the Mordialloc pier.  Slowing to berth at Tour de Café, my wheel-sucker (without a word) about faced and headed back north ; no worries mate, you're welcome!  A long black and banana bread soothed the sting of a 335 suffer score, all shapes and sizes congregating and refuelling at the café as a start, a turn around, a half way or finish to the Beach Rd habit.

19/8  Monday's masochism.

I felt the hometown chill Monday, an extra layer added to ward off the "feels like minus two" and I was off to the carpark to find who'd be as determined (or deranged) as I.  PistolPete, Bruce, Kel, Kreeky and Bo formed the compact clan for a fresh forty k, pushed by a west northwester nine k's out of town, only to suffer the headwind home.  Like scoffing the black forest cake before the brussels sprouts or doing the descent before the climb, both we'd rather do the other way around, but we don't get a choice with the weather and winter will usually dish up it's worst. Kreeky then Kel made for collaborative company from the Kinder to the S bend, the wind whipping up some grizzles on the turn north to the pub.  Kreeky's cold withdrew him from further duty which put me on Bo's wheel in Boundary Rd, he and PistolPete not sparing the wattage up to the fig farm.  The pessimist would have me cringing in the caboose but 'ol mate optimist dragged me (reluctantly) forward for driving duty (half a wheel back from Bo's determined drive in the hope he'd respect his elders)

Two k's shaved off the previous pace prevented my implosion, Kel a tough cookie to contend with as I wrung out the last drops of determination to make it to New Dookie Rd.  It was hard to speed up recovery with just four swapping shifts, then Kel withdrew from active service as the headwind hurt us in Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd.  PistolPete drew us single file (sensibly) into the wind though I was staying at forth wheel till I'd calmed my cardiac count.  Two k's in the draft while Pistol, Bruce and Bo battled the wind (20-28 km/h) got my guilts going, so I followed Bruce's wheel up for duty in Ford Rd.  The workload at the front seemed easier than wrestling to hold a draft in the rear ranks, but the muscle to manage the pace kept my shift short.  Another turn came around in the final throws of Ford Rd, shame there wasn't a string of traffic at the highway to let lungs recover.  Bo, Pistol and Bruce kept fronting for the flagellation, so a sense of teamwork sent me forward again, this shift swift and just a bit further.  Go figure?  Over the hill and into Rudd Rd, the wind now behind us sped the Boulevard bolt to the Butter Factory, consuming coffee and conversation on another day off inspired a loop a little later (a Tina trademark) to add twenty k's and break the forty habit.

20/8  I want my mummy!
It looked like a thrash for three as Kreeky, Col and I watched five forty tick over on the starting grid but PistolPete, Bo and Kel saved our suffering arriving from the south as we set sail into Archer Rd's darkness.  Pistol towed the team to the truck route (as is his want), my turn to move it to Mitchell Rd, waging war on the west northwester, so I sat on the roads' centre to shield those that would shield me later.  Yeah, it's echelon 101 but it's surprising just how many don't get it!

Kreeky took the reigns while  I attempted recovery at the rear, but what was now a tailwind only turned up the tempo (and the toil).  My vision was beginning to sharpen again as Col bolted to River Rd, Bo got in the drivers seat and with the breeze at the backside, turned up the turbo toward Boundary Rd.  This would be another of his long drives.  Legs and lungs kept answering the call for more as Bo broke into the forties out of the dip, thoughts spared for Kel hanging on at second wheel but there again youth has that athletic advantage.  Bo finally relinquished the lead when we turned north into Boundary, Kel keeping the quickness to One Tree Dam before passing the pilot's position to PistolPete.  Enthusiasm was up to the brim but the red light was flashing on my energy gauge, Pistol pouring on the power to the highway where we were blessed to a brief breather for traffic (for five seconds anyway).  It was only thirteen hundred metres to the bridge but it may have well been months away, pleas for power went unanswered from my legs that had lost their will for wattage.  The growling bear got me to the bridge, Kreeky showing faster form made it to Old Dookie Rd.  Shifts turned short and swift into the headwind home, stepping into another world of hurt but a greater level of achievement as a bonus.  It was hammer time for me at School Rd and again at Dobson's estate, four hundred metre turns into that wind setting the legs on fire but at least I had partners in pain.   Bo's blast to SPC tested my limits of labour, accomplishment the only thing carrying me to the showgrounds where I bid my farewell and dawdled home.

21/8 Wind worn.
I pondered my trickle of torque as the westerly wore away the speed to the Wednesday grid, but doesn't the bunch dig up some drive you thought wasn't within. Well, I was hoping they would!   Boof, Rocket, Shorty, Kreeky, Superman, Wozza, Col, Bruce, The Godfather, TrekTrev and PistolPete had laughed in the face of the 26-38 km/h winds, though the humour was hidden on the faces of TrekTrev and Superman.
Boof got the squad spinning south (Superman suffering at second wheel), the regular pundits of pace forming the advance line at the city limits.  I'd sandwiched between Col and Shorty, the tailwind turning up the tempo and terminating talk in Mitchell Rd though it didn't stop The Godfather serving up the spite.   Bruce scoffed at the sidewind spinning swiftly through Central Kialla, chains clicking to the little cogs (though The Godfather's gears clattered louder than the man himself) as Wozza and Rocket got heads down for the hurry east on River Rd.

I found forty feasible beside Col for a k but basic survival reflexes urged me to roll, hoping Shorty would partner peacefully.  He didn't.  (That new bike euphoria is excusable). Superman suffered a short shift north on Boundary Rd then suffered with a capital S at second wheel to Boof bolting to the bridges, retreating to the rear for resuscitation as the fit faction forged forward to Channel Rd.  The headwind was a hell for most and a mere hiccup for others (yeah, you guessed who!) as we faced the westerly back to town, a few had crucified themselves against the 38 km/h gusts at the front and I was nearing certain cruelty at the pointy end in Central Ave when  

Where did everyone go?

Rocket hit the front and hit the gas to the Kinder, drawing a dozen desperado's to the ChaCha.  Freakishly fast and impervious to the wind, Rocket had his head down in a hurry to the finish line while others could only hang on hurting, bits breaking off the back of the bunch all the way to Orrvale Rd.  A long pause at the truck route allowed the broken bits to re-bond, the pace turning back up to a solid spin to town.



22/8  Heady's headwind hernia.
For a split second I questioned the reason to ride into Thursday's windswept darkness at 5:25 (some strange folk still snooze in the warmth of their beds, slowly softening) but quickly withdrew into the crazy comfort of my o.c.d. world aboard two wheels.  Kittles Rd provided a viewing variety from the repetition of Rudd Rd, to Grahamvale Rd via Wanganui and Ford was the easy bit, the energy evaporating pushing into the 24km/h southwest wind back to town.

Coggo, Tum, Heady and Snow were the only Goats with guts to front Friars (Hommie's guts are his hinderance apparently), long gone are the days of fifteen plus Goats tapping a lap, how many will emerge from hibernation and when is anyone's guess.  Repeated rides haven't helped Heady's horsepower, his habitual role handed to Tum to head us out of town, who turned up the tempo to Dobson's bridge at no extra cost.  It was a nice change to lead leg two to Central Ave though the road reseal is as rough as hessian undies, Snowman (winner of Winter's silver jersey ; most spirited senior citizen) leading the pack toward School Rd.  Coggo's shift was a little shorter than usual but it's quality over quantity for the real head goat, a few spits spotting what was my clean bike en-route to Boundary Rd.  My turn again southbound as we crossed paths with the 5:40 crew, making it to the fig farm before sharing the love of the southwester with others.  Heady made the move forward as Coggo dragged us to the highway but then had second thoughts about the lead role and left it to Snow to tow us to Channel Rd.  Drafting Tum is like drafting a matchstick so my heart rate only raised a fraction when he handed me the reigns at One Tree Dam, so I was somewhat spent arriving at River Rd to find Heady had un-hooked some distance back.  Coggo and Snow went back to help the hurt, releasing Tum and I (on time constraints) to team for the slog home. We shared the shifts for River Rd's length, taking the truck route short cut to Archer where we finally got out of the headwind to head homeward, legs like liquorice back in suburbia (but strangely satisfied).

23/8 Woebegone Winter!

Winter just won't let go, frosting fingers (and other bits) to test the devotion to Friday's lap.  Speed was a struggle to the carpark but I found Bruce, Kreeky, Superman, MyRideTrev, Boof, PistolPete, Col, Rocket and Joe (not Joel) congregating in the cold of minus two.  The sensible thing to do?  Tear into that temperature at tempo to feel better!  A slow start allowed a late Wozza to get aboard, an even later Bo and Kel joining at Sanctuary's roundabout.  I tried to do the Mitchell Rd leg beside Wozza but winter had my lungs in a vice like grip, an early roll put Col beside me, conveniently keen for a chat while I was suffering oxygen depravation.

It's pleasing to have light in the sky a bit after six, long forgotten sights now seen beyond the reach of the headlights for a change.  All but MyRideTrev were taking turns so I had a heartrate holiday before another turn bumped it up.  It could have been the cold, the week's worth of workouts or just the fact it was Friday (thank God) 'cause pace seemed a little more manageable, that need for speed not so important.  Even with noses pointed toward town in Channel Rd, the usual urge toward the ChaCha was tame, though drawing deep minus two breaths at the front alongside Wozza was work enough for me to reach Central Ave.
Those gifted with grunt seem to arrive at the front at the perfect (Prentice Rd) moment while others hang on in the hope of saving face to finish as part of the pack, the few spat out from speed gradually gathered up again on that certain wait at the truck route.  All ended well with the mob socially spinning through town to converge on the Butter Factory for the ritual laughs over lattes.

Week  34       281km                    YTD 8,627km